After a year of solitude and deprivation
this man returned to the door of the Beloved.
A voice from within asked: ‘Who is there?’
The man said: ‘It is Thou.’
The door was opened for him.”
Imagine you’re walking in a torrential rainstorm on a dark forested hill. You’ve been hiking for hours and your legs ache. It’s approaching winter and the weather is cold and bleak. Due to the low, heavy clouds and thickening mist, you’re not really sure where you are. Heavy raindrops are striking the leaves, making a pleasant hissing sound. While you appreciate the beautiful vista of windswept trees and low patches of fog lingering on the hills below the forbidding purple sky, it is getting dark, starting to storm, and you are wet, cold, hungry, and exhausted. Every few minutes you think you hear rolling thunder and sometimes a lightning strike displays the darkening landscape. You really wish you were sitting by a crackling fire at this moment, with a hot meal in front of you and perhaps a good book or pleasant companion to accompany it, comfortably listening to the rain hit the roof and windows outside this warm, safe shelter.
Suddenly, in the distance, you hear, very faintly, the sound of tinkling wind chimes. They have no particular melody, but they sound beautiful and mysterious. They give you hope and remind you that amid this stunning but inhospitable landscape something human exists. You aren’t doomed to wander these desolate hills forever. Perhaps just around the corner there is a town with a warm, welcoming tavern or restaurant. Perhaps you’ll run across a country road and a kind individual who can give you a ride to such a place. Or maybe there’s a peaceful, unlocked church ahead into which you can slip to get out of the drenching rain.
If you’d like to hear this for yourself, try this link.
I liken the sounds of the wind chimes heard on a cold, stormy night to that of a loyal, devoted a slave repeating her mantra, her words of devotion to her master, as all around her the stormy wilderness of selfish, demanding ego, the me-centric attitudes, the incessant drums of desire, and the extreme hubris of common humanity (including herself, at times) rages unchecked. The random noise of everyone out for himself or herself, everybody trying to fulfill themselves and reach their own personal potential, the standard “me first” call of our culture, has its own sort of beauty, just as a tempestuous storm does, but it can quickly become exhausting. The mindless, selfish, plodding, cacophonic tones of “each man for himself” can drain those exposed to them day after day of warmth, energy, and wonder, making us forget what makes life really worth living. The haunting wind chimes of a slave’s spoken mantra remind her that there is another path she can take, a path that leads to calm valleys of sanity, humanity, generosity, and love. The clear, clean tones of loyalty and willing obedience ring faintly but purely behind all the chaotic, me-centered madness that is modern, ordinary life.
What’s in a Mind?
Have you ever opened your computer or your phone just to look up one tiny bit of information, like “Will it rain today?” only to wake up an hour later, dazzled and distracted, with the question you sought to research still unanswered because you surrendered to the siren call of online entertainment, shopping, pleasurable research, or socializing? Thoughts, for most of us, tend to be fleeting and vague. Like incense smoke they whirl and eddy through our minds, blown by often imperceptible impulses, influences, and impressions. These mental and emotional breezes alter our focus, whisk away our concentration, and dissolve firm intentions. While the numbing, media-induced “lost hours” feeling may be an extreme example, many of us in our daily lives constantly lose touch with the bigger picture: who we are, what we are trying to accomplish overall, what activities or goals are really important. A certain train of thought or an intention, while it may seem very significant at the times it occurs, can, like a narrow plume of incense, quickly dissipate from memory. Thoughts flit into our minds, engage our attention, inspire us, make us feel as though we understand something profound and could never forget it, and then vanish into the darkness of forgetfulness or distraction. We are left wondering why it was we felt so strongly about the idea, assuming we can remember it at all. That once clear meaning or passionate intention is now beyond our grasp.
Everyone experiences losing an idea or straying from an important goal at times, even those with good memories. Some people, like slaves, may experience it more than others as they are often required during their day to drop everything, break their focused concentration, and perform a task their masters want done immediately. Even when not interrupted, working slaves often routinely carry in their minds a large list of duties they are required to perform, along with a mental timetable of when each needs doing during the day or week. Slaves will frequently interrupt themselves and banish whatever they are currently thinking or doing from consciousness in order to pull up that timetable and check whether it’s time to put the laundry on, to make dinner, to go shopping, or to do other work their owners have assigned them. A slave who works outside the home must focus on the requirements of her job during the workday and then the commands of her master at all other times. She keeps two timetables in her head and sometimes the two overlap and compete.
People vary widely in how long they can concentrate but, no matter how focused someone is, if there’s an unexpected interruption, like a fire alarm going off in the building or a family member with a pressing request many will lose their current train of thought because attention has to be focused on the immediate needs of the moment. Sometimes one can regain those set-aside musings, but often only a faint sense of them remains in the memory—maybe a single word or just a vague feeling in place of the original idea. With our minds ever switching to new thoughts, stimuli, experiences, wishes, and plans, it’s as if we wander, although awake, through a dream world, where the lands, skies, and beings around us change radically with every step we take as they assume the colors and forms of our inner landscape.
As I’ve written the last few paragraphs I’ve also gotten up several times: twice to change laundry, once to check email, another time to place fresh sheets on the bed, and still another time to use the restroom. These interruptions are acceptable and necessary (housework comes before almost everything else in my Master’s home) but sometimes, when going off to do such tasks, I lose my current train of thought and it is a struggle to bring it back, even though, as a professional writer, I’m trained in the arts of concentration and the harnessing of short-term memory. And yet, these work distractions have a good side: they bring me back to physical reality and ground me. They put me in touch with the real world that becomes dim when writing abstractly or doing almost anything on a computer.
“Mantras are…an intersection of language and ritual.”
–Robert A. Yelle
As a seasoned but very much owned writer who hasn’t the luxury to lock herself away in a den or attic and just create for hours on end, I don’t overly worry about the loss of a great idea. I usually know in general what I want to say and I know that even if I can’t remember the previous way I was going to talk about it, I’ll invent a new way of saying it. Usually all it takes is to start typing and my fingers take care of the rest. Writing is simple for me because it is a task I’ve trained myself to perform: I easily immerse in and disengage from the writing state as needed.
Unlike writing, however, there are certain core concepts associated with emotions that are very important for a slave to feel, experience, and always remember in the form in which they are first presented. These ideas are also easy to lose track of in the day-to-day routine of a heavily controlled life. Without an ability to keep such ideas in the forefront of her mind, even the most committed slave, particularly in the technology-driven attention-fragmented culture we live in, can start to stray, can start to think thoughts that are much less about her master’s pleasure and goals and far more about her own, can start to feel rebellious, bored, impatient with how he does things; eager for him to leave her alone so she can pursue her fascinating hobbies or interests; and occasionally feeling sad or frightened that her feelings of commitment and devotion seem to be waning. A slave can drift in this way. She can come to feel less of a slave as the ideas, routines, burdens, and pleasures of living as an intelligent being, particularly in a culture madly addicted to distraction and pleasure, fight for her attention.
These small moments of straying from the path of deep devotion are not individually dangerous. Anyone who puts another person’s desires before her own experiences such feelings and thoughts flashing through her consciousness upon occasion. Each of us has learned since childhood to develop and support our ego and to place our personal desires and wishes foremost—except in circumstances where that is culturally frowned upon. This approach is even praised as “healthy self-love.” Unlearning all of that takes time and practice and without anything to stop the slow seepage of “What about me?” thoughts into a slave’s mind, they can start to color her impulses and motives a shade that is very different from the one she started out with. Selfish ideas most unbecoming to a service-oriented mindset will start to visit more frequently once invited in. They will get stronger and invoke stronger feelings, slowly poisoning her overall attitude toward her master and eroding her sense of the sacred duty of serving and obeying the man she once worshiped and craved with all of her soul. “I come first” ideas can become habitual, fixed patterns of thought, even in (or maybe particularly in) a slave who tries to hide the existence of such thoughts from herself. When that happens it’s not too long before self-centered behavior starts to emerge. The most frightening thing is that if she is not particularly self-observant, a slave won’t even see this coming. She will not grasp that the negative, self-centered, and hostile thoughts she is starting to think are signs of something wrong, treacherous enemies that are best destroyed as soon as they poke their leering heads from the chthonic mud of her Id. If she doesn’t immediately recognize and resist these foes, she may start to believe the compelling “you need to serve and please yourself!” devils whispering in her ear.
This is the point where mantras can play a vital role. While mantras aren’t the only tool by which a slave can stem a slow, potential slide toward rebellion, self-delusion, and subversion, they are one of the best. A sound, carefully thought-out mantra creates a seawall, as it were, in the brain: a strong, secure barrier that keeps out the worst of the disloyal, angry, self-serving, demanding, disobedient thoughts that, if left unchecked, will destroy a slave’s goodwill and best intentions. It does so not by ordering one’s mind “not to think bad thoughts” but by filling it up with good, productive thoughts, ideas, and associated feelings or memories that make her recognize and love her enslavement ever more as time passes. A strong mantra can eventually stop such thoughts from appearing at all simply by making the slave forget to think them. She forgets to think them because they clash so harshly with the positive, giving, loving thoughts in her mantra. In master-slave relationships, a mantra is not a rigid, artificial recitation of self-affirmation of how beautiful, strong, or competent one is—although some misguided individuals may confuse it for that. It’s also not a generic set of phrases that anyone can say at any time and derive benefit from. One slave’s mantra, while perfect for her, is often inappropriate for another slave, because it does not touch that slave’s individual core. It doesn’t accurately describe who she is and what she needs. When done right, a slave’s mantra is a custom prescription designed for one specific individual, not a generic personality aspirin applicable to all.
