Under The Whip

✨A love story told by one very spoiled, very grateful slave girl ✨

I still remember the very first moment I saw You, even though it was only pixels on a screen. You were standing on a dock in a Gorean sim in Second Life, solid and commanding, while I wandered the city alone, bored, bratty, restless, quietly hoping for something. When SL worked its little magic, I zoomed in on You, tall,

handsome, confident, and every part of me whispered a desperate little prayer, Please message me. And then You did! Just a few words. Just a simple conversation about roleplay.

But it was enough. From that moment on, every day after work became ours. Cassia and Rodric, my Port Kar Princess, and Your Dark Dreamy Physician, were the first lock and key to wrap themselves around my heart, and gods, how deeply they sank in. Two months later, You reached out again. I still grin like a silly little thing when I remember it.

You: “You sound like a really submissive woman.”
Me: “I am.”
You: “Do you want to be My submissive?”
Me: “YES.”

And just like that, the spark caught. The fire began.

I was Yours online. I remember the name You gave me, the ritual, the meaning, Your Rune. A name I still carry tucked safely in my heart and soul. We stumbled at first. We argued. We were rough around the edges. But You grounded me. You matured my submission. You made me see that I wasn’t honoring it the way I promised I would.

“You can be angry from your knees.”

Those words changed me. You taught me that I could feel, struggle, hurt, and still belong to You. That my emotions didn’t disqualify me from being Your slave, they simply needed to exist within my surrender. You saw me. You knew I wasn’t trying to run. I wasn’t trying to escape. I just wanted to lay everything down and give myself. And You gave me the strength and the safety to do exactly that.

“I see you,” You said.

And You did. In a way no one else ever had, or even dared to try. We talked more. Discovered we lived only an hour and a half apart. And then, You came to see me.

No vetting. No protocols. No long safety speeches. We were helplessly drawn together. There was only one instruction from You.

“Once I meet you, tell me if you truly want to be Mine.”

I was meant to be a service slave only, no sex, just obedience. And honestly? I was perfectly content with that. But then You saw me. We spent the day training, teasing, testing. You drove me home. And then You kissed me. A massage later, cuddling, hands down my pants, I was done for.

And I melted. Completely. Hopelessly.

After that, there were no limits, not to desire, not to devotion, not to love. I gave You everything… even my slave papers. And I knew, with a terrifying and beautiful certainty, There was nowhere else in this world I could ever belong but with You.

You traveled endlessly just to see me, exhaustion written across Your body while I ached with missing You, craving nothing more than to serve You every day, every moment.

And then my world shattered. My brother was murdered.

You rushed to me after a twelve hour shift, held me through the night, left at dawn for another shift with barely any sleep, and still came back that same day, and again for the funeral. I couldn’t even speak. You stood beside me. Held me. Read the eulogy when I broke apart. You were, and still are, my strength. My person.

Six months later, we moved in together. Our own place. Our dog. Our cats. Our ferrets. Our little, imperfect slice of heaven. That was when I became Your Deka, Your obedient, pleasing one. All I wanted was to love You, serve You, and give You everything I was. Then came the hospital.

Watching You nearly die was the first time I ever truly knew fear. I still don’t know what infection it was only that the medication they gave You was the same used for the bubonic plague, and I almost lost You.

But You lived.

And I got more time. More years. More love than I ever dreamed I deserved.

The years blurred together, theme parks, adventures, growth, mistakes, healing, fighting, forgiveness, learning how to be better, learning how to be us. We endured loss. Explosive fights. Hard boundaries. Deep pain. And still, it didn’t break us.

Six years in, we opened our hearts wider. And Calvin found us, and we found him. I became both of Yours. I went from Rune, to Deka, to Ava. I am Ava. I am Yours. I am happy. I am loved.

The transition wasn’t easy, monogamy to polyamory, one Master one slave to something larger, deeper, more complex. But once the fear loosened its grip, once the emotions settled, It became beautiful.

I get to love You. I get to watch another man love You. And I get to love him too.

