Reflections of a Slave

I am standing in front of the full length mirror. Looking at my naked body. Well, it’s no longer my body I’m looking at. It belongs to Him. I am a slave. And I am owned. There have been so many changes to this body in the 6 months since I came willingly to Him. I look at my long, dark hair. I had always kept it long. It reached to the middle of my back. But He no longer allows me to cut it. It now reaches down to my butt. There is a slender, black collar locked snuggly around my neck. I reach up to the back of my neck and touch the lock there. He keeps the key on His key ring. It only comes off when He chooses to put on a heavier play collar.

My hands run down my chest to my breasts. I lightly tug on the nipple rings that He placed there. There was a time when I had asked for them and was told no. But then He became interested in pony play. And He decided that His pretty pony needed to have them. I never wanted to be a pony. But then, when I became His, it wasn’t about what I wanted anymore. I am a slave. I have no rights. I only have those privileges that my Master gives to me. I look once more at my breasts. There are some faint marks still visible from the whipping I got a couple of weeks ago.

I run my hands down my belly, which also bear the marks of a past whipping. In fact, I can’t remember a time anymore when there aren’t marks on my body. I have the weekly atonement sessions that I must endure. Every Saturday morning I am punished for my misdeeds during the week. Friday nights have become very hard for me. I sleep very little. Knowing what’s in store for me in the morning. The tears usually start before He ever lays a hand on me. Because I know what’s coming. I’m taken downstairs to the basement. He takes the cuffs on my wrists and attaches them to a chain that He raises. He attaches my ankles to a spreader bar and then raises my arms so that I can barely stand on my tiptoes. And then it begins.

I think of those atonement sessions. Spending sometimes hours accepting my punishment. Thinking of His hands. And how they can give extreme pleasure or extreme pain. I willingly submit to this. This is the life I want. The life I need. These marks on my body fill me with such peace and contentment. I know that if I told that to some of my friends they would think I’m crazy. But I’m not. This is what makes me happy.

My eyes travel from my belly to my cunt. I see the six gold rings. Three on each side of my cunt lips. I can feel the seventh gold ring in the hood of my clit. I remember when Master first told me that He desired this type of piercing. I didn’t want them. I cried for the longest time thinking about them. But I knew that if I was going to submit to Him, I had to give my all. To do those things I didn’t want. I remember crying the day He took me to get them done. But He just wiped my tears and told me that this was what He wanted and it would be done. That it was an outward sign of my slavery. And that I should be proud to wear them. And now when I look at them, I am proud. They show that I am owned.

I turn around and look at my back. There are many marks there. Also from atonement sessions. But some of these marks came from Master’s desire to hurt me. To illicit my tears. I also have a deep desire to be hurt. Some would call this abuse. And I suppose it is. But it is abuse I crave. These marks travel from my shoulders down to my thighs. I remember the pain of receiving them, but I also look at them with joy. They are a sign of Master’s love. For if He did not care for me, there would be no marks. There would only be indifference from Him. The last mark on my body is the tattoo He placed there. No tribal tattoo or Chinese symbol for slave. But words that make my heart soar. Right there on my butt cheek “Property of Jack”. Because that is what I am. He owns every part of me. My heart, my soul, and my body. All are His now. And they will always be His.

I turn from the mirror and pick of the clothes He has laid out for me. I slide my stockings up my legs, attaching them to the garter belt. I put on my bra. I then finish getting dressed. Wearing the skirt and blouse He desires today.

I look back in the mirror. All the marks and outward signs of my slavery covered, except my collar. No one just glancing at me would see me as anything other than a well-dressed woman. But deep inside, I know what I am. And more importantly. I know who I belong to.