Under The Whip

There is a small corner of my world that belongs entirely to me. No collar hangs there. No title lives there. No expectations sit neatly folded on a shelf waiting for me to pick them up. Just me.

Some days, it is a spiritual space filled with candles, soft light, and quiet moments with the gods. Other days, it becomes my submissive altar, a place where I journal, reflect, and ask myself difficult questions. Occasionally, it is simply the chair in the corner of the living room after everyone has gone to bed, when the house is finally quiet enough for me to hear my own thoughts.

I've learned something over the years that I wish more people talked about in Power Exchange communities, Not every piece of you belongs to your dynamic. I know, I know. Somewhere, someone just clutched their pearls and whispered, "But isn't Total Power Exchange total?"\

Here's my slightly sassy answer, You're still a human being before you're a title.

Submission is a beautiful thing, but it was never meant to erase us. It should reveal us. Healthy dynamics make room for growth. They leave space for curiosity. They allow us to become more of ourselves, not less. And sometimes that means creating sacred spaces that exist outside of service.

For me, my altar is one of those spaces. It is where I can ask questions without needing permission. It is where I can sit with my spirituality, my fears, my hopes, and the parts of myself that are still unfolding. It is where I remember that service can begin with serving my own well being.

Because here's the truth, a submissive who knows themself serves differently than one who has forgotten who she is. I've also come to appreciate something equally important, allowing the people we love to have sacred spaces of their own. We talk a lot about supporting our partners, but sometimes support doesn't look like joining them. Sometimes it looks like protecting their time. It looks like saying, "This space is yours, and I will honor it." You do not have to participate in every spiritual practice your partner has. You do not have to understand every calling they feel.

And you certainly don't have to merge into one indistinguishable being simply because you share a dynamic.

Dominants are still people outside of being Dominants. Submissives are still people outside of being submissives. We're allowed to have hobbies, beliefs, rituals, and moments that belong solely to us.Imagine that, a whole human being with interests outside of kneeling. Revolutionary, I know. The longer I walk this path, the more I realize that healthy Power Exchange isn't about ownership of every breath. It is about stewardship. It is about creating an environment where everyone involved has the room to become who they are meant to be. Sometimes love looks like participation. Sometimes service looks like devotion. And sometimes service looks like quietly closing the door behind someone and protecting the sacredness waiting on the other side.

So yes, I have my own altar. I have moments when an entire room becomes mine, not out of selfishness, but out of necessity. Moments where I sit with my spirituality, my submission, my healing, and the ever evolving woman underneath all the labels.

And every time I leave that space, I return to the people I love more grounded, more present, and more authentically myself. Because I've discovered that sacred spaces aren't the opposite of service. They are often where service begins.

And if you're reading this wondering whether you're allowed to have a corner of the world that belongs only to you, let this be your reminder, You are. Light the candle. Close the door. And remember who you are when no one is watching.

There is a question that has been sitting with me lately, quietly tapping me on the shoulder every time I think I have myself figured out.

Do I actually know myself, or do I simply know who I have become in service to others?

That question has been uncomfortable. As someone who has spent a significant portion of my life in service, I know how easy it is to become exceptionally good at reading a room, anticipating needs, and finding fulfillment in caring for others. Some of us can tell you exactly how someone takes their coffee, when they're upset before they realize it themselves, and which words will make them feel seen.

And yet, ask us, "What do you need?" and suddenly we're buffering like a computer running on dial up internet. Funny how that works. Over the past several months, my experiences with Holy Fire have been opening my eyes to so much more about my relationship with service, devotion, and spirituality. It has gently, and sometimes not so gently, held up a mirror and asked me to look at the person standing in front of it. Not the kajira. Not the service oriented person. Not the title, the role, or the expectations. Just me.

Because here's the thing I am slowly learning, Devotion is beautiful, but if it only ever flows outward, eventually you run dry.

We talk a lot in Power Exchange about vulnerability with our partners, but how often are we vulnerable with ourselves? How often do we sit quietly and admit the things we don't want to say out loud? "I am afraid of disappointing people." "I don't always know what I want." "I am terrified of being unnecessary." "I don't know who I am outside of service." Those are not easy things to admit.

Self intimacy is a strange thing. It asks you to become a student of yourself. To learn your own rhythms, your own desires, your own boundaries. It asks you to stop performing and start listening. Can you articulate your needs? Can you identify your desires without filtering them through someone else's approval? Can you sit alone with yourself and still enjoy your own company? Those questions matter. Because there is a tremendous difference between devotion and loneliness wearing devotion's clothing.

Sometimes people serve because it fulfills them. Sometimes people serve because they are afraid that if they stop, no one will stay. And if that sentence made you shift uncomfortably in your seat, welcome to the club. We have jackets. They're probably black leather.

