So I’m sure you’ve heard it. If you haven’t heard it, you’ve at least heard of it. The media would have you believe that it plays at least once a night in every kink club around the world. And why shouldn’t it? Whether or not you’re a Nine Inch Nails fan, the beat drags you in.
It’s exciting, and uplifting, and intense. The thumping bass, and Trent Reznor’s energetic voice overwhelm you with images of… A man, in a tailored white shirt, blue slacks and a tie, being screamed at by his domineering boss, while he frantically types away on the keyboard in front of him. Not quite as sexy when you pick apart the lyrics.
But if you’re like me, when the song’s on, you only hear eleven words. “Slave screams!” and “I have found you can find happiness in slavery.” And if you’re pervy like me, submissive like me, as into pain as I am, those eleven words bring visions of impact toys, the St. Andrew’s Cross, and kneeling somewhere, forgotten, while the person in charge is off doing his or her own thing, content to ignore you. And those images bring a devilish grin to your face, and cause your respective parts to stir a bit.
Hi. I’m Rayne, and I’m owned by M, but you can all him Melen, or Mel for short. You can call him M, too. Pretty much everyone does. But I’ve always considered it shorthand for “master”. I live with my owner, and we are married.
I have three “jobs”, if you will. The first is being his slave. The second is writing about being his slave. And the third is testing adult products. If M has his way, I won’t ever have an occupation outside of the home again, with the exception of the store we both dream of one day owning. I suppose you could say, at this point, that the only thing I am, anymore, is a slave. My life revolves entirely around pleasing M. You don’t think he’d allow the sex toy testing if he didn’t get something out of it, do you?
His ownership extends its grip to every part of my life. From the tiniest, mundane detail, to the scariest possible situation you can think of, M’s word is law. And I have found you can find happiness in slavery.
Well, maybe you can’t. But I definitely have.
I think I always knew that I would. When I was younger, I used to daydream about some strange man (Ya can’t get much stranger than M, so I guess dreams really do come true!) taking me away and making me his. I’d have to do whatever he wanted, and take care of him. We’d love each other, for sure, but probably, he would have other women on occasion, and definitely, he’d see me as a plaything. Something to tease, and torment, and bend to his will.
I didn’t think about the ritual and protocol until I started researching being owned. I hadn’t really considered the difference between fantasy slavery (what slavery looked like in my head) and real slavery (what belonging to M really entails), or what kind of real slave I wanted to be. I’m not really sure I knew, at the time, that there were so many types. I know I had no idea there would be things I wouldn’t like on occasion. And I still sometimes get distracted by a new shiny method, tug at my leash, and try to convince M to go a different direction.
I know I wasn’t expecting it to resemble “vanilla” life as often as it does. I mean, really! What BDSM slave serves in a domestic manner? Aren’t they all tied up twenty-four seven? Don’t they spend most of their time bowing, and scraping, and having sex, and being beat? That’s what I want. Sign me up. Where’s the line?
But that’s not really what I want. And that doesn’t always work for us for any length of time. Maybe eventually, when I get closer to being the slave we’d like me to be. And besides, M really hates doing dishes. Though I suppose, if he wanted to, he could go on the hunt for a kitchen slave. I’m sure somewhere there’s someone who gets off on domestic service. I mean, beyond being forced to do it, or just having to do it, but just really enjoys it.
If you asked me what kind of slave I am, I’d tell you I’m a 24/7, total power exchange, medium to high protocol pleasure slave. My duty is to be pleasing and obey. My desire to be used and hurt. My privilege to be loved and cherished. And my responsibility to serve.
Nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy reading about my journey as much as I’ve enjoyed experienced it.