There once was a woman - a proud, crass, and haughty woman. One who was sure of her worth - priceless - yet, thought little of the emotions of others, as she had no interest in, or patience for emotion, most especially in herself...
She felt well aware of her own worth - priceless - and revelled in a life of hedonism, taking what pleasure she willed, with scant regard to how her fleeting affections affected the lives or feelings of her lovers.
At the slightest sign of "emotional entanglements", her own or another's, she would cut and run, her only explanation being that she didn't want or need said, "emotional entanglements". She left broken hearts, dreams, and people in her wake, unable and unwilling to fathom the idea of romantic love.
When they begged, wept, attempted to woo her back with all manner of gifts, promises, sentiment, frothy emotional appeal, she scorned them for what she viewed as weakness.
To her, emotions, vulnerability, tenderness, love - these were all nothing but ammunition that could be used against someone, and she would have none of it. Besides, she did not think those emotions of "love" were real anyway. She believed them to be nothing more than lust and attraction, which people mistook for "love".
Not only did she live this way, but she also felt herself above men, and took umbrage at any attempt any of them might make to be gentlemanly, chivalrous, or even, just a helpful and kind person, if she felt they were attempting to "belittle" her. In her mind, anything like opening a door, lighting a smoke, offering to carry or lift something for her, protect her, and all manner of other acts, constituted an attempt to imply she was weak and/or unable to provide or fend for herself.
She would spew profanities and hatred at these men every time, even though most were simply trying to be doers of good deeds and help out their fellow humans. But she couldn't see it that way. She saw only what her narrow, self centred purview provided.
For years, she lived in this manner, her haughty mein only intensifying when she encountered a philosophical way of life which called to her.
This set if beliefs, tenets, ideals embraced nature, freedom, strength, meritocracy, living as one wills within the circle of one's own sword, being true to one's own nature.
There were other, less palatable truths to be found within the philosophies, but they did not apply to her. She was free, and the books containing them seemed to make clear that, being free, she had carte blanche. In fact, it seemed to her that it elevated her to an even higher status.
She continued in that manner for another year and more; Reading, learning, and reading and learning some more from the then twenty five books on the topic. In time, she began to feel stirrings, curiosities, yearnings which were surely signs of weakness, or possibly even madness, but, as she read, she found an option. She could explore these things within the safety net of a contractual agreement. She could taste the forbidden fruit, yet not fully imbibe.
She had become fast friends during that time with a man and his girl. His curvaceous, supple, voracious, erotic, beauty of a girl. His kajira.
She wanted to incorporate "temporary slavery" into her BDSM activities, but could not imagine consenting to having one's life so controlled all the time like that of his property.
This man agreed to take her on, to train her, within a period of contracted slavery. It would be for nine months, during which, she would be "as a slave".
She spent several hours a week at his home serving and learning how to behave as a slavegirl. There were rules, and a collar, which were in place 24/7, but she still maintained her own residence and had much freedom. There was a contract with a set time frame and a list of 'limits'. She thought of it as ownership then.
It was not, of course, anything like genuine ownership. She was not property. There were areas of her life off limits to him. There was a set time frame. She was simply a free woman playing pretend for a set time.
She did learn many things, positions, formulaic phrases, types, manners, and specifics of service, both casual and formal, garments, dance... The list goes on.
Anyone who had ever seen a real slave in action knew at a glance, however, that she was not one. She was never quite able to learn to move as a slave. She could mimic the movements, certainly, in her rough and stilted manner, but there was no fire. No burning desire to be found pleasing. The things she was learning, she did for her own pleasure - no one else's.
And it showed.
Of course, this was allowed. She was, after all, at the end of the day, a free woman, not to be expected to serve, dance, walk, crawl, or writhe with the passion of a kajira. How could she?
The contracted term ended, the collar and rules were removed, and they went about their lives as before - friends and playmates. It had been fun, and they still had fun. And, though she would, from time to time, don the garments of a slave, and play a role for a few hours or a weekend at the local dungeon, events, or private homes in the community, that was as far as it went.
It would be another nearly two years before she met the man who would change everything.
It was just easing into the summer of 2002. They were introduced by a mutual friend who knew they were both "into Gor" (the friend's words). As they talked, she found herself kneeling at his feet as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She didn't really think much of it right then, and they developed a friendship that, over time, developed into more.
He was different. Different from any man she had ever known. Much like her friend and former, contractual master in many ways, but so much more, to her at least. She was drawn to him like no other. Enthralled. Her heart opened, so much that it seemed it was bursting. She could no more break her fall than defy gravity. She knew love, of a sort she could scarcely comprehend.
