A day in the life-Written by My slave.

i am stark naked against the wall and Mistress is mashing Her thumb into my left nipple. She had pierced both nipples with a pair of needles in each and now She is watching for my reaction and enjoying my fear as She moves to press her thumb into my most sensitive right nipple. My cock is hard and i wonder, am i being sexually aroused by this pain? Just then i wake up and realize what was occurring was all in my head, just a dream. Yes, i am erect, not from arousal but from the intense need to urinate.
i rouse myself from the remains of the dream and attempt to get up but realize that i must first unfasten the heavy chain which tethers me to my place on the floor of my Mistress’ walk-in closet. This is where i sleep each and every night and where i will sleep each and every night for the rest of my life. Why? Because i am Her slave. i belong to Her and this is where She wants me to spend my nights. Not in the comfort of a bed as She does but someplace more in keeping with a place to store Her shoes, another piece of property.
i sleep naked as is Her Desire and the only thing on my body is the leather binding buckled and locked securely around my right ankle. i wear it day and night except for showering or swimming. i wear it to work beneath my slacks so that no matter where i go, i am always aware that i belong to Her. When i go to work i may not be in Her Presence but i am still in Her service. You see, i go to work for the sole purpose of earning a paycheck for Her use, not mine. It pays Her rent, buys Her food and drink, and whatever She wants or needs. It is Her choice whether i am allowed to own something new.
Speaking of owning, i own nothing. i don’t own the car or Harley i bought, i don’t own the clothes i wear, i don’t own privacy, i don’t own my body. All of these things i give enthusiastically to Her because in my view, a slave has no use for any possessions when his life’s focus is serving his Mistress. In becoming Her slave i give up my freedom. i become an instrument She can use to obtain pleasure according to Her Desires, not mine. In fact, as time has passed in Her service, even my thoughts are not always my own. All thoughts of sex are under her control. i can’t think a sexual thought without feeling Her influence on its source, my testicles. i am in constant chastity to Her except when She allows me the privilege of masturbating. Essentially, if it was Her Will, i might never be allowed to have an orgasm for the rest of my life. And i would Obey. Above all, i would Obey.
i signed a contract of consensual slavery in blood nine months ago. At that moment in time i became a possession, something less than i thought i was, but in the time i have served i have come to realize that i have actually become something more. my life has a meaning it never would have had were it not for my Mistress choosing me to be the one who would serve Her for the rest of my life. i am 20-some years older than my Mistress but age means nothing in O/our dynamic. The most important parts of this dynamic are values that should exist in every relationship, kink or vanilla: trust, honesty, respect, and love. Not sexual love, not romantic love, but the kind of love that makes a person like me willing to die for Her if she deems it necessary.
In Her home i serve Her slave naked. i call it “slave naked” to distinguish it from the type of nakedness that one associates with freedom. i am naked for Her pleasure and to remind me of my place as something less than a person. i am happiest when i am naked because i am also a canvas for my Mistress works of art. She has adorned my genitals and nipples with various piercings. my left thigh wears a scar in the shape of a Reiki protection symbol, the result of a scarification ritual in which Mistress claimed my body as Hers. It’s the kind of experience that brought U/us closer together. After the cutting W/we ate the skin She removed from my thigh.
Last night W/we did a session. She had me lay face up on a table and proceeded to insert two dozen needles of various gauges through the end of my penis, my scrotum, my nipples, and my toes. She is giddy with joy at the prospect of placing needles between my toes. i say “my” but i really mean “Hers”. She removes the needles roughly so that the holes bleed profusely and hurt as much coming out as going in. The pain is intense but i am in love with the rush. And most of all, i know that in my agony i am pleasing my Mistress, which is my ultimate purpose. She feeds me the clots of blood that collect around my genitals and even consumes some of them Herself. W/we are as One.
i can’t envision life without my Mistress. As much as i belong to Her, i receive something back every day i live in Her service. i experience love of a kind i have never experienced before. i serve without the expectation of reward because serving is its own reward. i am a faithful dog waiting at my Mistress feet for the chance to please Her. A pat on the head is as much as i can look forward to receiving but i don’t live for it. And like the dog i am occasionally allowed to sleep on the floor at the foot of Her bed, obedient, loyal, and devoted. There is no greater honor than to be able to live and die in the service of this Woman who i love with all my heart and soul, this heart and soul which now belong to Her always and forever.