I’ve read the accounts of slaves who say mantras and, from what I’ve observed, every master-slave couple who employs this tool does it in their own unique way. Some understand the necessity of a mantra being unique and relevant to the individual saying it. Others don’t grasp the importance of this and grab mantras they find online or ask other slaves to recite theirs, then carefully and greedily record the words as if they were magic, one-size-fits-all talismans that work for everyone. Rather than choosing unique words that increase the slave’s devotion and desire to serve a particular man, some slaves are told to repeat routine affirmative phrases taken from a popular “feel-good psychology for the masses” book or website that either increase vanity and self-love, or, if she is realistic enough not to buy what the mantra is saying, increase self-doubt and even awaken serious questions about a “master” who would assign her such generic and inappropriate “always put myself first” rubbish to repeat. From having experienced first-hand the effects of a highly successful mantra, I have seen that there are certain principles which, if applied to a mantra’s creation and recitation, make it much more effective.
Mantra Defined: “that part of the Vedas which contains hymns,” from Sanskrit mantra-s “sacred message or text, charm, spell, counsel,” literally “instrument of thought,” related to manyate “thinks,” from PIE root *men- “to think”
—Online Etymology Dictionary
As with many things that concern a slave, the effectiveness of her mantra depends a lot upon the perceptiveness of her master and his ability to weave together the thoughts she most needs to hear and to repeat in order to become a better slave to him. Yes, by this statement I am implying that a slave does not, ever, write her own mantra, if she and her master want it to be effective. Writing her own mantra has about the same (non) effect on a slave as being told that she must always discipline herself, because her master cannot be bothered with such “trivial” matters. Those BDSM couples who play these sorts of “the slave should dominate herself” games suffer huge losses, but they can spend years or even decades never knowing it because they’re far too vain to consider themselves anything but the most exemplary masters and slaves who ever lived, no matter how conventionally lacking in male control their relationships actually are.
What is Brainwashing?
For those who think mantras are a little too close to brainwashing or mind manipulation, consider this: we’re all conditioned to some degree—and many of us to a very great degree—whether we recognize it or not. We all have jingles, slogans, virals, memes, advertising blurbs, belief systems, prejudices, biases, fixed ideas and strong opinions about what’s good or bad, right or wrong, interesting or boring, running around in our heads. Where did all these ideas, beliefs, and opinions come from? Contrary to popular theory about how individuals through force of will make themselves what they are, most of the ideas we see as integral parts of ourselves came to us in childhood and youth from outside sources when our minds were more open and more easily subjected to indoctrination. Most children uncritically accept the ideas suggested to them from various authority figures, whether they are good ideas or terrible ones. At age four, one of my sisters completely absorbed the racism of a great aunt whom she stayed with for a couple of months. To this day she hates, fears, and despises people who are a darker color than herself. She tells offensive jokes, bitterly repeats false opinions about “their” natures, and seems genuinely surprised when others are disgusted by her behavior. To her, this irrational, curdling hatred of a huge group of human beings is natural and sensible, the gospel truth. Many young adults become indoctrinated when they go off to college or get their first job and adopt the ideas and attitudes of charismatic individuals around them or people whom they admire. They adopt these ideas in order to set themselves apart from their parents and the rest of their family, to become “individuals.” Much later in life they forget that this adoption was only a nest-leaving tool, a necessity of growth and separation, and are convinced either that they came up with these ideas themselves or, even worse, that they are these ideas, not that they simply mimicked someone “cool” when they were young and impressionable in order to create an identity separate from their family’s view of them.
Some of this indoctrination, harmless or not, gets stuck in our brains forever. A slave, when she submits to a master and repeats the mantra he gave her, is freer than most free people: while others just blindly ingest random but powerful ideas that will greatly influence their lives in the present or in years to come, a slave very consciously and deliberately chooses the form her deepest conditioning will take—and who will instill it. Quite often she knows she is being conditioned, brainwashed to a degree, but she doesn’t mind because it’s a type of programming she’s craved and needed for a good part of her life. Wouldn’t it be nice if we all could all say the same about the random convictions and hidden prejudices that robotically run us and dictate our actions?
The Genesis of a Mantra
Saying my mantra is a permanent recurring element in my life that never goes away. It never changes. It’s immensely reassuring, increases my feelings of submission and awe toward my Master, and reminds me of the most important elements of my enslavement. Long before I lived with Him, my Master wrote my initial mantra, had me repeat it after Him at a very significant moment in my life, then ordered me to memorize it and say it daily. I was so proud and happy to be given these words to say. During the long period when I did not live with my Master, my orders were to speak the mantra out loud every night, at 9:00 p.m., for 45 minutes. Originally I repeated it just before bed, but I was tired then and, despite my best efforts, would sometimes fall asleep. So my Master moved the time back a few hours, and I no longer dozed off. It was not always convenient to say the mantra at that time. Sometimes I even felt sad because I missed going to the movies, photographing a sunset, or experiencing other events that occurred around that time. Nevertheless, I was required, every night, to kneel down and repeat my mantra, unless there was an unusual emergency (and even then I had to clear it with my Master if it wasn’t immediately life-threatening). I found that requirement thrilling and fulfilling. I loved having my time so deeply controlled. Thus, I took this mandate from Him very seriously.
“Mantras have some features in common with spells in general, in that they are a translation of the human will or desire into a form of action.”
– Psychology Wiki, discussing the writing of Dr. Edward Conze
I repeated my mantra, which takes slightly under a minute to repeat, over and over, and as the days, weeks, and then months turned into years, the words sank deeper and deeper into my brain. There was nothing in the words that I disagreed with or found unpleasant. Nothing in my mantra struck me as dissonant to my true personality or desires. In fact, I loved the words. I wanted to be a simple slave, live completely for my Master, and not overthink. I’ve never had any purpose in my life that revolved entirely around my own goals or aspirations. I couldn’t care less about my personal achievements or advancement. I’ve always cared far most about the people I have been close to that myself: I get my kicks from seeing them happy, or at least comfortable, filling their needs, making their wishes come true. That’s the best stuff in the world. It’s what I love the most. I’ve known this about myself since I was a very young child.
I knew that slavery to this marvelous Man would be my salvation. I knew that long before I first recited my mantra. His depth of understanding when it came to controlling others was extraordinary. He’d written extensively about the subject in many different online venues and I read every word I could find of His. I’d never met anyone before with that much knowledge and practical experience with being a master. I loved the idea of having no desire, save His: losing myself in Him. My idea of heaven on earth is becoming as unaware and unthinking of myself and my desires as I can possibly become and living only for another. I love being in the position of supplicant, the beggar who waits for the glorious superior’s approval or concession—or even for His presence. What turns me on most in life and feels most right is being under the complete control of another human being. I took the recitation of my first mantra very seriously. I never missed a day. I never found (or invented) “terribly important reasons” why I couldn’t say it on a given day, but I did ask Him if I could stop should the house ever be on fire. He gave me permission to do that. I never imagined I could stop saying it simply because He wasn’t closely checking up on this every day. No sly, lazy games like that were played here, given the preciousness of the gift and Who it came from.
And then, when I least expected it, He made me His slave. Shortly after that, He gave me a new mantra, a series of statements which confirmed the vows I had spoken when He enslaved me. Some of the phrases were similar to my first early mantra, but many were new. I was overjoyed with this new mantra because I loved the words and I knew how they would affect me as I repeated them over the years, thousands and tens of thousands of times. When I am not with Him, I am required to say my mantra each night. I say it at other times, as well, such as when I am allowed to masturbate, when I want to calm myself or make myself feel positive and happy, and, of course, whenever I am told to say it.
Meditations on My Mantra
Here is the mantra my Master has given me to say, which I now repeat on a daily basis when I am not with Him:
I am a simple cunt.
Without You, Master, I am nothing.
I love You and serve You, Master, wholly and unconditionally.
As a female, I acknowledge my natural place in submission to You, Master.
I will worship and obey You until death, Master.
I renounce all my freedoms and possessions in serving You, Master.
I live solely and selflessly for Your pleasure, happiness, and gain, Master.
I am Your slave, Master.
I love being Your slave, Master.
I love You, Master.
Thank You, Master, for giving my life meaning.
The next sections will discuss my current mantra in more detail, line after line in an attempt to convey some of the power of this simple but extremely effective tool of enslavement. While it was specifically crafted for me and wouldn’t have the right effect on a different person, I’d like to describe some of what these words have done to me over the years and express some of the thoughts and feelings they have inspired. I must repeat, these words are not a magic talisman that automatically opens Ali Baba’s cave of submissive treasure to all comers. Like hypnosis, a mantra works only when the mind experiencing it is willing, open, and desires the changes it can bring. Because these words were written with my personality in mind and because I have happily and willingly repeated them for years they have had a profound effect on the ways that I think—and do not think. Some may find certain phrases surprising. Like the first one:
I am a simple cunt.
This first line of my mantra may seem a little shocking to those with more delicate sensibilities, . But to me it is a direct and humble statement of truth. I am female, and that is most clearly defined, not because I merely imagine myself to be female, but because of the shape of the physical genitalia between my legs. I have a vagina, a cunt. Yes, the “C word” is viewed as more derogatory than vagina, but my Master prefers the term “cunt,” and, therefore, so do I. But what about the “simple” part? Like many women who were handed out a dollop of intelligence during the random, stately dance of the chromosomes, I tend to overthink things and overcomplicate my life and others’ lives with this overthinking. I have tendencies to worry unnecessarily, think negative, defeatist, conservative thoughts, and imagine my worst fantasies are real. I’ve never liked the way irrational and sometimes overwhelmingly negative emotions of this nature can turn what is innately a gift (intelligence) into a drama-causing, havoc-wrecking curse. Slavery is a very simple business. It is actually one of the simplest things a person can do. The master commands and the slave obeys, to the best of her ability. That’s all that’s required to be a slave. In fact, that’s all that’s required to be a stellar slave.
And yet, given the personal histories I hear about online or in person, most women who try this sort of life find this simple act of obedience the most difficult thing they have ever had to do—and they fail at it, repeatedly, despite its simplicity. They cannot simply obey even the easiest of commands. Why is that? In my experience, it’s usually because the waters between their ears are rather muddied. They want to obey… but oh they want so much else as well and they imagine they can have the one thing (genuine obedience) without excluding anything else (selfishness, jealousy, possessiveness, nagging, attachment to non-essential things, overly critical attitudes, etc.). Imagine what would happen if a person in medical school was also studying to be a lawyer, a physicist, an astronaut, a Wall Street trader, a painter, and a professional juggler all at the same time. Would anything ever get learned? Would this multi-disciplinary learner accomplish anything significant in any one of these fields? Better yet, imagine someone going out to dinner at a restaurant and wanting the roast beef and the veal cutlet and the baked cod and the spaghetti and some pork fried rice and fried chicken and a chef salad all at the same time. How could their stomachs cope?
Now imagine the numerous females one often meets in the BDSM byways who claim they want to absolutely serve and obey a dominant man…but wait! He’s got to treat them like a little girl. And he’s got to let them keep their careers intact. Of course, her relationships with her family and close friends are off limits to his control. And naturally, he’s got to financially and emotionally support this self-described “slave,” rather than, as is traditional in slavery, her supporting the master materially and taking care of her own emotional issues. He must also “respect” her vile, vindictive, irrational, destructive moods. Well, OK, let’s be kind and call them what she will call them: “highly sensitive and intelligent reaction to deeply scaring life traumas in her past.” Finally, there had better not be any other slaves in his life, or, if there are, he will be required to abandon them for her (the sooner, the better). After that, he better marry her to cement her control, er, enslavement, or she will kick his “sorry masterly ass” to the curb. Is there any room left amid all of that demanding self-centeredness for true slavery, loving obedience and real service?
Even for a woman who isn’t as bad off as that, even for someone who is actually trying hard to serve, love, and obey, the temptation to overthink obedience is very strong. This is particularly true for women used to using their brains a lot in other areas of life. While intelligence can be good for slavery in certain contexts (for example, it can help a slave to ask relevant questions, understand the answers, and that, in turn, will make it easier for her to obey), in most areas intelligence, particularly if it doesn’t flow deep enough, is disastrous. Intelligence, in most modern females does not run very deep and is joined at the hip with hubris: pride for—to be honest—rather half-baked ideas. Even the sort of woman most consider to be “pretty dumb bunnies” consider themselves these days, thanks to feminist propaganda, to be intellectually superior to most males.
In service to my Master I am free of all the confusing nonsense caused by an incoherent and greedy ego running rampant in a brain unable to think critically. All I have to do is obey His commands. If I don’t understand how to obey, I am not permitted to agonize over it or try figure it out on my own. I don’t need to rely on my own brains, I just need to ask for clarification. He expects me not to understand: I’m female, after all! Slavery is so very, very simple: I’m just a warm body under His control, fulfilling His will. Knowing that down to my core (not just paying it pretty lip-service), I mentally bow down and let Him do the thinking for me. I don’t presume, I don’t guess, I try very hard not to agonize over anything He orders. I simply ask Him for clarification, when needed. He always has an answer, and, about half the time, it’s not the one I anticipated. I like that a lot because it reminds me of how very much I still don’t know. By not thinking, I am not tempted to decide for Him, and by not deciding for Him, I am not trying to control Him. Instead He is controlling me, always. And so, for an intelligent slave who might be tempted to misuse her intelligence, “I am a simple cunt” is a strong reminder both of her humble origins and also of what makes her most happy.
For those who are deeply offended or even mildly irritated by the term “cunt,” just what is the big deal here? A woman who has humbled herself before her lord and master will accept whatever he wants to call her. It’s just a word, and anyone can get over their negative associations with it—if they want to bad enough. Yes, cunt, a synonym for female genitalia, is a crude and dismissive word in overall culture. It reduces a woman who has far higher ideas about herself to the soft, warm cavity between her legs that men find so delicious: that is the simple reality of her. That cavity is why she is a man’s slave, rather than another man being his slave. To be described in terms of her sex in a way that is unforgettably raw and sexual puts her in touch with a core reality about herself, a reality most women who pride themselves on their putative intelligence choose to ignore, except when it becomes convenient during a seduction campaign. There were times, especially at the beginning, when I felt ashamed to call myself a cunt. But it quickly became natural. Yes, I have been lowered and degraded, minimized until all I am is my sex: a cunt, but I have grown to love this, to love being a cunt and a simple one at that. I am so glad I have been spared the proud, lonely misery of the emancipated female.
While “I am a simple cunt” is one of my favorite lines in my mantra, it wasn’t always so. For the first few months that I said it, it felt strange, like an article of clothing that didn’t fit quite right. I am simple? I would love to be simple, I used to think. But I didn’t think I was. I did not find the phrase abhorrent, just odd in a “is this really me?” sort of way. But as I repeated the words, over and over and over again, I began to see how very simple my emotions were inside. And I loved that fact. Repetition is one of a mantra’s most powerful features. Like waves washing over stone, repetition eventually wears down one’s resistance to an idea, removes all the hard, jagged opposition into smooth acceptance. But here is the catch and here is where my Master was a genius with His composition: if the phrase had not described something that was actually part of who I really was inside (or craved to be), it would not have taken hold even if I’d repeated it for decades. A part of me would always know it was false and a lie. And that part would have responded with an inner argument or at very least become extremely confused. But what actually happened as I said this phrase was that I recognized something that had always been inside me: an area of my personality that was very simple, clear and open. Someone once called this part of my personality “a calm quiet still pool.” My Master also saw this in me and helped bring me back into contact with it.
Without You, Master, I am nothing.
A slave without a master would be a ridiculous figure, an impossible creation of her own fervid imagination of a humbled reality without anything to make one humble, owned property. A submissive woman cannot dominate herself, although many do try when they don’t yet have a master or when the man they serve is not really controlling them. When a woman tries to submit without a master or to a man who doesn’t crave owning a woman as much as she craves being owned, she always fails. However passionately or eloquently she might talk about the theory of submission, with nothing outside herself to motivate her, to move toward, with no one to please with her service, she is empty and her efforts meaningless. Something inside her knows this. But women, even deeply submissive women, often come heavily burdened with pride in their abilities, their intelligence, their insight, their competence and independence. In a state of heady denial they’ll claim that their submission is for any other reason besides the fact that they absolutely need the control and management of a strong man and feel worthless without it. She’s doing it “all for him” because she’s just unselfish that way. She submits merely because she wants to “make him happy.” She doesn’t need to serve, but she finds the self-discipline of service to a man she admires “useful to her personal self-growth.” Or maybe her story is that she’s not really submissive at all. In fact, she’s been forced into slavery and is compelled to serve him, even though “it really isn’t me, I’m actually deeply dominant. It’s just that… well, he’s stronger.” Hear the crass, self-congratulating ego talking in these statements? Hear the absurd denial of reality, the self-deceptive refusal to acknowledge one’s natural submissive nature and desire to obey? For some women, thinking of themselves as needy and dependent just doesn’t jive with their overweening self-regard. Submission to a man is, to such confused females, an expression of their brilliant inward creativity. Or it’s a great but safe adventure, an exploration that she controls and directs by deciding how much she will submit and when. Or she’s doing it as a course of personal self-development. Oh, the myriad forms self-delusion takes, particularly when a female is unwilling to admit to and accept her own natural needs. While the self-congratulating excuses and explanations many submissive women and even slaves give for their raw need to be controlled are legion, that doesn’t change the fact that the real reason most of them are submitting to and serving a man—a particular man—is because they need to. Without a strong man to worship and serve in their lives, they have no sense of purpose. Everything is meaningless, dull, drab. Life holds no relish. Due to habitual and strongly encouraged personal pride and high self-opinion, this can be a hard admission to make, even to oneself.
All of that may be why my Master wrote this line into my mantra. Every time I repeat this line, I am reminded why I chose to be His slave in the first place. It’s not for entertainment or to become a better person. I’m not here against my will, nor because I’m a compulsive people-pleaser who just happened to randomly wind up under this particular Man’s control. I am here, serving Him, because doing so is the only thing that fills my life with meaning and purpose. I could not get this same sense of meaningfulness from contributing to a charity or doing some other group tasks. But serving this individual Man completely feels like the only thing I have ever done right in my life. It deeply fulfills me and, were it to be taken away, I would be devastated. Life would be meaningless. Without Him, I would, truly, be nothing, as there would be no context in which to be my true self, the person I’ve always been inside but, for so many years, could never express to the world without being subjected to disgust, horror, boredom, or annoyance. He is my entire context for living.