The older I get, the more I realize that healthy Power Exchange is not built upon one whole person and one incomplete person. It is built upon two individuals who have done the difficult work of knowing themselves. You should be able to stand on your own before choosing to kneel beside another. Not because kneeling is lesser, I will forever argue that there is incredible strength in intentional surrender, but because surrender means something entirely different when it is a choice rather than a necessity.

There is power in saying, "I know who I am without you, and I still choose you."

That is devotion. Likewise, there is power in saying, "I know I will survive without this dynamic, but I choose to invest myself in it anyway." That is devotion too.

Holy Fire has taught me that spirituality is not always found in grand moments. Sometimes it is found in accountability. In honesty. In sitting quietly and asking yourself difficult questions without immediately reaching for comfortable answers.

Who are you when no one is watching? Who are you when no one needs you? Can you offer yourself the same compassion you so freely give to everyone else? I suspect many of us are still learning. And perhaps that is the point.

So, if you've made it this far, I leave you with one final question, Before you devote yourself to another person, have you ever considered becoming devoted to yourself first?

Because I am beginning to believe that the strongest acts of surrender do not begin at someone's feet. They begin in front of a mirror. And if that mirror occasionally calls you out on your nonsense? Well, that's just part of the spiritual journey.

There is a misconception that has followed submission for as long as I have been in the lifestyle. People assume that submissives kneel because they cannot stand.

As if the act of surrender somehow erases intelligence, competence, ambition, or life experience. As if submission is something that simply happens to us rather than something we consciously choose.

I have never found that to be true.
 

Some of the most submissive people I know are also the people running households, leading teams, raising children, teaching classes, managing businesses, and holding entire communities together with little more than caffeine, stubbornness, and sheer force of will. We pay bills. We make difficult decisions. We advocate for ourselves. We survive things that should have broken us.

And then, at the end of the day, we kneel. Not because we must. Because we choose to.

Submission is not a personality trait. It is not being soft spoken, agreeable, or incapable of independent thought. It is not a factory setting that gets installed at birth. It is a choice, one that is made over and over again, sometimes daily, sometimes moment by moment.

There is an incredible difference between saying, "I have no choice but to follow," and saying, "I could lead myself, but I trust you enough to place myself in your hands." One is dependence. The other is surrender.

People often speak about Dominance as though it carries all the weight in a power exchange dynamic, but I would argue that submission carries its own gravity. There is a tremendous amount of strength required to look another person in the eye and say, "I am capable of walking this path alone, and I am choosing to walk it beside you instead." That is not weakness. That is courage.

It also means that obedience and blind compliance are not the same thing, something I wish more people understood. Blind compliance asks us to turn our brains off. It demands silence in the face of discomfort and praises unquestioning loyalty. Healthy obedience, however, is informed. It is intentional. It understands the difference between trust and worship.

I do not stop being intelligent because I kneel. I do not stop having opinions because I wear a collar. And I certainly do not surrender my ability to say, "Excuse me, but I think we should revisit this decision." (Respectfully, of course. Usually. Depending on how much coffee I've had.) Experience has taught me that submission is not about becoming less. It is about becoming more honest.

The older I get, the more intentional my surrender becomes. Experience has not made submission harder, it has made it heavier. Every lesson learned, every relationship survived, every scar earned adds weight to the choice.

When I was younger, I thought submission was simply giving. I never took it seriously. Now I understand it is discerning. It is asking difficult questions. It is evaluating character. It is recognizing that trust is built in inches and maintained through consistency. It is understanding that authority should be earned, not assumed.

After all, if I am going to hand someone the metaphorical keys to my kingdom, they should probably know where the front door is. Submission means more when it comes from someone who is fully capable of withholding it. That, I think, is the part people miss.

The kneeling matters because standing was always an option.

So no, being capable does not make me less submissive. If anything, it makes my submission infinitely more meaningful. Because every time I kneel, I do so carrying my experience, my strength, my voice, and my autonomy with me. And perhaps that is the true weight of the kneeling.

Knowing that I could stand. And choosing, with open eyes and an open heart, not to.
 

"If the violin is making awful sounds, it is generally not the violin's fault." - Anonymous

I heard someone say this at the Holy Fire Conference this year, and it has been rattling around in my brain ever since.

For whatever reason, it struck something deep within me. Maybe because I have spent so much of my life identifying with being of service. Maybe because I am a submissive. Maybe because, if I'm honest, I have spent years believing that if I was not thriving in a dynamic, it must somehow mean I wasn't trying hard enough.

I simply needed to be more obedient. More disciplined. More devoted. More patient. More submissive.
I needed to become a better violin.

In the Leather, BDSM, and Gorean communities, we often talk about service, growth, leadership, structure, and responsibility. We talk about the beauty of watching a submissive blossom under the guidance of someone who has taken on the responsibility of leading them. We celebrate when someone flourishes under a collar, becomes more confident in their service, and grows into the best version of themselves.
But what happens when they don't?

