The Mark of a Slave

Getting my first tattoo was a very special experience. Master went back and forth on whether he wanted to see me marked at all. But it eventually seemed very appropriate (to us both!) that my first tattoo be a slave's mark. We chose the kanji symbol for "slave" and placed it on the back of my neck. It looks so elegant, and yet, discreet enough that most people would never guess its true meaning.

Although, there was one time when an ex-coworker of Master's saw it (she was actually from Asia, and knew what it meant!) and she asked me in horror "Who put that on you?!" and then "Do you know what that means?" All I could do was quietly say yes, I knew the meaning and that I liked the tattoo. So awkward!
And I did see another woman in a bookstore once with the exact same tattoo in a similar location. I don't know if she also saw mine. That was a pretty crazy coincidence!

Master (who already had a bunch of tattoos) got the kanji symbol for "Master" in the same spot, at the same time as I was getting mine done. I love that we have these visible symbols that carry such great meaning, and also remain a special secret between the two of us (and the few people we've actually told). I wear my hair down much more often now than I used to, so mine is hidden much of the time. But I love knowing that it's there. And if Master wants to grab my hair while he's fucking me from behind, he can look down and see the mark of his slave.

I love tattoos. I have three now, and want more. But no matter how many I may end up with, I will always hold a very special place in my heart for my first!

Captivity

Frantically fighting the ominous darkness,
Watching the tiny sun steadily flee...
Demons are hiding - some of them mine -
Behind the darkening shadows.
Trying to hide behind pillars, myself,
I am always unwittingly on display
In a cage of mesh and metal,
Unable to see who is watching.
Longing to once again sink into plush,
And leather, and metal, and warm white wax.
To gratefully beg on my knees -
Bring it all back - insouciant summer,
Sweat dripping determined down my back,
Arms held outstretched for I know I now can fly.
And fly, little dove, I do.
But in those chilly winter gusts I have no choice but captivity.
Draw tightly the shades and resign myself
To a tiny snowglobe world- "Cell two hundred and ten"
Walking outside, an invisible leash -
The most delicate ropework of fear -
Keeps me unable to stray and unwilling to try.
Inside, sometimes those walls
Posses a sense of dread.
They feel like they are closing in -
Suffocating in low light.
Grip around my throat so tightly
If I move I might just black out
And then come back to, in a flurry of hysterical tears.
Dreams of reading "Heathcliff" and "Earnshaw"
Scrawled in morning dew on the walls...
The beautiful siren I await
Arrives in a vision of repression turned to evil.
A hideous sight - and I tremble awake.
Mummified in Egyptian cotton,
The grip of flesh keeps me grounded,
He holds me down where I know I am safe.
I hate the reasons to live hidden away
As I hate to dream of walking in hallways alone,
Yet once I am in it, sufficiently barricaded,
I can breathe a little more.
Freedom can live within my cell walls,
As long as I remain obedient
To the rules of this delicate game.
I am the prey, this is understood.
But in this particular captivity
I am kept safe from the evil snakes
That quietly pass us by each day,
Whispering in hisses that this game is not over yet.
Caress my bound hands and tell me "It all was only a dream"
And in this calming room I could
Relax enough that my wrists
Are at one with the fear and desire for safety
That marked my skin so red.
And it could become a part of me
Enough that still I could find
Some content in captivity.