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a question
is submission only given?
is submission only taken?
is submission a bargain, a gift?
must it have a price, a reward?
can submission be groomed?
can submission be denied?
can it be earned, nurtured?
is submission delight?
is submission deep pain?
is submission unnatural?
is submission instinctive?
does it exist?
is it a war, a fight, an errand?
is it breath and pulse?
is it air and water?
is it currents and oceans,
peaks and hollows,
droplets and streams?
is it sands, and plains?
is submission life?
is submission death?
is submission everything?
or is submission nothing?
return to Index
of a Master and a slave
He touched me,
softly like a whisper.
He touched me,
once with only His eyes.
He gripped me,
with a gruff murmer,
He moved me,
with the slightest of gestures.
He loved me,
and never spoke it.
He owned me,
and never knew of it.
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a day in the life of a kajira
rising, she throws the night
of sleep from her body,
kept limber and pleasing
for His eyes, His use.
she brushes her hair,
worn in the manner He wishes,
cleans and perfumes her skin,
dresses as He wishes.
quickly she cleans the small
place He allows her to sleep,
bare of comforts but that
which He gives.
she enters His household,
feeding as He allows to maintain
health and spirit
as He demands.
she picks up her tasks,
one after the other,
remembering His words,
the work for His pleasure.
she greets His guests,
giving them welcome and comfort
in the manner He expects,
expecting no acknowlegement she is there.
she works with His slaves
or those He directs her to,
not withholding anything
He instructs her to share.
she bows her head,
trying to be unobtrusive
before His Free Companion,
knowing the irritation she is.
she smiles sincerely
as she sees Him,
attends His wishes
for His satisfaction, His whim.
a brightly colored piece of
furniture, a pet, a beast He owns.
she walls her hurt, her own desires,
her wishes for a smile, a bauble.
she punishes herself
far harsher than He would
when she feels she has failed holding
the standard of pleasing higher than He.
she entertains, dances,
she laps and kisses His chains,
His whips and bracelets.
she gives Him all He takes.
and then she steps back,
watching, not thinking,
not noticing, not judging
she prays, if others see a falter.
she is slave, she is kajira,
she is His thing,
His to be used, or not used
as He will, as is His right.
and at the end of the day,
she kisses the chain He places
at her neck, knowing she
would never run away.
she sleeps as He commands
her body still wet from His use,
listening to the quieting sounds of the house
and hearing only her own heart.
8/98 sa'eela{C}
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He left her alone,
naked, bowed in the rain,
no thing she took pride in
left, now in shame
she tries to hold her head high
and no one knows why,
their laughter and comments
might make her cry.
there are reasons,
and she will not reveal
for to defend herself is to
shame Him for real.
return to Index