First blog - non-fiction

A blog. How do you write a blog? Never done one before so I guess I'll have to blog it. Sorry, couldn't resist.


The following isn't fiction. It's not a fairy tale. It's not erotica. It's me. My experience. My life. The unvarnished truth. You might read this and think 'lucky sod', you might think 'what a load of tosh' (you'd be so wrong) or you might think 'he's mental' (you might be right). I'll leave that to you. I'll write more entries when I can and tell the story of this period in my life. Maybe when I'm done I'll blog some other memories about my life in BDSM (there's lots). I dunno - gotta leave something to the imagination, but I need to get this off my chest, for some reason.


From January 1995 to March of 2000 I was the full time personal indentured servant to a professional Dominatrix. Yes, seriously. I was working as a freelance IT trainer and I could pick and choose which days I worked. Mistress and I worked our diaries around each other and the arrangement was really successful. I could be there when She needed me and I could earn a modest living. Couldn't do that now even if I wanted to. Not when I'm pretending to be a grownup.


When I say I was Her personal indentured servant that will probably conjure up all sorts of images. Especially to you lot 8o). It was a purely BDSM arrangement. No sex, no romance. Although having said that we became really great friends and very close. We went through a lot together one way and another. So much so that when she retired we talked about making a go of it. Never did though. In hindsight I shouldn't have been so much of a prick.


So for those five years I was Her PA, driver, housekeeper for the property she rented to work in (more on that in another instalment), gofer, cook, guinea pig for her sessions and bodyguard. Yes, bodyguard - I'm 6'5' slim built but muscular and able to take care of myself (and others). I lived in and maintained the property, cleaned, maintained and prepped the upstairs 'chambers' where the business took place. I was also someone she could vent to when the psychological and physical pressures of her business took their toll. Usually she vented with a single tail or a cane.


Five years. Under contract. Not your usual contract, but a modified employment contract.The opening clauses were cast iron from a legal perspective. The gist of the agreement stated that X (me) agreed to present themselves for instruction and work at the behest of Y (Her) and to carry out any and all 'requests' verbal and non-verbal without question with no right to refuse any 'request'. There was a lot more around risk acceptance, penalties and waiving of employment rights, forgoing the option of resigning the contract (but only for me - that bit's legally doubtful but the penalty clause was horrendous so maybe not) and some clauses that definitely wouldn't have stood up in court but would have caused such personal and professional embarrassment that nobody would have dare risk reneging lest it come into the public domain. There might be something similar on the interwebs now, I dunno, probably but I haven't looked.


That contract was signed and witnessed by me, Mistress and one of her solicitor clients. A copy was kept in his safe. Indentured servitude isn't legal in this country (officially) but that contract was as close as you could get, probably. I must have been mental. I was as owned (and liked it) as you can be and, although we had times we laughed together until we were nearly sick, She also had the capacity to scare the life out of me. Kneeling in front of Her is the only time in my life I've ever shaken with fear. Being naked in a dungeon with a very experience pro Mistress (black belt karate) that literally owns you, with no safe word, when no other living soul knows where you are, especially when She is mad at you, is enough to scare anyone. Looking back it should have scared me more to be honest but I trusted her with my life. Literally. I still would.


At times it was so utterly f**king amazing I still miss that life to this day. At other times it was soul-crushingly hard. Make no mistake, having zero freedom and being literally on call to another person for any and every reason 24/7/365 for five years might seem like a wet dream to some but when it's constant it will wear you down and break you. When you are exhausted or just want to chill or do your own thing and your phone goes off at 4am and you are summoned because Mistress has run out of coffee and wants you to get some from the 24 hr garage and it will take you half an hour to get to the garage from where you are, then 10 minutes to Hers, probably have to have a brew and a chat, then half an hour back home and you need to be up at 6:30 to drive to Hull from Manchester to do a day's work then drive back again in time to be there for her evening client and you might be up until gone midnight clearing up afterwards... It could be wearing. Even at peak fitness in my mid 30's it had me on my knees at times.


So many memories, so many stories. The 'chambers', the etiquette, the play, the work - yes, I worked in the chambers with her sometimes. The highs and the lows. The clients. A couple of tragedies that haunt me to this day. There's more to come if you are interested, dear reader.


And that's just those five years. There's a lot more stories to tell. Hand on heart, on the sacred memory of my ancestors, every word is the truth. In BDSM honesty and openness is, as we all know, paramount. And it's not in my nature to lie.


Let me know if you want more or just want me to shut the f**k up )


Bye for now.

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