They began living together, and were Companioned to one another just a few, short months later. More and more, he became the locus of her orbit. The very air she breathed. She wanted nothing but to please him. She would do anything for him.
He never tried to push her into anything, but the more she saw that he would not try to "Master" her by force, like so many others had, the more she yearned to submit to him. No - more than submit...
Surrender.
For, much to her mounting terror, she came to understand that this man owned her in heart, mind, soul, in every fibre of her being. In Truth, if not in name. There was no escaping this, and, if she were honest with herself, she did not wish to do so.
After much discussion on the matter, him making certain that this was truly what she wanted and that he felt ready for the responsibility, he officially collared her on July 19th, 2003. She was now owned in the material sense as well as all others.
To her great wonder, she somehow fell deeper still, in her new status. It seemed there was no end to the depths of servitude, yearning to please and obey, to which this could take her.
The first five years were mostly blissful, outside of various curveballs life will throw, as they weathered them together.
She grew ever more and more in her slavery. Her movements, all, from even so much as the simple act of walking across a room or down a sidewalk, or picking up or placing an object, to the tones in which she spoke, and a tilt of her head, now clearly betrayed her for what she was to any in the know.
She could not hide it any more than she could pretend at it before, even if she so desired. She was kajira, right to her very core. She existed to serve, to be found pleasing. She obeyed even when she wished to do anything but, most of the time.
And when she failed, she felt it to the depths of her soul. No punishment dealt, no matter how harsh, how painful, could compete with the knowledge of having been found lacking. Displeasing.
Her master was her all. He was not her only love, but he was her only master. He may lend her to others, to use, to enjoy, to love, to be trained, but his steel encircled her heart so much more even than it encircled her neck.
2006, August 16, the girl gazed upon the transfer inked on her left thigh, which would soon be a brand - a kef - marking her forever as what she was then.
She trembled as she lay on the Master's table, the fear growing as the metal strike reddened, then turned to orange, yellow, and finally, a pale straw colour in the torch flame before searing into her flesh in the first strike.
Eighteen strikes later, she displayed the finished piece, standing beautifully as a marked slave, wishing the talendar existed in reality, that she might braid one into her hair.
It was one of the proudest days of her life, and she was thrilled to wear his mark in her very flesh. She was his for eternity. Or so she believed.
But... over time, something changed.
There was a disturbance in the Force, a glitch in the Matrix, a tear in the fabric of space, time, or dimension. He was displeased. Increasingly so. She knew it. It was clear as a cloudless, summer day, and as stifling as the pressing heat of the same cloudless summer.
She asked her master what she had done to be displeasing. He told her she had done nothing, but it was plain that he was dissatisfied. Discontent. She begged him to tell her how she could do better. BE better. He again told her there was nothing wrong, despite glaring evidence to the contrary.
More and more, he stayed away from home. Spending longer hours at work, and elsewhere. When he was home, he was distant and irritable. He no longer touched her save for accidentally. When she tried to serve him, he seemed affronted and disgusted. When she tried to touch him, seduce him, he turned away, sometimes seemed even to recoil.
She cried daily, knowing she was failing him, but with no idea how to please him now. When they attended lifestyle events, no longer did he have any wish to bind her, beat her - other than for punishment - use her for any form of pleasure or pain.
She knelt for hours, ignored, watching as he used his tools and trusses on others, fetching coffee and water and other needed items whilst they played, which was scarcely acknowledged.
Of course, a slave is owed nothing, but before, he customarily would thank a girl or a boy for their service, and used to thank her much of the time for her service. He still thanked others who served him. But not her. Never her again. She was left to kneel and wait. Ever patient, hoping that if she served him and his other partners perfectly, he might take some notice of her.
She would wait, and when each scene was finished, and they moved on to aftercare, or the back rooms for a different sort of aftercare, she would clean the racks and tools and toys, pack his things away just the same as when it had been she at his not so tender mercies, make sure they had drinks and snacks to fuel them as their other appetites were sated.
And she would kneel again, in an out of the way corner. And wait in silence. Holding back the tears, because she was loath to bring dishonour on him. To make him look bad. She was kajira. It was her lot to wait upon the free. Not the reverse.
At times, other free... friends who had her master's open permission to use her as they saw fit would take pity on her. Would send her to fetch and serve. Or would play with her. But though she enjoyed those things, it seemed to only make the lack more stark to her.
