Under The Whip

Why do I still feel guilty?

I’ve been asking myself this question far more often than I expected, why, as a Gorean kajira, do I still feel guilty for wanting to serve? Not just serving other Masters, but even serving my own Masters. It has gotten easier with time, especially with reassurance from my Masters, but there are still moments where that old guilt rises up like a shadow.

When our dynamic first began, serving my Master Calvin while my Master Damon wasn’t present filled me with such guilt I could barely breathe. I needed constant reassurance, constant reminders that I wasn’t doing anything wrong, that they both wanted this dynamic, that I was not betraying one by serving the other. We’re four years in now, and yet sometimes that guilt still lingers. Even when my Master Calvin travels, I occasionally feel guilty serving my Master Damon.

It makes no sense. And yet, it sits inside me like a quiet ache.

Because the truth is, I am deeply, fiercely Gorean minded. Gorean in nature, in heart, and in spirit. It is in my blood to love men, to serve them, to find fulfillment in offering myself with openness and devotion. When I see a man I deem worthy of my service, it stirs something instinctive in me.

So why should I feel guilty for acting according to my nature?

This is something I battle with more often than I like to admit. There are moments when I catch myself flirting with a Gorean Master, and instantly my whole body tenses, my butt puckers like I’m about to be disciplined. And the thing is, my Masters have every right to discipline me simply because it pleases them, even for amusement. The thought alone makes my breath catch.

What reassures me most is when my Masters tell me that when I serve others, they are being served too. That my service reflects on them. That my obedience honors them. Sometimes I confess, almost eagerly, “I can’t wait for such and such friend to visit so I can serve him paga,” and my Masters only laugh and call me their good little whore.

And Gods, hearing that hits something deep in my belly something that only burns hotter.

Yet still, why do I feel guilty? I think part of it comes from today’s society, the insistence that I’m supposed to be an independent woman who needs no man, serves no man, and belongs only to herself. But that has never been who I am. That path would never fulfill me, never bring me peace, never match the truth of my spirit.

I am content, deeply content, being a kajira in a Gorean dynamic, serving in a Leather household. I love serving men their paga. I love kneeling in devotion. I even ache at the thought that one day, if permitted, I might be granted free-use privileges as a kajira. These desires don’t frighten me. They ground me. They make me feel whole.

My loyalty and my love will always belong to my Masters first. My Gorean soul, is happiest and most alive when I am in service, especially to those welcomed into my Masters’ hospitality.

So maybe the guilt is just an echo of a world I don’t belong to.
A world I was never meant to fit into. Because the truth is simple,

I am a slave girl.

I serve.

I bloom in obedience.

And every submissive breath I take belongs to the men I call Master.

La Kajira!

A few days ago, my world cracked in half.

I got the news that my sister passed away… finally, after fighting Stage Four Cancer for two long years. I knew this moment was coming, I could feel it creeping closer, but knowing doesn’t make the impact any less brutal. There’s no easing into this kind of pain. It hits like a fucking freight train.

Today is her funeral. And I’m not there.

I can’t begin to express how much that tears me apart. I feel sick with guilt, with regret, with the feeling that I should be standing there with everyone else as they honor her life. She’s being given a military service, she served in the Air Force, and she served with pride. She deserves that honor. She deserves every moment of respect and remembrance they’re giving her.

And I’m sitting here hundreds of miles away, trying not to drown in the weight of all the things I can’t change.

I keep telling myself she isn’t suffering anymore. That her pain is gone. That her body, which fought as hard as it could until it simply couldn’t anymore, is finally at rest. A part of me really is grateful for that. She deserved peace so much more than she ever got But the rest of me…

The rest of me is just fucking devastated.

I miss her so fucking much. I miss her laugh. Her sarcasm. Her kindness. The way she could ground me even in my darkest moments. I miss knowing she was on this planet with me, even if we weren’t talking every day. Losing her feels like losing a piece of my own foundation. My chest physically aches with how deeply I love her and how violently she’s been ripped away.

I will never forget her. I can’t.

She’s part of my bones, part of my history, part of everything that shaped me, and continues to shape me. I love her with a depth I don’t have words for, and I will honor her memory for the rest of my life. She deserved more time… but I’ll make damn sure her impact doesn’t fade.

So this is me… grieving loudly because I don’t know how to hold this quietly. This is me missing her with everything I am. This is me loving her beyond the boundary of life.

Rest easy, sis. You finally get to breathe.

One of the weekly tasks my Masters give me is something I’ve actually become super grateful for, a current-events assignment.

Every week I have to choose an up to date topic about something happening in the world. It can be international, national, statewide, local, or even just something I think They’d want to know about. Once I pick the topic, I have to dig for credible sources, news articles, reputable sites, videos from verified stations, and gather everything neatly for Them.

And then comes the fun part.

I have to explain what’s happening, why it’s happening, why it matters, and add my own personal opinion. Yes… They make me think. They make me form opinions. They make me say what I believe and why. And for some reason that just hits a very specific submissive switch inside me, the “yes, make my brain work for You” button.

