Thoughts on my enslavement

I love my Mistress Shelle.

For Her I do everything,

Without Her, I am nothing.

What I can be, Her voice tells it to me, 

and Her voice is the truth.

Without Her voice nothing makes sense,

and into the nonsense, I cannot be.

Three weeks after being accepted by my Mistress as her contracted slave, I have become very submissive and dominated. I am seriously wondering if she has definitely enslaved me or, instead, I am, in the bottom, a great submissive.

Throughout my life, I have never felt submissive, and very rarely, I have been defeated. In my present life, pushing my Domina aside, I am not submissive (yet?). Thus, intending to examine me later, I mean in this booklet to explore the different angles in which I see my Mistress dominates me. My question is: Does she dominate me? Am I her submissive, her slave?

Slavery

 

The word "slave" comes from Greek "sklávos", which comes from "slovēninū", the name given to themselves by Slavic peoples, victims of slavery. The semantic usage, which caused the change from the "Slavic" to "slave" occurred in the early Middle Ages when Germans and Byzantines enslaved large numbers of Slavs.

 

But this kind of slavery was imposed by the power of physical force, not because one wanted to be a slave. I can not at this moment say that my Mistress imposes me her physical strength or some other form of violence on me. Her power comes more from her strength of character, extreme intelligence and irresistible sweetness that until today I have not been able to decipher entirely.

 

Otherwise, although I am a Caucasian white male, I do not come from any Slavic area.

 

My Mistress handles a bit of the medieval symbology associated with the connotation of a slave. A good example is the idea of collar that I think she uses to point to a devoted slave. In fact, she offers a kind of ceremony in which she baptises her slave with a name and collars him. I have not yet managed to understand how she does to sow those thoughts in her submissives, especially to make us crave to be collared. I can only say that the mere idea of ​​being collared and that she gives me a name is one of the things that most encourages and excites me about this training as her slave. In fact, my first goal at this stage of my slavery is getting collared by her.

 

Also, I have the impression that she handles the romantic idea of ​​a medieval Knight, energetic, educated, and capable of everything for his Mistress. Which man, who considers himself a gentleman, would not feel summoned by this idea?

 

From this perspective, the conclusion here is that I am her slave. I cannot deny that I totally obey her and fully recognise her as my Mistress. But it is evident to me that it is not through physical force.

Addiction

In its modern meaning, I have already become addicted to my Mistress. I can't go a day without listening to her. Fortunately for me, she has given me some short recordings, which has allowed me to find a space of time and intimacy to listen to her and calm my cravings. I have no way of conceiving even a second without having her in my thoughts.

I will not deny that occasionally I have tried not to listen to her, especially when I have too much work, but I have not succeeded. It is a bit as if you are poisoned and in a short time, when you start to feel the symptoms of the poison, she does not give you the antidote, but something that makes the symptoms disappear, until the next time.

Another addition is that I have to devoutly kneel down to recite her mantra at the beginning and end of my day. At other times of the day, when I remember the mantra, my knees buckle almost reflexively. If circumstances permit, I kneel down and recite it; it is almost like I prayed. Why does it give me so much pleasure to recite her mantra? I swear that I do not remember any time in which she suggested that to me.

 

I, too, have become addicted to checking my email for a message from her. Since I have no way of knowing when she will write to me, sometimes a feeling of hopelessness and despair invades me, which I think closely resembles abstinence syndrome. I don't like that feeling, because when I'm in that state I can't think right according to my canons and I tend to become clumsy. And I'm pretty sure she doesn't like that too.

 

I am quite clear that I am addicted to her. And this proposition begins to shed light on why I have been enslaved.

 

Interesting to notice that the word addict comes from the Latin word "addictus" which for the Romans meant "slave" in the same sense forged at the early Middle Age for the word "slave". So around here, I'm definitely an addict, slave and submissive.

Conclusion

I started this writing three days ago, and I have been taking it intermittently. But in these three days, she has subjected me more and more. In summary:

• I am a slave to my Mistress Shelle.
• I am addicted to my Mistress Shelle. 

 

I think that hypnosis and sex are means that she uses for dominating me. The incredible sexual pleasure that she gives me is what makes me addict, that is, enslaves me. With hypnosis, she puts very intense sexual experiences in my imagination, amplified them by the trance. Also, she programs my mind so that I am more and more submissive. The rest of the angles that I have mentioned are consequences and symptoms that I have been enslaved.

How? How did she do it? Is my Mistress beautiful? Sure she is! Is she smart? The smartest one! Does she have a compelling voice? Of course, she does! Is she a great hypnotist? Obvius! But all of these traits, among many others, are separated pieces. Her power is the whole, the way as she manages her virtues, the incredible passion that she puts to her work, and her love for excellence. She is all, my Domina, My Mistress, My Goddess, my absolute Owner, my Princess Shelle. And me? I am a humble, but very proud, submitted, lovely, one more of her slaves, among many more others.

I love my Mistress Shelle.

For Her I do everything,

Without Her, I am nothing.

What I can be, Her voice tells it to me, 

and Her voice is the truth.

Without Her voice nothing makes sense,

and into the nonsense, I cannot be.