This type of statement has very strong emotional ramifications for a sincere slave who knows in her heart it is the absolute truth. It will increase her dependence on her master, increase her conviction that she cannot live without him in her life in some form. If that delights him, all is well. But if the prospect makes a man nervous and stressed, he should probably think very carefully before reinforcing this sort of sincere conviction and dependence in a sincere and humble female. If she ever finds out that he really doesn’t want her so dependent on his every whim, that knowledge could crush her.
It is a wonderful and refreshing sensation to realize one’s nothingness before a powerful person greater than oneself. It frees the slave to worship him unabashedly. It also frees her from having to put on acts of independence or superiority, it frees her from having to impress him with her intelligence, wit, taste, style, experiences, or other features of that hard shell of false personality many of us wrap around ourselves and use to impress others in more conventional situations. If a strong and sane master finds a girl worth owning by his own estimation, then all she need do is obey him, trustingly and unquestioningly. If she does so, all else will follow, slow and smooth and easy. Absolute obedience is what gains a female like me acceptance from someone like my Master. When a slave knows she is nothing without her master’s presence, no act of obedience is beneath her. Everything she does becomes special, sacred, good, and of utmost importance because it is done in his service.
I love You and serve You, Master, wholly and unconditionally.
How does a female know if her love for another is real, truly unconditional, with no strings attached and nothing held back? Sure, she may have a strong feeling that it is so, but how much of that feeling is actually based on her beloved master loving her back, returning to her an amount of attention—if not love—that is almost as much as she gives him? And how can a conviction that one’s love is unconditional ever be tested in situations that are wholly conditional, such as an equally strong exchange of affections? The only way I know of to really test if the love I feel for someone is truly unconditional is to experience that love being permanently unrequited. That is the only experience I have ever discovered that clearly tests one’s ability to love to its absolute limits and determines what one’s professed love is really made of. Unconditional love is hard, so hard that in modern times it is considered a very undesirable condition, even, in some circles, a mental illness. While it is considered admirable to experience hardship when attempting difficult athletic feats or when fighting in a war or even when climbing a career ladder, we are trained these days to select our personal relationships based on criteria like sexual urges, softness, easiness, fun, safety, and wish-fulfillment. The great loves of our lives are supposed to be as reassuring and cozy as warm fuzzy blankets. Modern adult love relationships are often a lightly disguised attempt at a return to a carefree and riskless childhood where little is expected and most things accepted. But not unconditional love, of course. That experience runs entirely counter to the highly valued cozy, safe “return to childhood” ideal that most modern couples unconsciously prefer and support. Children are naively and charmingly selfish, after all. People who practice unconditional love are either praised as “saints” by those guilty souls who want to believe that it is impossible to emulate them or abhorred as deeply disturbed, and highly self-destructive individuals. It wasn’t always like this. Those attitudes which always put one’s own pleasure first and avoid the difficult at all costs are a relatively recent development in our culture. Unconditional love used to be a legitimate experience in human life. In fact, its practitioners were highly praised for their selflessness.
“Life shrinks from Death in woe and fear,
Though Death ends well Life’s bitter need.
So shrinks the heart when Love draws near,
As though ‘twere Death in very deed:
For wheresoever Love finds room,
There Self, the sullen tyrant, dies.
So let him perish in the gloom,—
Thou to the dawn of freedom rise”
Then along came the modern psychologies of self-love, personal promotion and the deadening, female-centric social attitude of smothering no-risk “Don’t forget your galoshes, dear!” safety above all else. These narcissistic and self-protective ideologies took grasp of the greedy and fearful parts of our hearts, making us feel that the worship of “Me” was the highest good obtainable to mankind, and that anything different—sacrifice, self-abnegation, suffering, giving constantly, not expecting or demanding anything in return—was mentally ill and downright dangerous! Unrequited love still exists, but the stories that get told about it, in modern movies, novels, or online blogs, are stories of illness, of aggression turned inward, of individuals not quietly experiencing the condition for the sake of one they love beyond all else, but trying with all their might to change their beloved into a form more acceptable to them, to “win” his affection at all cost. If a woman pretending unconditional love fails in her attempt, she immediately rejects the one she claimed she’d die for and tries to wreak vengeance upon him for not loving her “wonderful self” back. She returns full-circle to the “healthy” state of I-come-first narcissism. We live in a topsy-turvy world where millions claim to express unconditional love, but would scream and run away in rage and pain if they were ever to suspect that the object of their pallid, dependency-driven love did not love or respect them back to the same degree.
Into this ugly, upside-down world where hatred, wounded egos, and revenge are called “the greatest love,” wanders a slave, seeking to love, just to love, a worthy person and nothing else. A genuine slave, if she finds and is accepted by a master, loves him as completely as she is capable of without reservation, changes of mind or heart, without need to invent dramatic scenes that “prove” to her that he cares for her, just a little, in return. Because she is a slave, she does not expect, demand, or dream that he will love her back. This is what unconditional love is: a one-way channel of regard, energy, and devotion that does not require anything back in return. It flows continuously and is its own source of energy, requiring nothing except the existence of the individual that is loved (and sometimes not even that—such love can carry on long after his death) and it consumes itself, perpetually. Just loving him and expressing that love in service is more than enough reward. Nothing else is needed to keep it going. A wise master does not love his slaves as that love would, first and foremost, compromise his total control and, secondly, place in the slave’s mind self-doubt and uncertainty about whether she truly loves him with no strings attached or whether her love for him exists only because he loves her back. The master, while doing what is in his own best self-interest, actually gives the slave a wonderful gift: to experience what it is like to selflessly love someone with no concern for what else, besides that experience of loving, doing so will bring to her.
This line of my mantra reminds me of the importance of unconditional love and service in a world that is actively hostile to those practices. By repeating it, I combat the attempts of the outside culture and of certain poisoned individuals to dismiss my love by trying to logically tear it down or sow subtle doubts in my heart. Loving unconditionally is clearly not a “logical” choice for most people, however sane or rational it feels to me, personally. It is often an inspired decision that goes far beyond logic. That doesn’t make it wrong. It does, however, mean this love encompasses more than most people are used to dealing with. There is a danger of losing that sense of comprehensiveness, of being infected by the imperfect and self-serving arguments of the “halfway slaves” who would really rather that uncomfortable individuals like myself not be wandering around making them feel guilty because we love and serve our masters, wholly and unconditionally. We make their more self-centered love look bad.
As a female, I acknowledge my natural place in submission to You, Master.
When I was first given a mantra, this statement was the hardest one for me to say. The difficulty didn’t last long, but it was there. It felt very weird to say! I knew I was submissive to my Master because He knew so much more than me, but was I submissive simply because He was male and I was female? I didn’t get it, because at that time I hadn’t fully realized how deeply feminist indoctrination had conditioned me, even though I had consciously rejected most of its ideas as completely antithetical to my inner urges and feelings.
It took a lot of discussion, demonstration, and observation to fully understand this truth. Once I knew what to look for, I saw the good of a woman deferring to her man everywhere. I realize what a shocking statement this is to make at a time and in a culture where women are virtually worshiped as goddesses, but over the years I have seen repeated evidence that women’s minds, bodies, and hearts are happiest in service to men’s. For this reason, it feels right for me to acknowledge my place in relation to Him. Over the years I have known my Master I have done much research into the natures and abilities of both men and women. In His service I began noticing the disparities between the sexes everywhere and that inspired me to review the small but solid and growing body of research that supports the commonsense and clearly observable biologically-based differences between men and women. Some readers might find this evidence a little hard to swallow, but sometimes a strong denial of new information is a result of heavy indoctrination. In fact, there’s a growing and deeply disturbing irrational tendency among liberal “intellectuals” to try to discount any scientific discoveries or theories, however sound, that aren’t “politically correct” or supportive of their pet causes and personal and social biases. Anti-intellectualism is easy to laugh at in the primitive, religiously fanatic, or ignorant, but it’s genuinely shameful to see these same ugly biases so casually ignored in the halls of academia. Upper education has always reeked of self-serving one-upmanship, but it wasn’t until recently that the disease of blatant dishonesty, misinformation, and the sneaky cover-up of uncomfortable facts that don’t support one’s personal prejudices or “causes” entered institutions originally designed to uncover and communicate truth.
A woman’s emotional reality is often a confusing mess. She can be (and these days is often openly encouraged to be) vain, self-deceptive, and manipulative to a degree that she doesn’t, due to her culturally encouraged high self-regard, even recognize. She is often moody and learns early that she can effectively control others with those moods, particularly men who crave sex with her. Many women are ruthless when it comes to something they decide they must have: they will do anything to get their own way, even within their “loving, open, and honest” relationship with a man. The female of our species on average seems far less able to control her emotions than the average male. She throws screaming temper tantrums at times when men hold their tempers (and their tongues) far better. Men seem far more “live and let live” when it comes to their mates: they let many things pass that a woman would be up in arms about because they see the larger picture, the overall relationship, as more important than winning a petty battle of wills over something as trivial as who forgot to take out the garbage or what movie to see. If men decide to strike back at someone attacking them, they tend to pick the time and circumstances: they prefer to strike strategically, at the right moment, if it ever becomes necessary. Until then, they usually keep their cool. Most women do not have the impulse control for that: they’re used to being pampered princesses and insist on having their way, NOW, no matter what harm it brings to those around them. It’s been recorded as statistical fact, for instance, that females physically attack men and other women far more often than men do.