I’ll be honestt, this is one of the tasks I genuinely love. It keeps me aware of what’s happening around me. It challenges me in ways that aren’t boring or repetitive, like chores can sometimes become. It is creative, and I love knowing that every week I get to show up to our Dom Talk check ins holding something new, researched, polished, and offered like a little intellectual gift at Their feet.

And the best part?

Their other slave has to do it too, and we never tell each other what topic we’re doing. Two months of this so far, and not once have we picked the same thing. I actually look forward to hearing what she brings. I love seeing what she finds relevant, what sparks her passion, what she thinks matters. It feels like we’re learning side by side, offering up different pieces of the world to the same Hands.

There’s something deeply satisfying about a task that trains my obedience and engages my mind. Something that makes me feel useful, intelligent, and connected to Them. Something that leaves me kneeling there with my notes and links and thoughts, hoping They’ll be proud that I paid attention, that I learned, that I brought something meaningful to Them.

I love when my Masters find ways to guide me, that light me up like this, fun, stimulating, and still undeniably submissive. It makes me feel seen.
It makes me feel owned. It makes me feel… good.

And I can’t wait to see what I get to bring Them this week.

I’m absolutely thrilled about how amazing our Subby Hotline turnout was tonight! We made so many new friends and had such a rich, heartfelt conversation. Tonight’s topic was *Staying in Your Submissive Headspace* and exploring ways our Dominants can support us in that space. The perspectives and ideas shared were incredible.

Huge love and gratitude to my two besties, Cyn and Tova, for helping make it all happen and to everyone who showed up and contributed. I adore you all so much.

TRIGGER WARNING...TALKING ABOUT CANCER, HOSPICE DOWN BELOG!

I don’t even know where to begin. My heart feels like it has been ripped from my chest, and I’m barely able to breathe through the grief.

For years now, I have been holding my breath, praying, hoping, and watching my dear friend, my chosen sister, fight stage four ovarian cancer. About six months ago, we received what felt like a miracle: she was in remission. My heart soared. I let myself believe. I let myself hope.

But nine weeks later, the cancer came back with a vengeance. It spread to her lungs, filled the lining and fluid of them, and left her body too weak, too fragile to handle more chemo. I listened to her, as she told me, that her strength was fading, as doctors did everything they could to stabilize her, but it was never enough.

Yesterday, the hardest decision was made: she is moving to Hospice. she told me, if the cancer is at least kind, she might have, two months. Two months.

FUCK! Why is life so cruel?

I have spent all day, all night, crying. I barely ate, surviving mostly on junk food, because food has no meaning when my heart is breaking like this. Every ounce of energy has been drained. I have no spoons. I cannot respond to messages, I cannot get out of bed. I cannot be here in any real way right now. My soul feels fractured, and a piece of it is leaving with her.

She chose this path herself, she chose not to fight anymore. And though part of me wants to scream, to beg her to keep going, I support her choice. I respect it. I do not want her to suffer in pain. But losing her, losing her will leave a hole in my heart that I don’t know if I can ever fill.

She asked me to share, one last time, her gratitude to everyone online, who helped with her gift back in May. It eased her body, it eased her mind, and it gave her courage to fight. Please, let that kindness linger in your hearts, as it did in hers.

All I can say now is this, love one another fiercely. Be kind. Cherish the moments you have. We never truly know how much time we are given.

I love you Ves, my sister. I will hold you in my heart every single day.

My Master Calvin taught his very first class over the weekend, an hour and a half long, and absolutely amazing. We had around thirty - forty people attend, and the response was incredible. So many came up afterward to tell Him how much they learned and how much they appreciated His teaching. I was bursting with pride, standing there knowing that I belong to Him.

I can’t wait for His next class after the new year. Until then, He continues to co host the Master/Dominant Roundtable support group with my other Master, Damon. Together, they also host Little Space Story Time once a month, where they read stories for all of us littles, middles, our caregivers, and anyone else who loves that soft space.

Even with all the chaos in my life, caring for parents with dementia and everything that comes with it, I’m just so deeply grateful to have both of them in my world.
💜💜💜

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.

Eeeep! Tomorrow’s the Big Day!

I can hardly sit still right now, our first ever Subby Hotline is happening tomorrow! I’m beyond excited because our very first topic is one that’s close to so many hearts: how difficult it can be to be a submissive.

We’ve got some amazing discussion questions lined up, and after today’s rehearsal, I’m feeling so confident that everything is going to flow beautifully. This isn’t just another chat, it’s the beginning of something real, something healing, and something that connects subs of all types across the world.

I can’t even begin to describe how much I love this community. You’ve all made this dream come to life, and I’m endlessly grateful. Huge love and thanks to my Masters and to the House of Koch for supporting me and letting this little idea grow into something so powerful.

Honestly? I feel like a kid at Yule, giddy, sparkly, and full of joy. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough!