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·686 words·4 mins
D/S Kink

We were met at the entrance of the Dom Pamporium by our hostess.

She asked another Dom and Skyspook if they were there to be pampered. Both responded in the affirmative.

“And you?” she asked me.

“I’m here to learn.” I told her.

“Of course,” she nodded graciously. “If you would remove your shoes, you may kneel by your Master.”

“Thank you.” I bowed quickly. I took my place among the other slaves on the floor, one serving serenely as a footstool, others giving manicures and pedicures. As Skyspook waited for his turn to receive a hand massage from more experienced slaves, I observed them at work on other Dominants, rubbing lotion into skin, working the muscles mindfully. The one to my left patiently explained her techniques to her client’s slave as she worked his hands. Another to my right rubbed the shoulders of a Dom who had arrived alone. Skyspook closed his eyes as he waited, seeming to lose himself in the flow of the space, the soothing music, the darkness, the energy.

The slave who was to massage him arrived shortly.

As she began the process, the hostess slave asked me if I’d like to learn some formal positions while my Master was served. I accepted. She led me through a variety of poses, instructing me how to present myself for inspection, the tower position – a default pose that signifies that I am a slave and am waiting patiently but little more, another position signifying full obeisance and surrender – an extreme bow with my body flattened on the floor and my face down, one for adulation of respected ones in the community but not my Master, and two for the purposes of sexual presentation to my Master.

“You’re so good at this!” She exclaimed. “So lovely. You are a good slave.”

I beamed, felt myself glow from head to toe. I assumed the tower position while Skyspook enjoyed the remainder of his massage, my stress draining away, my mind clear, feeling  light and (of all things!) free.

“How was that?” I asked Skyspook after we’d exited.

“Wonderful,” he replied, adding, “And strangely humbling.”


When the illustrious Mistress Joanne had spoken at a talk I’d attended last year of the ineffable yet undeniable power of slaves, I had accepted her words out of respect and knowledge that the Mistress spoke truly, sincerely, and with a wisdom about many matters but discovered her sentiment beyond my understanding, its deeper meaning elusive. How could it be that one in constant service, contracted to another, could be, of all things, powerful?

And yet the slaves within the Pamporium moved with incomparable grace, drifting from one task to the next, focused, enthralling. And in their presence, with their guidance, I found myself following suit, transforming into one of their ethereal kind.

It was the first time I had been recognized as one of them, really seen as a slave by others who walk that path, and we resonated together in a way that floors me even now to think of it. In many ways, it was an initiation.

It verges on profane to try to recount the experience now, my account of the event vulgar in comparison, a mere shadow of the energy of that sacred space. It is something I will carry with me for some time yet, something I long to recreate in my own home, my own life, for the one who owns me.

Our weekend at Power Exchange Summit yielded incredible inspiration and knowledge, and more writing is forthcoming (apparently from Skyspook as well, who drew his own meaning and growth from the retreat).

As much as I find in weaker moments that I fear I will not be able to live up to my aspiration to be Skyspook’s slave, to be worthy of such an honor, to be capable to serve to the extent that someone of his quality and character deserves, I am now certain that I am a slave and am developing a much deeper understanding of what the archetype means to me.

I have a lot to learn.


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