Despite being on average physically weaker, mentally less competent, and far more emotionally unstable, the average woman has enormous hubris thanks to the present, feminist-engendered goddess-worship culture: if any sex is superior, it is hers. Her pride also isn’t lessened by the fawning attention that any female, almost no matter what she looks like, gets if she posts pictures of her exposed body online. In the heady, addictive rush from this attention, she often confuses a testosterone-based physical attraction to her body for a deep appreciation of her mind and soul. If she says something it must be right because, after all, she’s female: the ideal and adored sex in a society that has, thanks to an aggressive misandric agenda, gone insane with female worship. Of course, feminist ideology completely backs up this and other ridiculous vanities.
A great deal of the average woman’s misplaced ego comes not from her accomplishments or from being the supposed superwoman modern media insists she is, but rather from the insane amount of male attention she gets (or once received) for being young, pretty, and having a vagina—although the political bias of Western culture toward her for being the preferred sex certainly doesn’t hurt. Women have always had a tremendous sexual advantage over men due to their different hormonal makeup: the majority of females do not crave sex as badly as men do, therefore a female can, and often does, coldly and passionlessly dangle her body tantalizingly before men, using it successfully to obtain favors or to bargain with, whether it be a flat tire changed or a slave wage-earner with a penis who supports her materially for life.
As our culture has changed over the last 50 years, women have become more and more openly and consciously willing to prostitute themselves, to “sell” men on their sex appeal. It’s now common these days for women who are not professional models or porn stars to post nude or semi-nude images or live videos of themselves online and then greedily gobble up the fawning attention (or even cash and gifts) they get for doing so. Despite the fact that they often have better paying jobs than many men, women still routinely use their physical appeal to get free drinks, food, rides, and assistance from males, only paying them back or returning the favor when they absolutely have to. They take this life of privilege, worship, and free gifts almost entirely for granted. Even when they age and their looks fade they remember how special they were treated by men and most conclude from all this that it is because they are truly remarkable and superior individuals rather than just a body with a particularly attractive piece of plumbing—at least to half of the human race.
Because of this pervasive culture of female superiority, it is very difficult for a woman to admit these days that she wants to be genuinely submissive to a “mere” man. But to serve a man fully and completely, rather than just playing at being a slave to a male she secretly considers her equal or maybe even an inferior, a woman needs to accept those natural abilities of the average man that often exceed her own: his comparative physical strength, his calm and honorable personality, his superior rationality and ability to think clearly without emotion clouding his thoughts, his practical abilities to build, to create, and to fix things which often far exceed her own, and, if he is honestly dominant, his exceptional talent in leadership. The average man’s calm, rational temperament is far more suited to leading others, strategizing, and planning for the future than a volatile female’s. The average woman’s high sensitivity to emotional cues makes her better than a man at nurturing and managing human relations on a small, intimate scale. Women, with their keen emotional intelligence, know how to soothe, tend, please, and support. They do these things incredibly well and even deeply enjoy them, when they allow themselves to be themselves—naturally female. But this natural behavior is not popular in Western society at this time: most consider the only goal worth obtaining that of becoming a male clone with all the social and sexual advantages of being female. Women in these times want to have it all. They want outdo men in the things that males do best and, at the same time, force men to their knees with desire. Such goals of gender superiority conflict terribly with a desire to submit. A woman who harbors both in her heart will never, despite all her pretty words, acknowledge humbly and in truth her overall submissiveness to a man.
This once-confusing line in my mantra gives me a humbler and more realistic attitude toward myself than that of frenzied females drunk on their new-found societal power. The statement carries an implicit acceptance of an often hotly-denied fact: that men and women are really very different from one another, and that what one sex does is not necessarily something another can do—at least not easily or well. When I speak this line I acknowledge explicitly and consciously that for me, submission can only be to a noble man because men’s natures, more often than not, have the qualities that make them good leaders of women.
How can a woman be a willing slave to someone she doesn’t regard as her superior or even her equal? The short answer is, she can’t. A lot of submissive women, however, try to take the “but he’s different” way out. They despise men in general as their inferiors except for a very few exceptions such as maybe their father or the one they serve. A woman with this sort of attitude, despite her protests that “this one man is different from all the rest” and that she’ll never lose her respect for him, will, over time, usually turn on this “marvelous, extraordinary man” she found because deep inside her heart she actually despises him for being “just another male.” In other words, that culturally-engendered general contempt, if not rooted out, will eventually express itself toward her one exception. There isn’t such a thing as a gigantic pool of awful, incompetent, clueless, stupid, weak men and one single exceptional male, the one she just happens to serve. The truth is, although these females refuse to admit it, that what they admire most in their own masters are often traits pretty common to most men, in varying degrees, and which they could see in other men if they only opened their eyes. While I adore my Master with all of my heart and do not want to serve anyone except Him, I also acknowledge that the average man is far superior to me in almost all ways that are important to me. I find men, in general, deeply admirable. If I were sold off or given to someone else, unless he was a complete mess, I could likely serve him with at least the same dedication that I feel for my current Master.
I will worship and obey You until death, Master.
The vows I took as a slave were for life. There is no release from them until death. This part of my mantra reminds me constantly of this fact. Even if my Master should dismiss me, I will still consider myself His and quietly and humbly await any further orders that might come from Him, even if it were years after He stopped using me. I am an older slave to a younger Master. It is likely I will die before Him. I dearly hope to expire quickly while still able-bodied, able-minded, and capable of contributing to His welfare and happiness. I can’t think of a better way to go. Many people, when they make lifetime vows, such as those given in marriage, think they mean them, but what they really mean is: “I’ll do this until it gets inconvenient, unpleasant, scary, boring, until he pisses me off one too many times, or until I meet someone better. Then to hell with this old-fashioned ‘till death do us part’.” I personally cannot do this. I am worthless if my word is no good.
A lot can happen in a lifetime: a lot of good or a lot of bad, although most people experience both, no matter how careful their choices. Knowing that life is always mixed this way (good with bad), I committed to serve my Master no matter what: no matter how bad it gets, how unhappy I might be in service, how much I might someday desire something else or conceive of another goal. I love being trapped in this way. There is no way out for me, because I’d rather die than break my word to Him. I may not love it so much one of these days, but if dark times come I will endure them just as I’ve lived through the pleasant, fair-weather of my enslavement. I know I can do so because I’ve personally been through some very dark times in life. I know what to expect. The longer I am with my Master, the more committed I become to seeing my service through until the end. All that matters is that I serve Him well, to the best of my ability, for the rest of my life.
“Just one beat of your heart
And stranger than fantasy
I knew from the start
It had to be the place for me
Someone that I would die for
There’s no way I could ever leave”
This was not a choice of desperation. I was not without options. There were other things I could have done with my life: inspiring goals I could have reached for, things I wanted to learn, to experience, to discover, causes to champion, people to befriend. We all have such bucket-list choices in front of us: too many things to do and experience and not enough time. But for me, none of this compared to spending my life as a human flame atop a candle, consuming myself, my energy, my substance in my love for such a worthy Man, making this wonderful Individual’s life as good and as glowingly bright as I possibly can and as He will allow me to. There is no other sort of life that can compare to slavery in terms of its value, its purity, and its beauty. It’s what I’ve known I needed to do all of my life; it’s what I was made for. It was not some sudden middle-aged “realization” inspired by desperation, poor life choices, or boredom. I’d dreampt of being enslaved since age four and nothing was hotter than that. All other life options pale when compared to serving Him. I feel that people are born for something, born to do something in their lives. We’re not just here to experience pleasure or scrabble for a living. I don’t think very many people get to realize their life’s goal or even become aware that they have a goal. I was very lucky in this regard. I knew in my soul that THIS is what I was born to do. I knew it with the dawn of my first conscious memories. And so I will do it. Until I die. And I will wait for Him, if dismissed from His service, even if I’m never called back again. I cannot do anything else.
“When a man takes an oath… he’s holding his own self in his own hands. Like water. And if he opens his fingers then — he needn’t hope to find himself again.”
It is good to repeat a sacred vow to serve until death because in living a busy duty-filled life, it is easy to lose track of such things. Statements like this in my mantra remind me of what I have committed to and of the seriousness and long-term nature of my vows. My Master was so wise to put this line into my mantra for constant repetition.
I renounce all my freedoms and possessions in serving You, Master.
This is such a darkly delicious line. I love to think of all the things that other people take for granted that I cannot do. For example, all the things they can decide to own, with only money stopping them. My possessions are now very few. Just the bare minimum needed to live and work successfully for my Master. Likewise, my freedoms are quite limited. I’m given more leeway than a domestic slave as I work outside the house, but aside from passing as “free” at my job, I am very limited. When my workday is up, I am immediately back under my Master’s control and He puts me to work at various things He wants done. Occasionally I get some free time, but I’m aware that this is always a gift, not something He must allow me, and oddly enough, I often don’t want the leisure time. I just want to keep working. But He always knows best and, if ordered, I use the time as He commands. I have kept a few outside interests alive so that I have ways of spending these graciously bestowed gifts of time.
