Harem. It’s a funny word, or at least it would be funny were you only familiar with it in the crudest sense. I suppose that I’m not because at one time I was engaged to a Pakistani man; a wonderful, informative man who taught me a lot about his religion and his culture. Still, outside of religion and in the BDSM sense then harems are typically depicted as groups of sex slaves.
A harem is also how Sir mentioned us in his post.
I remember a few years ago, the last time that I looked at the BDSM checklist. I saw ‘harem’ on there and I crossed it off – I could never imagine myself sharing a man. I don’t want to admit to my jealousy, but I would get jealous and insecure and I would constantly live in fear of being ousted or replaced. It’s happened to me before, albeit under less-kinky circumstances: I was compared, over the phone, to another girl. He pretty much told me that “you’re ugly and she’s not, so we’re over, and if you ever contact me again then I will come down there and I will kill you.”
What a catch.
Something else that I have always been wary of is being ‘collected’ in BDSM. Being collected is a danger that mostly only really applies to one group in the BDSM community: young, submissive women who are eagerly looking for a Dominant to own them. I have been approached by Masters before and I was repulsed sometimes by their attitudes to those who served them. Not people, but objects, less-thans who are merely there to be trained to cater to their every need. Ego boosts to be disposed of if they no longer serve their purpose.
Fine if it’s for them but that’s definitely not for me. I know my worth and I know I have a lot to offer someone.
One of the things that I am very grateful for is that Sir does not objectify me, at least not always or to others. He speaks highly of me and he is proud of me, both of my Owners are. That I have bought joy to their lives – and with my clothes still on – is just a bonus.
When I arrived in Daddy’s care I was emotionally battered, exhausted, timid and distrustful. I was afraid to speak my mind for fear of consequence, it took me a while to warm up and realise that I could be loved for who I am.
When I arrived in Sir’s care I was emotionally battered, afraid and distrustful. I felt as though I had nothing to offer him, nothing that would be good enough for him. All I could give him was me.
All that he wanted was me.
Sir remade me, he refined me, he re-established me and my worth. He reminded me that I am enough, that I am good enough exactly as I am. He reminded me how it feels to have someone who pulls you up, not puts you down, who listens to your fears instead of drowning them out in anger. He reminded me of how it is to feel safe again.
This, here, is my sanctuary.
Here there is no need to be more, to be better than or extra. Here ‘good enough’ is enough, just me in my rawest form. People have good days and bad days, good times and bad times. Sir understands that and he supports me regardless.
Sir also leads from a place of quiet confidence and peace, which suits me well. Sir is a yogi, and I was was an aikidoka for four years. Loosely translated, aikido means “the way of peace”. It is a defensive martial art, not an attacking one. I was always studious and eager to learn, I still am. I fear the man may lead me astray.
Sharing Sir with Red doesn’t alarm me or unsettle me like perhaps it would have. I know what I am and I know what I bring to Sir. Even if I am effectively ‘bottom of the pile’ then that doesn’t bother me because it doesn’t feel like I am. Sir wouldn’t have me treated as any less than what I am and deserve. I trust him.
I like to think of arriving at my sanctuary as a bit like stepping into an enchanted forest, and I thank Sir for this. At first glances the forest looks idyllic and magical, and I have a very curious mind. The farther I walk into it, the more it captures me under it’s spell. There’s no way back now and if I try to escape, the vines wrap around my ankles, keeping me there. I am of The Sanctuary now; safe, loved, important, useful.
I asked Sir for permisison to play this morning, something I wouldn’t normally do and yet have somehow become conditioned to do. Further have I been conditioned in how I take care of myself – legs wide, one hand by my side. He’s insidious, I should be warned.
I don’t really want to go too ito it, but things happened yesterday with Daddy. Promises got made and then bedtime happened and we were both too tired. When I woke up this morning I was a wanton mess.
With thoughts of being shared with others and by those who own me, I didn’t last.
Are you admitting that your Sirs have broken you 😉 😀
How does one admit that it is less of a breaking but more of a revealing? There goes my dignity.
You’ll never take me alive 😉
Of course I hear that little voice in my mind, the one that reminds me that I will very much be taken. Often, and hard.
Well if she’s going to go down, be sure that she’ll go down swinging.
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