As I kneel before my master, my mind wanders to the twisted game we play. I’m a slave, bound by my own desires, and he’s the one who holds the leash. Some might call it masochism, but I call it freedom. In a world where I’m expected to be perfect, I find solace in the pain and the humiliation. My master’s whip is my savior, a reminder that I’m not in control, and that’s the only thing that keeps me sane.
People often ask me, ‘Janine, how do you do it?’ They can’t understand the rush of adrenaline that comes with being a pawn in someone else’s game. But the truth is, I’m not just a pawn, I’m a willing participant. I crave the submission, the helplessness, and the vulnerability. It’s a high that no amount of champagne and caviar can match. And my master, he knows it, and he feeds on it, like a parasite feeding on its host.
But the real question is, what happens when the game gets too real? When the lines between reality and fantasy blur, and I start to lose myself in the role? That’s when the real masochism begins. That’s when I have to confront the darkness within myself, and the darkness that drives me to want more. It’s a delicate balance, one that I’m constantly walking on the edge of, and it’s a risk that I’m willing to take, because in the end, it’s the only thing that makes me feel alive.
>Soulkyn