A person meant to be a slave revels in her lack of freedom, in the restrictions that surround her, in the things she is denied. All this makes up the bars of a secure mental cage in which she is kept. Her decisions are made for her. Her choices are curtailed and often involve things that benefit only her master. To someone propagandized all of their life with the idea that there is nothing better, nothing more worthy of struggling for, no value higher than that of freedom, this all might sound insane. But I have known all my life that there are far finer things in life than our culture’s much-touted “freedom” and have instinctively, almost blindly, sought those things out. For some reason, I’ve never cared much about what the rest of society thought was right. I gave it a nod—it’s fine for many people, after all—but always followed my own path, searching for what I personally needed. Slowly I became aware that what I’d always wanted was enslavement. Slowly I approached it, tried out various versions of it offered by others, until I found someone who was willing to take it to the extreme that I needed, which was all the way.
“Treasure your relationships, not your possessions.”
—Anthony J. D’Angelo
To serve a master fully, a female may have to give up a great deal that she otherwise consider important: her friends, her family ties, her career, the area of the world she is comfortable living in, her favorite possessions and memorabilia, her pets, her hobbies, her interests, even her passions (which are often held closer to the heart and more walled off than material possessions). Could she really give up all of that just to serve a man selflessly, withholding nothing as her own? Is she crazy enough to be willing to risk all on a single chance to fulfill her need to serve and obey absolutely? This, risking all, is what it really takes, if a woman is going to seriously consider nothing less than slavery. This is what I risked to serve my Master, this is what He demanded from me. It didn’t really seem like a risk to me. It was simply the fulfillment of a life-long dream. My extensive observations of what “bad control” looks like (it’s very easy to obtain this knowledge via reading profiles or posts and talking to masters online) made this less of a risk than one might imagine. It is easy in the daily routine of my life to forget how much I am curtailed and controlled, because relinquishing everything seems so normal to me. But my mantra never lets me forget this fact.
All that is important when giving up something is to be willing to give it up, no matter what it is, because one understands that the benefit this brings is immeasurably higher than hanging onto whatever it is that one must sacrifice. Keeping this prime practical priority in mind rather than dishonestly obsessing on one’s “noble and heartrendingly terrible sacrifice” (yes, that is how some women who aspire to be slaves view things even as they enjoy great benefits from being around a strong man) is essential. A slave who refuses admit she is doing this (absolutely serving the will of another) for her own benefit as well as for her master’s is lost in a dark and ugly labyrinth of confusion and lying from which she may never emerge. She’ll start to imagine that she deserves rewards, a return on her investment, recognition for her deeply martyrish attitude and behavior. She expects that her lord and master owes her attention, time, and care for being such an exemplary self-sacrificing slave. She may start to complain to her master about how little she gets from him or how lonely she is if he hasn’t talked to her when she thinks she “deserves” his attention. All of this starts because she will not admit to herself that she submits and serves as much for her own benefit as for his. Such a “slave,” both bitter and self-congratulating at the same time, obsesses smugly about how her master doesn’t give her the regard and attention she deserves—and, therefore, how much he “owes” her in return. Meanwhile, those of us who aren’t spinning off on a totally self-absorbed martyr trip admit to the myriad great and wonderful things we are getting out of associating with the marvelous men we serve and, quietly and without boasting or demanding anything in return, provide far more extensive service for such a man than this professional martyr does, whatever her imaginings about her “Great Sacrifice” are.
Slavery, if it is to be real, simply does not allow for anything to be held back, for anything to be reserved for just oneself, for anything to be decreed sacred or off limits. There is nothing that a master cannot touch, change, or remove. A master can take away anything from a slave that he wishes, no matter how devastating or confusing it seems to her. A person who can revel in this fact rather than fear it (or who at least acknowledges that she needs it, even though she fears the consequences) may do well as a slave. This line of my mantra reminds me of the importance of keeping my priorities straight: nothing is more important than Him, however much I may want it. Nothing is worthy of my sacrificing my slavery to Him in order to keep it. In fact, I learn through sacrifice that my happiness is not tied to what I can or cannot do, to what I have or do not have, including valued intangibles like knowledge, experiences, or relationships. Happiness is something internal and I believe it cannot help but be generated if a person is doing those things that are right for them to do, those things that go beyond romantic or self-aggrandizing fantasies, those things that they know in their hearts that they must do to be the sort of person they want to be.
I live solely and selflessly for Your pleasure, happiness, and gain, Master.
No matter how badly I needed to become a slave and no matter how deeply enslaved I have become, there is still a little part of my psyche that sometimes pops its warty little troll face out and asks, “What about me? What’s in this for me? When do I get something out of this? Where’s my pleasure, my comfort, my reassurance, my reward for being so good?” These whining questions indicate to me that sometimes I still forget that the whole purpose of being a slave is not to make my life easier but rather to make His life easier. Rather than feel despair when I think these things, I use them to remain vigilant, alert to the former selfish brat I once was and could someday be again if I let such thoughts gain any purchase in my consciousness.
For me, the antidote to this self-centered attitude, an attitude which I think we are taught from the cradle, is contained in the line above. These words from my Master reminds me of a very important truth, which I understood in full when I vowed to be His slave for life. That truth is that my pleasure doesn’t matter. My happiness doesn’t matter. My reassurance, relief, comfort, expectations, hopes for myself do not matter. I’m not in this to gain things for myself. I’m here because I’m trying to make the life of the Man I worship and adore better, happier, more pleasurable and enriched. When that happens, I am enriched beyond all measure. Most of the time, I enjoy being denied the pleasures He experiences, not simply because I am masochistic, but because I love the contrast: thinking of Him having fun, traveling, seeing beautiful women, drinking fine wines, creating, reading, having good times with His family and friends, pursuing His interests and goals freely, and generally living a rich, full life while I clean His house, bring in income, provide personal services, and perform a myriad of other routine tasks for Him that He would rather not be bothered with. This makes me hum with happiness. There is no great pleasure that compares to this, in my experience, so being encouraged to live as selflessly as I can is a dream come true for me.
“The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.”
Living solely for His pleasure, happiness and gain doesn’t mean that I never consider what I could be doing for my pleasure or gain. I am human and humans will, despite all of their efforts, sometimes think or act in selfish ways. But I’ve learned how to limit some desires, channel others, and nip still others in the bud. My baseline is this: almost everything I do or want should, ideally, benefit my Master in some way. I try hard to avoid the hypocritical slippery slope that is embodied by a very common (and crassly self-serving) BDSM watch-phrase, “protect the property!” So-called slaves self-righteously chant these words when justifying satisfying their own selfish needs at the expense of their masters’. Here’s a couple of examples of how the concept of “protect the property” can be twisted to serve the selfish needs of the slave:
“I have to have social outlets. I have to do online social networking to keep up with my family and friends otherwise I will get depressed or, even worse, they will wonder what is wrong with me and start interfering in my life. As my master’s property, I must protect myself from these dangers.”
“I am aging and I need special creams and serums, not to mention expensive cosmetics to retard the effects of that process. I also need a subscription to a popular gym and a personal trainer to help keep my body in shape. Let’s not forget plastic surgery. Of course, I’m only doing this to protect my master’s property and to look as good for him as I possibly can.”
It’s possible that one’s master might agree with his female’s goal of improving her appearance or health in these expensive ways or desire her to have an online social life. But this is always his decision to make, not hers out of some self-serving cause of “protecting the property.” If a man has expressed different desires for his slave—for example, that an older slave not worry about her physical attractiveness because it is not needed—then her worrying over her appearance and demanding special remedies is living for her pleasure, not thinking solely of his. A master’s money, including that earned by his slaves, is also his property. Exactly how is a slave who desires to spend this resource on frivolous services and items for herself protecting his property?
As with so many lines in my mantra, this one feels so very good to say: this is how I want to be, always, for my Master: I want to only think of Him and His needs, never of my own. It’s not an ideal that I have completely achieved yet, but I strive for it. Sometimes, as I say the line, it inspires me. I think of creative ways in which I can reduce my need even more, or I see places in my life where I am starting to demand too much. Do I really need, for instance, this or that health supplement? If it’s been prescribed by a doctor, then the answer is probably yes. If not, and the answer is less clear, why not discuss doing without it with Him? Cutting my “needs” down to the bare minimum necessary to maintain the level of service my Master requires of me feels very good, because I think of how good He will feel to have more resources at His disposal to spend as He wishes: unspent resources that will give Him the true luxuries of life: time, freedom from routine duties, relaxation, and health. This is what living solely and selflessly for Him is all about.
I am Your slave, Master.
This is an obvious statement, something I think that I know inside-out, but saying this phrase out loud reinforces its reality for me. It’s easy to forget in the humdrum busyness of everyday life that I am enslaved, bound to serve my Master’s desires in whatever manner He wishes. It’s easy to get distracted by life even when performing active service: lost in the task one is performing, distracted from the reality of the situation by the people one is interacting with, or carried away by the experiences one is experiencing. Saying this phrase over and over and over again reminds me of the hottest and most essential fact of my life: I am His slave. I exist for His pleasure alone. I am His property. I belong to Him. He can do anything to me that He pleases. It helps me to repeat this reminder out loud. Later, I remember it and don’t lose myself so deeply in my activities that I forget my actual status in life. Isn’t it odd how the most obvious things are sometimes the things we find easiest to forget?
