Because of our dynamic, and the fact that writing about my life as a slave has become a major part of our life, I really don’t get much privacy. It starts at home, where the only time I’m allowed to close the door is when I’m going to the bathroom. And then, I can only expect M to stay out when I’m menstruating, or he knows I have to do more than pee. He says I’m completely welcome to keep those parts of myself to myself, and for that, I am grateful.
I’m required to share intimate details of my life with anyone in the world who knows what questions to ask or where to look. My masturbation techniques, most vulnerable moments, and humiliating mistakes are free to the general adult public at the click of a button. My face and naked body are posted on various sex-related websites. Only. My face and naked body are only posted on various sex-related websites. I’m kind of not safe for work, whether or not I have clothes on. I’ve kind of lost my brain-to-mouth filter, being able to say whatever I want in the places I spend most of my time.
Pretty much everyone we know, at this point, knows I review sex toys, and bring home a meager living writing for sex-related websites and e-zines, while M brings home the crux of our bacon working for an internet provider. If they don’t know, at the very least, that he controls the relationship, then they’re deaf and blind. My response to any invitation is, ”I’ll have to talk to M and get back to you.” When someone who knows I occasionally imbibe offers me a beer, or a cigarette, I always turn to M and ask if he minds. When friends ask if they can borrow something, or come visit, I always ask M what he thinks before answering. Usually within earshot.
I’m not allowed to keep the fact that I’m not in control a secret, and it would be almost impossible to do so without coming across rude. I mean, you can only say, ”Let me check my schedule and get back to you.” so many times, before someone gets the impression, however wrong it may be, that you’re trying to find something better to occupy your time. But when it comes right down to it, there’s no longer a need for me to hide my identity, profession or sexual proclivities in our immediate circle. So privacy hasn’t been much of an issue for me for quite some time.
There’s still the very real possibility that my budding career may just find M without a job if his bosses find my work. Our chosen lifestyle isn’t always accepted, and New York is an at will state. It would be silly, considering his company knows what I do, but morals aren’t always based on logic. That makes our openness with those in our immediate circle a little scary. It probably makes having my face splashed all over the internet a little stupid. But it really drives home that my life will never again be private.
Most of the time, that’s tons of fun. To think about all the people reading and being turned on by my sexcapades, or having their minds opened just a little bit. The folks who’ve written to tell me I’ve helped them, or to ask my advice in different areas. And it’s done wonders for our relationship. But sometimes…
Sometimes there are things that I want to keep tucked close to my breast. I know that if I puzzle them out in a blog post, or verbally vomit all over M, I’ll get through it faster, and when I’m done, M will have a better idea of which direction he should be steering me, but I want to figure it out for myself, damn it!
I mean, I should know pretty much all there is to know about being his slave, at this point, and I’m a grown woman, so I should be able to work through the ”What if…”s and ”That’s not fair!”s on my own.
Aren’t I cute, acting all indignant, and independent? As if I don’t fall to pieces, and get all sorts of angry when he refuses to, or can’t, help.
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