Ever wonder how dehumanization can become erotic? It sometimes even puzzles me, yet here I kneel, wearing a collar, my Master’s collar, one I proudly sport.

It was a rainy day. The sun slid behind the clouds and I gripped the phone with my right hand staring down to the floor as if I was already before my Master.

“You realize once you consent, it is no longer consensual?” He said with a tone that made me realize how definite it was and how little control I would have; already feeling as if He had control over me.

I paused. Too long. I heard a resounding CLICK.

Panic rose from my stomach and into my throat and I choked a little. I cradled the phone and got up to pace the floor. Should I call Him back? Should I wait? What if He read my hestitation as more than fear of the unknown? I picked up the phone. Did I have the authority to call Him?

I dialed His number. I sat there in silence as the number of rings exceeded the automatic timing in my brain. He did not answer. I had carefully thought about this day and what it might bring and it never occured to me it would bring forth an uncertain ending. This was ending with a question mark instead of a period.

I had to get outside. But I had relied on his permission for months now to train me to obey. I had broken more than one rule today. I hestitated. That was one. I called Him without permission. That was two. Was he done with me or would he punish me severely once I had signed the contract?

Sleep didn’t come easily. I tossed and turned. I stared at the phone, willing it to ring. I wanted to obey. I wanted to submit myself to Him. Why was it so important that I give myself to a Master I had yet to meet? Sure, we had talked on the phone, skyped a few times, I had been through several training sessions via webcam, but never had I met Him. He said I must prove myself worthy and I failed when he asked me the question.

I grew up in a very strict home environment. My fanatically religious family had driven me to question things and I no longer believed in God as in any religious figure but rather realized humans created the very essence of God by name and theory. Humans also took this power away from the word “God” and gave it back to mankind to do with it what they could or would.

I don’t remember when it started but I began to get pleasure from being humiliated by men and I wanted them to punish me but to love me, unlike my father, who beat me, but without love and always attached to why God wanted him to. I abhored this. I came to hate my father. His very smile would make me sick to my stomach but I yearned for his love nonetheless. Pretty fucked up.

I went from man to man searching for the right balance of being fucked, being owned, and being loved. That is a deadly combination if ever a man gets it right because then someone like me becomes puddy in their hands.

I chose to have no limits. No safe words. That would give me power. I wanted no power. I wanted to fully submit to my Master and have Him have complete control over me. Feeling helpless and vulnerable was what I craved. If I had to drink His piss right from the spout, I would. If I had to bend over and feel the hot lashes of a leather strap or a belt or wooden paddle, I would take it. I wanted to cry. I needed that connection. I needed to know that the same hands that could hurt me, discipline me, teach me, could also love me and comfort me. I wanted to know that my Master’s big fucking cock could be rammed inside my asshole at any time and I would have no control over it.

I had searched for a long time and it happened.