“Without Thy sustaining lordship there is no slave.”
When I say this line of my mantra, I like to put the emphasis on the word “Your.” I am so happy to be the slave of such a wonderful Man. He is godlike to me and I feel deeply privileged at being allowed to serve Him. I love being under His thumb, controlled by Him, forced to stop whatever I am doing and perform His bidding whenever He desires, subject to His decisions, helpless and powerless before Him. This is the reality of being a slave. Sometimes it can be a bleak and lonely reality, but that’s to be expected because what a slave is doing is not being done to make herself happy: it’s being done to fulfill His needs, which always come first. If this is frightening to prospective slaves, it helps to put it in perspective: remember that every life, no matter how safe or privileged or pampered, has many moments of bleakness, failure, and loneliness. No one is exempt from this. Many people who never become slaves suffer much more, in fact. Since I know from experience and observation that every life, no matter how carefully it is planned or lived, has its ups and downs, I have decided that I would rather experience the inevitable downs doing something sacred and significant in my life, as opposed to just randomly grasping for more pleasure, more possessions, more relationships, more experiences, more regard, more ego-boosting, etc. For the most part my moods are very even: no great highs or lows, but when I am either very down or very up, the knowledge that I am doing something so special and good, helps bring me back from these extremes to myself, back to the calm even reality of my life and service as His slave.
I also realize as I say these words that I am His slave because He keeps me as His slave. He does what is needed to keep me enslaved. He is not one of those careless “masters” that expects a woman to dominate herself and not bother him with anything or one of those foolish men who tries to develop a relationship of equals with his slave. My Master is always applying control, and I am so grateful to Him for this.
I love being Your slave, Master.
Does this seem like another completely obvious statement, something that doesn’t need constant affirming? Why, after all, would a woman be someone’s consensual slave if she didn’t love it? Well… it takes all kinds to make a world. To be less obscure, such a question doesn’t take into account the deviousness of the human mind. People are drawn to slavery for all sorts of reasons, some of them pure, some of them a bit soiled or even infected. A knowledgeable master watches out for individuals wanting to serve him for reasons that are either too selfish or too diseased, and does not let them approach too closely to him or to the others he owns and controls. Some people, when uttering the line above, would be speaking a lie. There are many types of women seeking masters who imagine they were born to be slaves when they are nothing of the sort.
One type is the intractable emotional masochist. Such an individual doesn’t serve out of a positive, loving desire to make a man’s life better. She’s completely lost in her own selfish obsession with reinforcing her own worthlessness and self-hatred. Although it seems the opposite is going on, she, too, worships at the altar of “Me.” As long as she remains fixed in her masochistic obsession, she cannot genuinely see or hear the man she claims to serve. He’s just an object to her, a useful prop in her dreary stage drama.
Another type who often likes to loudly claim that she loves being a slave and was meant to be a slave is actually a sad woman, usually disappointed by love, whose deepest craving in life is to have a storybook romantic engagement with a sexy strong mysterious “alpha male” whom she will then live the monogamous vanilla version of “happily ever after” with. She projects this romance-novel hero image onto dominant men because they seem to somewhat fit the mildly kinky role depicted in that genre. Like the masochist, however, this woman is only thinking of herself, of her own fulfillment.
There are other types as well, such as those game-players who love to bring a man emotionally to his knees. They see a master as quite the challenge and will fake slavery for the sake of taking him down a peg and forcing him to fall in love with them. Or there are energy vampires, people who are always stressed, always unhappy, always dissatisfied and worrying or whining about something, constantly negative, constantly critical and down in the dumps because it is by expressing this intense negativity toward others that they gain the attention and sympathy that their corrupt, self-serving cores constantly crave. For this sort of “slave” absolutely everything she perceives or thinks is about her. And everything everyone else says or thinks is also all about her. She truly doesn’t see her master as an individual human being with feelings and desires of his own. He’s just a useful stage prop in her one-woman “poor little me” Broadway show.
There are a few of us out there who really do love being the slave of the men that we serve. We thrive doing a master’s will, pressed under the thumb of his control. But even in the most devoted slave’s life, there can be hard times, times when she doesn’t relish her slavery as much because it seems connected to pain. Sometimes that pain is caused by real things going in life that cannot be helped, but often it’s a false artifact of one’s ego when it decides to rear up and crave things like rights, privileges, special treatment, possessions, and, particularly, more attention or even love. Repeating how much she loves being a slave can sooth such cravings and prevent her from doing something deadly to a master-slave relationship: becoming demanding. The instant a slave starts to feel resentment or starts to think that she deserves more than she is getting is the instant when the entire control dynamic can start to unravel. Yes, if the master is strong and alert, he will do things to nip this decay in the bud, but if the slave hides her feelings from him and lets the resentment grow, it won’t be long before she is presenting him with demands or even a relationship-killing ultimatum. It is not up to her master to convince her to give up this attitude or to placate or reassure her at such a time. In fact, doing this for a rebellious and ungrateful female will as surely kill his control as if he kicked her permanently out of his life because it will let her know that he will capitulate to her demands. And that means that she has the control. No, such a “slave” has to realize on her own (if she is capable) of just how far she’s fallen and how hard it’s going to be to crawl back into her master’s good graces.
While I am quite aware that this potentially disastrous fate could await me, I am also aware of how my simple mantra repetitions serve to keep this possibility from occurring. A line like “I love being Your slave, Master” constantly reminds me of how positive and wonderful my life is with my Master. It’s like a mental antiseptic: it keeps poisonous ideas like ones described above from taking hold and growing like gangrene in my thoughts or feelings. There is no inviting soil in my heart or brain for them to take root in, as I constantly feel deep gratitude and joy over being His slave. Yes, this is brainwashing, but so what? I’m clearly quite conscious of what’s going on, I’ve warmly invited this into my life, and for someone with my psychology, what’s not to like about something so controlling? Besides, like a hypnotic suggestion, my mantra would not take root very well—if at all—if some part of me was deeply opposed to such ideas.
A genuine love for slavery and a specific love of being enslaved by a particular man are essential to usefully serve a man. Only such a woman can say “I love being Your slave, Master” and really mean it. Her reward doesn’t come from some unrealistic outcome, object, or status she hopes to someday extract from her master, be it more beatings or loving concern for her. Her joy comes simply from serving him and knowing he is content with her service. Nothing more is needed to fuel that joy. No additional rewards are required because being a slave is its own reward. Those few women who can feel this in their bones, not just superficially mouth the words, can not only become slaves—but love being slaves for the rest of their lives.
I love You, Master.
A slave’s life is not an easy one. We often suffer in order to serve our masters. Different slaves may suffer in different ways, but suffering and sacrifice is one thing that I believe all genuine slaves experience. A diminution of ourselves often means that our masters can grow greater or enjoy life more. What brings a slave joy, what makes this sacrifice worthwhile, is the fact that she loves her master, with all of her heart and soul. For that single man, she would do anything. Anything at all. Why? Because his welfare matters far more to her than her own. When he thrives, she thrives and becomes joyous. Seeing him happy is worth shedding thousands of private tears—although the joy of seeing someone we love benefiting from our life usually prevents tears of self-pity from ever falling.
In the routine living of life, it’s easy to lose track of love or one’s core purpose in being in a certain place with a certain person. This mantra line reminds me of a core truth: that my life is composed of love for Him, and very little more. This is what it’s all about. It fills me with happiness to repeat these words. I remember why I am doing what I am doing, what it’s all about, and I feel love for Him as I say the words. It’s a most powerful phrase because it keeps my mind intent and focused on the most important thing: loving Him and expressing that love. In times when I am apart from my Master, this line serves another purpose. I am often deeply lonely at those times and this line consoles me. It makes me feel as if He is right there with me, even though He is not. It gives me hope that He will return.
Thank You, Master, for giving my life meaning.
Every line in my mantra is very important, but, to me, this final line ties everything that is enslavement together. This is why I do what I do and will do until I die, no matter how hard it is: my life as a slave to my Master imbues my life with meaning, a meaning that nothing else—not sacrifice, not battle for a great cause, not achievement, not a family or group of loving friends, not the most fascinating hobbies or interests—gives me. I feel that my life has a purpose, that I am doing the one thing that I was meant to do all of my life. I am glad this line exists in my mantra because it reminds me of who and what I am, of what I’ve craved all my life, of why I do what I do. Being a slave is the most meaningful thing I can conceive of doing. It is the only thing worth doing to me. And my Master is the only person I have ever met who was capable of giving this to me. The gift He gives me, a meaningful life, is something many people claim to have, but few actually experience, as it is one of the more rarer things in life. Meaning, purpose, or worth in life are all so hard to find. That is why people fritter their time away in obsessions, hobbies, games, sports, politics, earning money, collecting things, online fascinations, social groups, raising families, workaholism, alcohol, sex , warfare, and drugs. All of those futile pastimes and addictions are attempts to escape a basic truth: that one is really doing nothing significant with one’s life. And so we pretend that the busywork, these activities we fill our lives with to kill time, are extremely meaningful. They may be interesting, fascinating, important, even, but if we search our hearts, is there any real significance in what we are doing aside from the basic activities needed to support ourselves and our families?