Seeing You and Calvin together cooking, gaming, dancing, being ridiculous, riding roller coasters I refuse to touch, fills me with a warm, fizzy happiness I can’t put into words. Curled together, the three of us tangled in blankets, laughter, kisses, soft touches. Paradise.

I get to grow. I get to fall deeper. I get to be held. I get to refine my submission, communicate better, hold boundaries, and love You fully, flaws and all.

Before You, I didn’t truly understand love. Not until this exact day, ten years ago, when a silly, handsome avatar on a dock changed everything.

You love me deeply. Wildly. Imperfectly. Unconditionally. We fight. We struggle. We get frustrated. But if I have to argue with anyone in this life, I want it to be with You. And with Calvin. No one else gets that close to my heart.

You are my strength. My compass. My home. My safe place. You are grounded, silly, intelligent, hardworking, passionate, kind, open hearted, and endlessly loving. You carved Your name into my soul. And I am honored, truly honored, to celebrate ten years with You.

I cannot wait for the next ten. And the ten after that. And every year You allow me to kneel at Your feet, curl against Your chest, and whisper that I am Yours.

Because You are my Master. You are my Daddy. You are my world. You are my person. And I love You, freely, fiercely, wildly, and forever.

Happy Ten Year Anniversary, my Master.

Your pet is still and always, hopelessly, joyfully, willingly Yours.

I love You!

💜💜💜

There’s a kind of silence that doesn’t come from peace, it comes from the absence of something sacred.

Lately, that’s what I’ve been living in. A quiet, aching space between what my heart longs for and what life currently allows.

Our home has become a place of care and compassion, full of people who need tending. Family members with illnesses, dementia, bipolar disorder, souls who need patience, stability, and love. And I give that, wholeheartedly. It is what’s right. It is what’s needed. But somewhere in the process of caring for others, I’ve had to tuck away pieces of myself.

The part that kneels.The part that bows her head and whispers, yes, my Master. The part that lives and breathes devotion through ritual. Those small, quiet moments that used to anchor me, kneeling, offering, surrendering, are no longer part of my daily rhythm. And without them, I feel... adrift.

There’s a grief that comes with that loss, even though it feels strange to call it grief. But that’s what it is. A mourning for something still alive, just out of reach. The rituals were never just “acts” or “roles.” They were breaths. Heartbeats. Sacred pauses in the noise of the world where I could just be, Theirs.

Now, I move through my days surrounded by family, keeping the peace, keeping the masks on. I smile, I comfort, I tend to those who need it most. But beneath it all, there’s this dull ache, a hunger that hums low and constant.

It isn’t about sex, or even about control. It is about expression. It is about the freedom to live in my truth. To kneel without needing to explain why. To feel Their presence in the air and know that my submission has a place to breathe. And when that breath is held too long, the edges of me start to blur. I feel myself spiraling a little, grieving what I can’t express, missing what made me feel whole.

I know this isn’t forever. I know love and devotion don’t vanish just because the rituals have paused. But still, I can’t help but feel the pull of it, the yearning to return to that space where I can exhale, surrender, and feel the world fall quiet again.

Until then, I hold the ache like a prayer. I whisper devotion in the spaces between tasks, and hope that, somehow, They still feel it, that my heart still kneels, even when my body cannot.

I Used to Think I Was Failing at Life Because I Wasn’t Always Happy

You ever watch one of those movies where everyone’s smiling, laughing, singing in the rain, and just radiating happiness? I used to think that’s what life was supposed to be like. That if I wasn’t constantly glowing with joy like the people in those shows, I was somehow doing something wrong.

Sure, I had happy moments, the kind that fill you up with warmth and light, where you can’t help but grin until your cheeks hurt. But those feelings never lasted. They would fade, and when they did, I’d sit there asking myself, “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I stay happy?”

And for me, having DID added another layer to that struggle. My persecutor could be brutally cruel, whispering all the reasons I was failing, all the things that were wrong with me. (That’s probably a story for another day, but it definitely played a part in how I saw myself.)

When I started with my new therapist, I told her how I felt broken, how I couldn’t seem to hold onto happiness no matter how hard I tried. I’ll never forget what she said:

“No one is happy all the time. Happiness comes and goes, it is meant to. The real goal is to be content. If you can find contentment most days, you’re doing it right.

That completely changed me. Like, wow. It made sense in a way nothing else had before.

So I started looking at my life differently. I sat with those words, let them settle, and started noticing the places where I actually was content. I realized I was content with my romantic relationships, my vanilla ones, my M/s dynamics, my friendships, and my Leather family. I wasn’t failing. I was already doing what she said, living in a space of quiet, steady contentment.

It has been almost three years since that conversation, and I still think about it often. I still have bad days, really bad days, especially when seasonal depression hits. I still get sad, cry, get angry, or feel overwhelmed. But now I see that those moments don’t erase my contentment. They just remind me that I’m human.

Taking care of my parents, who both have dementia, is one of the hardest parts of my life right now. It is not something that brings me contentment most of the time, it is exhausting, it hurts, and it takes a lot out of me. But when they have those rare lucid moments, when they smile or remember something small, that brings me real, pure happiness. And for a little while, I feel light again.

Even within my DID system, I think most of us are content. There isn’t this constant inner war anymore, just a kind of quiet balance. Not perfect, not always peaceful, but manageable.

So maybe life isn’t supposed to be that constant rom com sparkle. Maybe it is supposed to be made up of gentle, steady days, sprinkled with bursts of happiness when the stars align just right. And maybe that’s enough. Actually, I think it is enough.

I’d love to hear what others think, though.

Do you believe that’s how life really is?

Do you think we should still be chasing that “dancing in the streets” kind of happiness every moment of every day?

Either way, I’m sitting here tonight, breathing, grounded, surrounded by people I love, my Masters, my Leather family in the House of Koch, my friends, and I feel it again. That quiet, steady, beautiful thing called contentment.

You’re Choosing to Stay

I’ve been thinking a lot about trauma bonds lately, especially how they show up in D/s and M/s dynamics. It is one of those things that’s uncomfortable to talk about, but necessary if we’re being real with ourselves.

Here’s the truth that I had to face: people aren’t holding you back, you’re choosing to stay.

Yeah, I said it. I’ve been guilty of it myself in the past. I’ve stayed in dynamics that were already falling apart, trying to convince myself that things would get better. I told myself stories like, “They just need time,” or, “They’re struggling, so I should be patient.” But deep down, I knew the connection had changed. I knew they weren’t showing up in the same way, that the structure and energy we agreed to wasn’t there anymore.

And instead of walking away, I stayed.

Not because they forced me to. Not because I was trapped. But because I was afraid. Afraid of being alone, afraid of what their absence would feel like, afraid that if I set boundaries or spoke up, they’d leave.

That’s on me.

It is easy to say “they’re holding me back,” but the truth is, no one is holding you anywhere. You’re choosing to stay in a place that’s hurting you. And I get it, trauma bonding is real. That push and pull, that need for validation from the very person who’s stopped giving it, it messes with your head and heart. But at the end of the day, it’s still your responsibility to recognize it and step away.

When someone stops maintaining the dynamic you both committed to, stops providing consistent connection, communication, or care, that’s a sign. It’s not a cue to chase or cling harder. It is your signal to walk away.

You don’t owe them your loyalty when they’ve stopped honoring the agreement. You don’t owe them your emotional labor. You’re not there to save them from their choices, and they’re not there to save you from yours.

People are only accountable for themselves.

So stop using them as an excuse. Stop saying, “They have no one else,” or “They need me.” That’s not compassion, that’s fear dressed up as purpose.

If you truly want to grow, you have to call yourself out sometimes. You have to recognize when you’re choosing to stay in something that’s no longer healthy, and have the courage to say, “No more.”

Leaving doesn’t mean you failed. It means you finally remembered your worth.