She once, in desperation, when he was done with his scenes for that evening and had permitted her to bring him his coffee, crawled to his feet, bellying before him, kissing his feet, and begged him to do anything with her. Even something she hated, even if it would break her. Piss on her even. humiliate and shame her, anything that might please him, even if it pleased him to degrade and hate her.
He shoved her away from him with his foot, in disgust. As though she were something foul he stepped in.
He then punished her, for a few minor things he had not gotten round to addressing for some time, and perhaps simply because he was disgusted with her, but on this occasion, unlike every time before, there was no discussion of how she might do better. No telling her the slate was clean. He simply took the slave whip and left the room, leaving her to clean up, then sent her home alone.
After that, he almost never spent a night at home again. He would come by to get clean clothes or supplies.
Not long after, she was sent to another home, ostensibly temporarily, for her own good. Perhaps she simply needed more training, she thought. She would do her best to prove herself. But, of course, that was not to be. She was put to use and generally found pleasing in the house, but her master still wanted nothing of her service, though he still chose to own her.
Finally, on March first, 2010, she met with him in a public place (his choice) and begged to speak freely, which he allowed. She told him how she felt, of her desperate pain, confusion, lack of understanding what had gone wrong. And if they could ever have the love that they once did.
He told her, "There was only one woman I loved enough to make my Free Companion, but she begged a collar."
She then begged him to free her, to be his Companion once more, or, if he did not wish to do so, to sell her or give her away if he did not want her, but to please, please not hold her in the limbo of a slave without a master.
He chose to free her, agreeing that they would be FC again, but that was not so. He had no contact with her for months. When it came time for a yearly, lifestyle camp-out, where they both volunteered, she approached him, knelt to him, and, because he had said they would not discuss their relationship during the event, asked if she could present a hypothetical question.
He allowed it. She asked him, if a girl's master had freed her, saying they would be FC again, but then there was no contact for so long, no replies to queries, nothing, what would he suggest.
He told her that he would tell her to get over it and move on.
Devastated, but at least, finally having confirmation that it was over, she removed herself from his sight, as he wished, and went to ponder her next steps.
A couple months later, he had his best friend deliver a letter to her, letting her know that the reason it was over was due to her rejecting him, and the reason for the months and months of no intimacy was that she was still in love with her abusive ex husband of many years ago. He believed this, he told her, because he had heard her say that person's name in bed one night.
She insisted that she had not. That she had said, "Goddammit" (which could have sounded similar to that name in the heat of the moment, perhaps). That she had never in her life cried out any name in bed, save those of deities. But he was clear that he heard what he heard
The man then explained to her that her former master was to be handfasted the following day to the woman he had been seeing for the last nearly two years, and the letter needed to be read and acknowledged, in order for the day to have no pall cast over it.
The girl knew nothing of this other relationship. It had not been disclosed to her. There was no reason for secrecy that the girl could understand. They had been poly, and, so long as it was disclosed, would not have gone against the agreements they had made. Of course, a master is not obliged to keep any promises made to a slave, or to tell her anything, but still, it hurt. Perhaps she had not fully understood her place after all. She had the idea that their agreements and policy of honesty and transparency were still valid, even after she had become property. Foolish slave.
With that realisation, she finally understood what had gone wrong.
There was never going to be a way for her to become pleasing to him again, because he had been finished with her for a long time.
So, she moved on. She was free, and embraced it. Or, at least, she believed she was free. He had freed her, after all.
He said the words, thus making it true.
But some time later, when she confronted him asking why several in the community were regarding her as a "runaway slave", he told her that he had only freed her because he felt he had no choice. That by begging to be freed, sold, or given away, despite very clearly also telling him that if his answer was no, her reply would be, "Yes Master", he felt she had withdrawn consent.
She did not believe this to be the truth, and even if it were, did not feel it in any way negated her freedom, even though his words would cause her to doubt her status on many occasions, she still chose to embrace freedom. She reasoned that it was not her fault that he chose weakness, betrayal, and lies. That was on him. And thus, she remained for several more years.
