a prelude of sorts

    I sit here upon the couch, the laundry is spinning within the dryer, the dishes have been done, and as I sit here I cannot help but smile as I begin to start my first post in the story of my upcoming life that I am all too eager to begin. I look back and I can’t believe in March I will have been submissive to you from 7000 miles away for a whole year. Oh how my neck longs for the weight of the collar you will place there... My eyes, they long to look into yours, my lips, they crave one taste of your mouth, and my heart and soul burn to serve you in your every need may it be Domestic or Sensual.

 
  I met him online, but we won’t go into specifics as to whereabouts. I will tell you it was in a place where many of a D/s type fascination gathered to talk and virtually act out through emotes the process of online slavery in a role-play setting. I was so new to this concept, so naive in my own right as I somewhat still am so I am told. I have not experienced much outside of my tortured youth and tragic past which perhaps someday I will record here as well... He was not my Master at this time. I actually fancied myself a woman above submission, perhaps more dominant in my mind as a self preservation tool, but I knew, even as a friend or acquaintance this man caught my eye. He was mysterious; he would just sit upon the wall and watch as life passed by, only speaking when there was something profound to be said, and every word always stuck. I watched him, quietly learning of the life and style of the place and customs of the world we all were creating, and it took several weeks but he spoke to me finally, and we became vague friends, myself shy and I was later to learn he was somewhat intimidated by what he called my exotic appearance I have in a photo from modeling. Black hair, light blue eyes and a display of confidence I could at that time only show to a camera. I think he saw through that. I am sure of it, and though we parted paths at a fork and did not speak for perhaps a year, not because of either’s actions but simply the complications of life, fate through friends we had both made separately after the fact, our paths crossed once more early in the year of 2010, and once again a friendship of quixotic infatuation was formed.


   He came on so strong. terrified me really, the once quiet and self reserved man I had known just a year before I found him speaking of how he would lean into me and whisper to me to let him show me how the world can be upon my knees. To allow him to save me, to make me an only option not one of many as men have done in the past. I was a wounded bird and he held this warmth and fire and passion that I was so unsure of. He made me feel reckless; he made me want to fight. I wanted to fight Him, fight the world, and even fight the haunting memories of my past. I would turn away; tell him I was not a submissive but a strong woman as I had tears within my eyes. He with his warm voice and certain way of loving me for no apparent reason other than pure raw chemistry would explain to me that the strongest of women let themselves know who they really are. Every day we spoke, conversations of life and philosophy and music and heartache and pain. I told him the stories of my life and my past and he did the same with me. I found myself feeling more than love for this man; it was a need a primal animalistic need for him to be happy. I found myself asking myself every day in ever small action no matter how trivial if it would make him happy and pleased, and then, one morning, to his surprise I begged him to not only take me as his love but to allow me the privilege to serve him as a submissive woman and a slave for the rest of my life. He knew as well as I did, he would be my first and last Master, my true natural dominant, and with his words of acceptation I became his property at the end of March 2010, and we began to start the plans for me to move from my home and life, the only life I have ever known in America, to my Master who has spent his life in the Netherlands 7000 miles away.

I find myself recently fascinated with a quote I came across so I feel the need to share it.


"There are moments when, whatever the posture of the body, the soul is on its knees." -Victor Hugo


   I find it says far more then I can about my realization of my submissive nature in far less words and in a far more powerful message.

   This process is terrifying on a level of spontaneity that is beyond the type you would even see in movies or television. He has sent me disks to begin learning to speak Dutch, they are by Rosetta stone and really they teach quite well, I am picking it up quickly and starting to even think in another language which at times shocks me a bit. I have my passport, and am saving up funds so that I will have a small nest egg after the costs for my travel and I am at this time looking towards march of 2011 to make this move, as it is December right now this seems doable with enough concrete planning of course. I feel as it I am a bird that has always had one foot tied to a brick, flapping and fluttering but never able to fly, and soon the man with the power to set my soul free will do so, and I, a bird able to fly will, and then rest without restraints upon the hand that will mold me into his every whim and desire.

    Before continuing I want to make it clear that I am doing this all consensually, and if any readers feel they will be offended with blogging about D/s life, consensual non-consent, vulnerabilities and objectification of a woman, or if any readers will be unsettled by the fact that there will, I am sure, occasionally be posts where I am venting and perhaps upset or a situation may seem shocking to average couples, please understand I am choosing this lifestyle in all aspects both good and bad, and if you feel you will be offended by such content you are not obligated to read this Diary, and I do not need to be saved. With that being said, and my journey into lifestyle slavery being caught up so far, now starts my Diary in steps, first the planning, then the move and then my daily life. The daily recordings. The living Diary of a slave girl.