So, today is Independence Day – which doesn’t mean a whole lot to me, as a member of the nation America is celebrating its freedom from. So I’m going to blog about something completely different: BDSM and the freedom to have your freedom taken.
Does that sound convoluted? Probably. What I mean is, the freedom to choose to be owned. These days, it’s not socially acceptable to give up your will and let someone else control you – especially if you’re female. Feminists often have a pretty major problem with it, and vanilla society just doesn’t understand.
But let’s set aside the implications of misogynistic control, because in D/s relationships, that often doesn’t apply. With same-sex couples, there may not even be a man for the feminists to object to.
In my upcoming novel, Dominance and Deception, my female character chooses to become the owned slave of her Dom. Not a slave as in ‘made to work against her will without pay or a choice in the matter’. A D/s slave is very different.
Below is the collaring scene from the novel – it’s still a little rough because it hasn’t been edited yet, but you get the idea…
“You’re my slave in everything but name, little tease,” he said when I could stand without support, his gaze intense and affectionate all at once. “Are you ready to wear my collar?”
“Of course, sir.” He really has to ask?
He kissed me, and I melted against him again, basking in my Dom’s love. Drawing back, he told me, “Go to the bedroom, kneel and wait for me.”
Without further discussion, I did as he asked, dropping into position beside the bed.
It was at least ten minutes before he joined me. I resisted the urge to fidget, feeling my nervous expectancy fade to calm acceptance. The message was clear: this would happen on his terms, not on mine.
After a while, he entered the room, stood in front of me and said, “Look at me, little tease.”
I did, drinking in the sight of him as my eyes travelled up to meet his. He held the collar in both hands, and as I watched, he unbuckled it, then gestured for me to stand up.
“Do you consent to become my slave?” The words were as formal as any wedding vow, and I answered accordingly.
“I do, sir.”
“We’ll work on your slave contract more over the next few days. For now, turn around and hold your hair back, little tease.”
I did, closing my eyes as the leather strip brushed against my throat. It took him a couple of seconds to fasten it, but when his hands dropped away, the collar settled around my neck. It was little weightier than the play collar I’d been wearing up until then, and my newfound status finally hit home.
As he gently turned me to face him, my eyes filled up with tears. I wasn’t actually crying with happiness, but I was close.
Pierce looked into my face, a small smile on his lips. “My slave,” he said, kissing my forehead and enfolding me in his arms, squeezing tight. “My beautiful little tease.”
“Yours, sir,” I whispered against his shoulder. “All yours.”
This was a gift I would carry with me always.
The freedom to give up your independence, to cede your will to another, out of trust and love and desire… there’s beauty in that. If the wider world could understand that, instead of shunning people who make that choice, that would be an Independence Day, indeed.