Most of the usual doors to finding meaning were closed to me. I did not have religion: I was told at an early age there was no god. I never wanted to have children. I made that decision when I was nine and it never changed. I tried education found it fun and fascinating at times, but didn’t find any career that called to me, that felt like a vocation. I sampled the pleasures of youth: sex, drinking, drugs, socializing, being beautiful, music, explored my love of nature, and entertained my senses in a thousand different ways, but as heady as all of that was, it was just play. No meaning in it. Nothing that made me feel my life was worth anything.
But along the way, I got little hints. I loved helping others but I hated having anything to do with groups or organizations. I took no pleasure from herding, from being around others “just like me.” I liked to worship individuals whom I deeply admired. But such people often didn’t appreciate such worship. I realized from such experiences that, in terms of partners and compatibility, although there were “attractive” people all around me, I was, nevertheless, in a dry desert in terms of my deepest needs. All I had were my fantasies to guide me, the one’s I had from a very earlier age, my determination that there must be something better out there in life, something worth doing. After many missteps, I eventually started listening more closely to those fantasies. They were all about serving someone superior to me, being used by him, punished by him, being owned property. I thrilled thinking about these things. Eventually I read enough, saw enough to figure it out. I needed to be a slave. I had a few false starts getting to that point and lost a good many years to failed experiments, but finally I met Someone who believed that owning slaves completely was worthwhile and enjoyable. I finally found a place where I could belong and be myself without anyone getting uncomfortable over it or thinking I was strange. He encouraged in me everything I’d always dreamed about during my life, everything I’d craved and wanted to be. He was the only one who understood my need to serve and grasped how fulfilling it was to me. He gave me the greatest gift that a person like me can ever receive: He filled my life with meaning.
At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.
What does a mantra do?
“Thoughts are visitors, who visit the central station of the mind. They come, stay a while, and then disappear, making space for other thoughts. Some of these thoughts stay longer, gain power, and affect the life of the person thinking them…Such inner conversations eventually, affect the subconscious mind, which accepts them as real. It is of vital importance to be careful of what goes into the subconscious mind. Words and thoughts that are repeated often get stronger by the repetitions, sink into the subconscious mind and affect the behavior, actions and reactions of the person involved…The subconscious mind regards the words and thoughts that get lodged inside it as expressing and describing a real situation, and therefore endeavors to align the words and thoughts with reality. It works diligently to make these words and thoughts a reality in the life of the person saying or thinking them.”
A mantra, as this quote from a well-known writer on self-improvement, meditation, and spiritual growth and suggests, not only helps a slave to understand her situation but also helps her to change, to align her reality with the words and thoughts being expressed in the mantra. This alignment is one of the most crucial and useful effects of repeating a mantra, but in order for it to work property, the mantra writer (her master) must understand very well who and what his slave is: her history, her weak and strong points, and, particularly, her level of understanding: what she doesn’t know about enslavement, what she knows a little of, what she knows well, and how she feels about it all. Without such knowledge informing the words she will eventually say, the mantra lines may seem meaningless or antithetical to her. They will not touch her where she lives. A carefully customized mantra, however, can be very effective in deepening a slave’s devotion and loyalty to her master. The profound but subtle effect a mantra can have in defining a slave’s reality is the most important thing it does, in my opinion, but there are some additional side benefits for both masters and slaves that are worth mentioning.
Mantras provide reassurance in times of stress.
A mantra is the type of ritual that a slave does on a regular basis, just for her master. While she may get personal benefits from saying it, she repeats it primarily because he has ordered her to. Saying her mantra becomes a routine that grounds her and reminds her that she is his slave. This can provide her with confidence and consolation during stressful times, such as when he is gone, when there is rapid change going on in her life, or when her regular routine or duties radically change. Even when her loyalty is strong, big changes can disorient a slave, even make her wonder if she’s still enslaved. The act of saying a mantra regularly reminds a slave of her place in her master’s life and the fact that she’s still enslaved. Her life may seem chaotic but she still has to kneel on the floor and repeat these words at those times he has commanded her to. This ritual becomes a stable rock in a slave’s life, particularly when she’s away from her master.
Mantras make the strange or threatening familiar and welcome.
Repetition of words and ideas, as is known from research on brainwashing, does change people unless they actively and forcibly resist that change, which is not typically the situation with a consensual enslavement that is willingly and honestly entered into. When one becomes familiar with a concept it eventually becomes more acceptable, even if it was initially rejected or found odd or wrong. With enough exposure, people embrace repetitive ideas that they are not actively hostile toward as reality, as their new truth, no matter how foreign they once may have seemed. Because of this natural human behavior, which is related to a survival trait—for millions of years our human ancestors survived by adapting and changing to meet the challenges of new environments—mantras, if written well, are great for introducing a slave to the new realities of her position and assisting her with adopting them and coming to love them.
Mantras reinforce identity.
“Some proponents of affirmations claim that, when practiced deliberately and regularly, they reinforce a chemical pathway in the brain, making the connection between two neurons stronger, and therefore more likely to conduct the same message again.”
Paradoxically, one of the most difficult things to understand as a slave is that one is, indeed, a slave. Unless a master has the luxury and resources to cloister his slave away from all outside influence, she will likely still interact with the outside world, but not as traditional slaves did. In Roman times, slaves were legal and wore a stone around their necks that told anybody who saw them that they were owned and whose property they were—in case they needed returning. In modern times, while some BDSM people proudly flaunt little silver chokers or kinky tattoo designs, even locator chips, genuine master-slave couples have very good reasons not to want be noticed and take pains to blend in and not stand out. In the outside world, a deeply enslaved individual is treated like any other free person. Depending on the person, this may be disconcerting at times because life at her master’s home is so very different. For some slaves it might set up a sort of cognitive dissonance: sometimes I seem to be a slave, sometimes I seem not a slave. What am I really?
A mantra can help a lot with that sort of confusion. When a slave that cannot be cloistered or who must interact with those outside the relationship is back home or in a place of privacy where she can be herself, she says the words that remind her precisely of who and what she really is and what she has vowed to do for the rest of her life. If she is saying a strong mantra regularly, it’s difficult to impossible to go out in the world and imagine that everything has suddenly changed, that she is now suddenly free. She sees more and more that she is, in those times, simply an extension of her master, like another limb, and that the only reason she is “out there” in the first place is because her master wants her to be there.
Saying a manta is service.
People want to become slaves for various reasons, some good, some not so good. The very best of slaves want this condition because they love to serve another, to make him happier, safer, and better off in all ways by their own efforts and nothing else provides such a meaningful way to serve than slavery. For such an individual, a mantra brings her joy because it’s something she’s doing for her master that he wants her to do and because it makes her feel so good to repeat phrases that resonate deeply with her strongest beliefs and desires.
Mantras are hot.
I often get sexually aroused when saying my mantra and it would be no surprise to hear that others slaves feel similarly. The words in a well-written mantra remind a slave of everything she once craved and now has, everything she has sought to feel and to be, if not for all of her life, then for a great deal of it. When reciting a mantra, it is common to feel intense longing for one’s master. This longing may express itself as desires to serve him more and better, to become even less before him, or to grovel in abject humility at his feet, realizing one’s own nothingness and his absolute control. I personally imagine myself as a tiny, naked, helpless woman kneeling head-down on His open palm, His tiny possession, completely at His mercy. When saying a mantra, a slave will often imagine worshiping her master intimately, serving his physical needs with her mouth, swallowing his cum, even drinking his piss. One may imagine herself on hands and knees, scrubbing his floors while he beats her severely. Another may see her body, always naked before him, being punished harshly for some misdeed. A third may imagine his demanding questions to her, asking her what she is, what her relationship to him really is, what she craves. I like to think about being stored away in a closet or a cage, silent and ignored, waiting patiently in my tiny quarters for release. Others I know imagine being allowed to rub their heads on their master’s leg, and him stroking their hair. All of these intimate details arouse a slave highly and her arousal makes the words she repeats even more significant to her. Frequently people get bored of even the most physically attractive partners. I never lose my desire for my Master because He gives me everything I’ve always needed in life. My love for Him is so strong that I would die for Him. And that idea makes me hot as well.
A mantra is not a magical charm that automatically makes a slave a slave no matter what the master does or does not do. It is one tool out of many that should be ready in his arsenal to apply as needed. If accompanied by strong control, discipline, direct orders, supervision, and personal communication to increase her servitude and understanding, a new slave will experience great benefits from saying a mantra. While not a magical talisman, a mantra is, nonetheless, a many-splendored thing. A mantra helps calm a slave and buoy her mood, decreases her confusion, keeps her thinking regularly and constantly about her master, and provides her with another way in which to deepen her personal understanding of slavery. It also serves, in ways I have directly experienced, as a gentle but very strong brainwashing tool, particularly when used over a period of years. Instead of the fast, dramatically flashy, but often quickly fading effects of trauma, shock, capture-bonding, and other theatrical, thrilling activities with relatively short-lived effects, the mantra acts like an ocean wave, gently but repeatedly washing over a hard shore: over time its inexorable approach erodes away a slave’s hard edges, her resistance to her master and to slavery in general. It makes her soft, malleable, accommodating, and fully attuned to and enthused with the concepts of control, worship, and devotion that it contains.