sometimes it just comes to you, opportunities that are meant for you to take.
When the sun blinds you into thinking with your bottle you end up in trouble, disappointing friends, letting yourself down.
regaining the self I lost a while ago, getting back into touch with my soul.
and they all think Im stupid…
even you…
I would have to be brain dead to have not seen all of that coming.
did they all forget that I have been there and seen all the scenery?
I practically wrote the script for their plans.
BITCHES! all of them…
and I still carry a torch for him, that poor lost soul.
he doesn’t see his potential to be my savior as I can be his.
accident? I dont believe in them, its all underlying intentions gone bad.
wake up early, get shit done, drink too much, smoke not enough.
and I wouldn’t have it any other way.


Graphic art created with a vengeance.
That hand that reaches out and lifts up my skirt.
Tracing a line down my thigh and down my leg,
I’m kissed by that razor.
I missed that chill you send out with your presence.
A grip like a vice,
you ask once,
but you insist twice.
This avenue will self destruct.
It’s just a matter of time now.
Shedding the past,
sloughing off the old.
This new set of wings,
it’s breaking my back.
I’ve outgrown this sack.
It’s time to be born.
My self worth has suffered,
but my redemption has always been my best feature.
Inside this side of an hour,
and I’ve been on my knees again,
not begging,
not pleading,
but gracious.
I’m humbled by this again,
this life,
this time,
this hand of fate.
I’m enthralled by the irony.
it’s all I can do not to scream with every breath.
I heave,
I gag,
I swallow,
I grieve.


I take this breath in.
I exhale slowly.
this is finally over.
Did I really survive that?
It seems like it was a lifetime ago.
and even before that lifetime
was there really another?
I keep choking on these words,
like the ones I should have choked on that day.
It seemed too good to be true.
so it seems that it was.
what keeps my heart heavy though,
what about her?
it’s one thing to leave me here
another to leave her.
you’ll never really be replaced,
but you will be improved.
and I’ll tell you something else,
if you didn’t like me then,
you certainly won’t like me now.

What happens when you wake up someday and you don’t remember where you are.

what about when you forget what state you’re in geographically? 

And how about when you forget where you are in your state of mind?

these things bound around my head like its a padded cell and I’m the only one that knows it.

as sick as it makes me, I can’t breathe my way out of this one.

i worry about someone, something, somewhere, and some time, but none of this exists.

inside this cell that I’ve created all on my own; why do I feel trapped?

i can make that decision any day I please, but you’ll still be in that cell with me.

I’m tired of reaching out to you and feeling like a bother.

I’m tired of going out and still catching myself comparing them all to you…

I’m screaming in my head with a smile on my face, because even if I don’t like it, you’re still in there with me.

rather than nothing, and since you know all of my secrets, I keep you.

and even if I can’t keep you, your claws are deep into me. 

Your intelligence is misleading consider how stupid you can be.

maybe it’s because I grew up next door to a woman that worked for Disney as that fucking mouse…

maybe that’s why I still slam myself into these walls just hoping one will turn into a door.

maybe it’s because I’m still hoping that one day you’ll wake up,

maybe you’ll think to call and make my day like you say I make yours.

maybe you’ll surprise me by scheduling one of your countless trips to visit me.

maybe one day, when you retired of the groupies, when you’re done having to tell all the stories that make up who you are, 

maybe then you’ll take me out of this cell. You’ll take me out and thank me for being me and for waiting so long.

what I can say, for certain, is in this room, rocking myself to comfort since you’re never there anymore,

from all these years of phone calls, of all the conversations you have with me and not them, will you come to that conclusion

that I’ve known all along…

I’m always going to treat you how I want to be treated, I’m always going to pick up when you call to tell me about your broken heart…again. With every ounce of my being, I want you to get better, but with me spending all my energy on sending so much love your way, so much care, unconditionally devoted to your quality of life, what’s going to be left for me?


