Some sexual fantasies are so powerful and lingering, that they become intertwined with identity. This is one of them and has been with me since I was very, very young.
I have wanted to be a slave girl since I first had erotic thoughts…years before puberty. I was attracted to orientalist art, to incense and beads, and to all the dress and accessories of the near Eastern slave girl. I used to burn incense and try to belly dance in my room, imagining that I was in some harem. I hung beads over my door and wore feathers in my hair, had ear clip jewellery, and imagined myself dancing for Mistress.
Already in my pre-teens, I had a wardrobe of clothes that reminded me of these things, slave pants, anklets, wristlets, cheap metal collars, harem pants, blousy shirts. Lord only knows how I got away with wearing them. My friends had the decency to never say anything, though I think some adults used to shake their heads. I wanted more than anything to be attractive to a woman when dressed that way—for a woman to want to conquer and own and dominate me in my femininity and submission. I craved it. A few girls seemed to like it.
This aesthetic extended to so many aspects of my life—taste in art, books, movies, and also to a deep and abiding fantasy to be branded. To me this is the ultimate symbol of ownership. Gosh, few things excite me more than a collar, but as Mistress pointed out, there are many things that can be collars. My belt, for one. But also body markings.
The practical reality of branding and that permanent mark of ownership has transformed over the years and became a tattoo instead, a piercing, both permanent marks of my status—convictions held privately, or laced with private meaning. They, are however, my slave markings. They are symbols of my submission, the adult expression of a yearning born already when I was a child.
I said to Mistress that being with her is like being a puzzle piece and finding its way at last into a puzzle…and the world of the pro-Domme indeed, is ideally suited for me. All her subs scattered around are like cherished playthings in her harem. And I suspect all of them, just like me, strive to impress her, to be good boys and girls for her, to please her, so that she will notice us. And you know what, I finally feel as if I have found my place. And one day, many moons from now, should I be worthy of her, I hope that she marks my flesh forever with her sign.