I was given an assignment some time ago to write about this photo, and others that have followed since that first one.
Life circumstances kept getting in the way and it kept getting put off for another day. I have an opportunity now to discuss it.
I have missed writing here, very much indeed. Writing about our D/s centers me in a way that very little else can. Physical D/s attention is, of course, the most important for that centering, that balancing, but writing is a very ritualized and therepeutic tool that puts me in touch with the submissive energy that is constantly swirling inside of me.
And so, when Syr assigned me a list of writing assignments, I was intrigued by the very first topic:
"What is your favorite symbol of your slavery, and why?"
It seemed like a trick question when I first thought of it, for I am very much attached to various symbols.
There is, of course, the sterling silver, simple figaro bracelet that I wear on my right wrist 24/7. It was the first 'collar' symbol offered to me by Syr and it is never off my wrist unless absolutely necessary. In fact, it is in desperate need of a good shining, but I haven't been able to part with it.
Then, of course, there is my last entry - written over two months ago, where I described the lovely lavendar collar that Syr purchased for me. However, it is not the least bit subtle and as such is only pulled out for special occasions or when we can be guaranteed a modicum of privacy. The sound the lock makes as She clicks it into place at the back of my neck sends feelings through me that are absolutely indescribeable.
More recently, still, is the purchase of an anklet, also a sterling silver figaro chain with a tiny enamel heart lock pendant. This piece was ordered recently and once it arrives, will be an ankle reminder of my place, owned slave to my Syr:
And, coming up very soon, hopefully within the next few weeks, will be a permanent mark upon my back and one upon her chest, tattoos that compliment each other.
And when musing upon this topic, it was not these adornments, as precious as they are to me, that I realized were my 'favorites' but instead, the more temporary marks that Syr places upon my back with Her knife.
Those marks you see in the photo at the top of this post were the second set that She ever set upon me, and the experience was absolutely indescribeable.
The very first time, She set me on my knees at Her feet while She sat in a chair. She pulled the upper half of my body over Her knee to hold me still and began using Her knife upon my back. The interaction was almost completely silent from beginning to end, and yet nothing has ever dropped me so deep into that intense tunnel-visioned slave space as that did.
The knowledge that I trusted Her completely, and that I was not only comfortable but desperately yearning for the feel of Her blade against my skin was all it took to remind me that I truly belong to Her, in every sense of the word.
The goal in this, is not to scar me, nor to humiliate me. It is a sensory experience and a pyschological experience. Since the first time, there have been occasions where there was some minute amounts of blood. And in more recent markings, I have felt the sting of those marks for days on end.
I would have to say that the mark of Her knife is my favorite symbol of my slavery to Her, and of Her ownership of me. While the mark itself fades, the feelings that it evokes in me are raw and pure, untouched by doubt or fear or anxiety or the normal over-thinking that can sometimes blur my feelings on other symbols.
All that matters, when I feel the touch of Her cold steel against my tender skin, is that I am Hers...
Forever.