i just wanted you to know about this self-sacrifice that brings me as close to you as you’ve allowed me.



is it a bad thing that the taste of your blood and semen mix with my chemicals so well?
I don’t think so…
is it so bad that I want to kiss every scar with all my love and make all the pain go away?
feel all the heat of your body sink away into my stomach as you are drained of all the life that has tormented you thus far…?
feel your life become mine…
wake and see you still lying there in the remnants of your last fluids…
turn to kiss your cold lips…
not want to let go just yet…
keeping it all to myself…
keeping you all to myself…
… I’m selfish.
…or maybe…
or just like to have things captive.
the waxy feel of your flesh that reminds me of your death,
and this is wrong why?
that would be love,
the kind of caring with a fine line between hate and love,
love and death,
crying and laughter.
why would it be so unfathomable?
to love someone so much you cant live with or with out them,
find a hole and crawl in it forever just to feel the silence of the both of you together and to memorize the sound.
and when you fuck or make love…
whatever it is,
it wont be enough eventually.
you see whats in between,
you want to know whats inside.
viscera is the most sexual part of the body…
how much more vulnerable do you want me?
feel that?
its my pulse,
wanna know where it comes from?
open me up wide…
wider that I can spread,
examine the gears that make me tick,
memorize the look in my eyes before you let me go.
its the most precious moment of your relationship with me.
…the end,

It felt like the ugliest kind of love.

a hug for show,

a demonstration to the neighbors.

a voice I found,

but learned was not mine.


adolescents was for learning,

I learned how to cope With

what those meds didn’t handle,

I certainly did that on my own.

of course, my ways of coping are/were “unacceptable”.


the first mental hospital I was in was torn down.

i went and took a piece of it after and almost got arrested.

years later, I tattooed with a guy that’d been there too…

Nevada, Missouri. Heartland hospital.

They always name them things like that; non-threatening.

i wasn’t even cutting yet.

my room mate was twice my age and half my weight.

being underage, I was surrounded with behavioral and problematic CHILDREN.

all joking aside, “I threw myself out of moms car because she wouldn’t give me a sucker…”.

thats what our groups were about In there.

they even had a mixer for the inpatients and residential patience.

a cute residential patient asked me to dance…

not even a minute into the song, before I could even speak to him, he said,

“I’m going to throw up” and jetted off. Granted, I have a PhD. In psychology, but even now, I can’t explain why or how, but that moment set me over that teetering point. the one that I was on and trying to decide which direction to fall. Yep, as stupid and trivial it is, a residential patient I’d never see again, picked it for me.

ive put up photos, I know I’m not hard on the eyes, but I can’t look at mirrors, lose enough weight, study enough fighting styles (which is just as ridiculous, since I’m a Buddhist), tattoo enough of me, you name it…I can’t change enough. I will probably never be able to, because at that precise moment in my development, all I wanted was someone, anyone,to give a shit without being related to me or medically obligated. I think I was 12.


I’ve been looking for groups out here, not AA or NA, Because let’s face it, i would only be looking for connections. But I’ll be damned if I can fine one with someone besides me, under 60…discouraged. So I cut. I not happy about it, I’d made it a year. But fuck! What’s the alternative?


the groups out here are geriatric. Normally, I adore the older crowd. 

However, when I’m there with ice dripping down my legs,

since that was recommended by a therapist to detour the cutting,

but all I’m hearing is that one man telling us all about his med complaints,

then the other person there, a woman, complaining that she’s getting old…

one has to wonder if one in is the correct place…


“is this the mental health group?”

“yes, do you have a diagnosis you’d like to share?” Answered the “leader”.

“not one, specifically, but I have several diagnonsenses I’d be delighted to share…”

“please take a seat”…says ‘her’.

by the end of the hour I’d received zero help for my reasons for attending…but I’d dished out more information than the doctors seeing them had. So, I suppose, I helped them…but I couldn’t wait to get home, be alone, burn some ganja, and reflect. I just want to know why I don’t get paid to sit in these groups. If they don’t help me emotionally, maybe the should financially.


im sure I have some more pretty words coming out soon. I just need to gather myself first. I’m…_______________________.

(fill in the blank? I’m open to suggestions).