In the collar, she had learned what it is to be a woman, truly and fully. She knew herself, now, to be different from men, and no longer felt herself in any way superior to them, or attempted to belittle them for simply being men, and, by embracing their own manhood, she embraced her own femaleness. In fact, she celebrated their masculinity in contrast to her femininity, and her role as a woman in the order of nature. She wrote about what she had learned about being a free woman, from the perspective of a former slave, as she continued to learn to tread the sometimes fine line free women must gracefully maintain. She wrote more about her views on what it is to be a FW. She continued to be active in her local, as well as online Gorean community, eventually being asked to take over leadership of the local Gorean monthly discussion group and gatherings, and later became the keeper of the group's Home Stone. She was happy. She officially collared her kajirus on 2013, April 13th, and later, on a kajira, on 2018, March 18, though, sadly, that lasted only a little over a year, as the Seattle area climate was too cold and rainy for the girl to weather (pun intended), so she continued her search for her kajira.
She enjoyed her life as a free woman, though did miss - and, in some areas, suffered for the lack of - the guiding hand and authority of a free man in her life. So, she began to seek a D/s dynamic, wherein she could retain her status and position as a free woman, but within the boundaries and under the guidance of a strong, dominant man.
But more and more, especially online, particularly on IRC, others continued to point out to her that once a slave, always a slave. She was branded. Her ears pierced. Many did not see her as free at all, despite her fighting to cling to her status, and refusing to "admit" to being a slave.
Most on IRC refused to even acknowledge her status, consistently referring to her as, "girl", "beast", "slave", "slut", etc, and lowercasing her name (an online convention meant to determine status) when speaking with her.
She feared.. and still fears, all that she could lose by giving in.
But, she was no longer happy trying to fight, so she finally did... at least in the realm of online/IRC. She battled feeling like a hypocrite, as she did not "come out" in the rest of her life as returned to slavery, and did not really plan to. Another thing she despised and judged in the past - people identifying as one thing online and another in real life. Then again, that was mostly directed at those who were owned in real life, yet wanted to be treated as free online. Her opinion is that a slave is a slave, and if one is a slave in their real life, then they are a slave, and that is that. With those who were free in reality, but had an online only "collar", she just didn't take the "collar" seriously. Because if it only applied to when they were online, and not to the rest of their life, offline, then it was not slavery.
So, she could reasonably say she was still not, in truth, a slave, as she was only subject to her online owner when she is online. He neither had, nor wanted any say over the rest of her life, other than reminding her of bedtime, to help her with her schedule.
With that in mind, she compartmentalised the IRC part of her life from the rest of her life. Perhaps, hoping that she might find what she truly seeks - something of the best of both worlds, by way of this path.
Perhaps she was only fooling herself, she was happy enough with the arrangement. Not fully content, because she still did yearn for that ever elusive dynamic, rather than simply being owned, however, at least she was no longer having to manage the impossible tightrope of being a submissive to men FW on IRC. Yes, it meant she has to address other FW as Mistress, and FM as Master, and, speak and emote as a slave on IRC, at which she sometimes bristled, but she had years of experience with that before, so it was pretty easily automatic again, and, in the big picture, is really no skin off her... nose.
For about a month, she served as well as she could, striving for Exquisite beauty and absolute obedience, as she did before in the collar, even if it was "only" online. She was open to whatever natural progression happened. If it rekindled those fires, she would be happy to go the full distance to surrender to her future master. If not, even with putting full efforts and what small ember remains, then she would know she gave it her best, and learned the truth of her "core". Either way, she knows that she wishes, needs, desires, yearns, etc... to be guided by a strong man. The question is only to what degree is right for her. And she decided that fighting tooth and nail to prove what she thought or decided was right was not serving her goals or happiness, nor leading her to that man, be he her master, FC, or simply a keeper or guardian.
Unfortunately, it turned out that the extreme pressure to admit to being a slave, and to go through the motions of declaring herself such was orchestrated by those who did not wish to see her live her best self, but by those who were sick of her outspoken nature, refusal to back down from what she believed, or to take the farce of online roleplay "Gor" seriously and play along, and wished to see her silenced and either made to conform or ousted from all things Gorean. She deliberately chose to take a non Gorean (a BDSM) "room collar" for the specific purpose of avoiding being truly owned and held to kajira standards, while she tested the waters to see if she could feel the slave fires again, before committing to that path fully. By that action, she proved herself unwilling to fall into line, and so was banned from that server. It meant that she no longer could access the room to which she was "collared", so the virtual collar was virtually removed, and the room owner said pronounced that she was, again, free.
After being forced to step away for a while, she gained some perspective on just how toxic a lot of IRC culture can be, and reasserted herself on her own terms, with some mixed results.
Only time will tell where her journey will take her next.
For now, she will embrace the present, try not to let toxic or clueless people push her in unwise directions, and continue to search for a dynamic that works for her.