For the longest time, I believed the answer was simple: the submissive must not be trying hard enough. The older I get, however, the more I realize that human beings are far too complicated for that answer to ever be true.

Sometimes the violin isn't being played correctly. Sometimes the music being asked of it isn't what it was designed to create. Sometimes the strings are too tight. Sometimes they're too loose. Sometimes the room is too humid. Sometimes the musician is exhausted. Sometimes the violin has cracks that nobody knew were there. And sometimes, it is simply the wrong violin for that particular musician.

That doesn't make either one bad. I think we do ourselves a tremendous disservice when we approach power exchange dynamics with a need to determine fault. Someone has to be wrong. Someone has to be failing. Someone has to be the problem. Relationships are rarely that simple.

Sometimes a submissive is struggling because of unresolved trauma they haven't yet healed from. Sometimes a Dominant lacks the capacity to provide the leadership they desperately want to give. Sometimes boundaries aren't being communicated clearly. Sometimes needs have changed over time. Sometimes moral or philosophical differences become impossible to ignore. Sometimes communication slowly breaks down despite everyone's best intentions. And sometimes, a Dominant's leadership style and a submissive's submission style simply do not align. None of those things automatically make anyone a bad person. It simply makes us human.

This is something I have experienced more than once throughout my life, but especially within my current relationship dynamics.

Many of you know that I am in a polyamorous relationship with my Masters. For a very long time, our romantic relationship and our power exchange relationship existed side by side. Those two things felt inseparable to me. Today, they are not.

At this moment in our lives, we have ended our power exchange dynamic. Not because anyone stopped loving anyone. Not because there was some dramatic explosion or betrayal. Not because anyone failed. We simply do not currently have the capacity on either side of the slash to maintain the type of power exchange that all of us deserve. And that realization has been both heartbreaking and strangely beautiful.

It is heartbreaking because power exchange is not simply something I do, it is woven into the very fabric of who I am. It is beautiful because choosing to acknowledge when something isn't working is, in its own way, an act of love.

Right now, we are simply a romantic poly throuple. That sentence still feels strange to write.

This season of our lives is confusing for all parties involved. Damon, Calvin, and I are navigating what our relationship looks like without the structure that existed for so many years. We are learning one another all over again in some ways.

The truth is, I don't know what our future looks like. I don't know whether we will eventually return to a deeper power exchange dynamic. I don't know whether collars will once again find their place around my neck. I don't know what service will look like six months or two years from now.

What I do know is that life has been throwing an extraordinary amount of bullshark at all of us lately. We're stressed. We're exhausted. We're healing. We're preparing for a move. We're trying to survive while also figuring out who we are becoming. And that's okay.

Sometimes growth looks like leaning deeper into service. Sometimes growth looks like stepping away from it for a while. My hope is that once we've moved, settled into our new lives, and found our footing again, we will be able to revisit what a deeper connection and power exchange might look like for us.

Or perhaps we will discover something entirely new. Both possibilities are worthy of exploration.

What I am learning through all of this is that submission is not measured by how much suffering I can endure while pretending everything is fine. It is not measured by how tightly I cling to a title or a collar when the relationship underneath it is asking for care and attention. Submission can also be honesty. Submission can also be vulnerability.

Submission can also be saying, "This isn't working right now, and I love you enough to acknowledge that."

I am still a Leather person. I am still Gorean. I am still devoted to service. And even though I am not actively their slave or held beneath their collar today, Damon, and Clvin remain my entire world. I love them fiercely and deeply. I am, and always will be, loving and loyal to them. Titles may change. Dynamics may shift. Relationships evolve. Love remains.

And finally, perhaps the most important lesson I took away from that quote,

Sometimes a violin is broken. And sometimes the person holding the violin is not the one meant to fix it. Sometimes the violin needs to retire. Sometimes it simply needs to spend some time in the repair shop learning how to become whole again.

Therapy, healing, self reflection, and personal growth are not signs of failure. They are acts of stewardship over the instrument we have been entrusted with, ourselves.

No violin should be expected to produce beautiful music while its strings are frayed and its body is cracked. So if the music sounds awful, perhaps we should spend less time assigning blame and more time asking better questions.

Is the violin okay?

Is the musician okay?

Are they meant to create music together?

And what kind of song might they create once they've both had the opportunity to heal?

Sometimes, that question matters far more than who is at fault.

I want to begin by sharing my personal understanding of humility and the way I experience it.

Humility is the quality of having a modest view of your own importance. It means recognizing your strengths without exaggerating them, accepting your flaws without denial, and not placing yourself above others.

At its core, humility is about balance, being confident but not arrogant, self aware but not self degrading. A humble person is open to learning, willing to admit mistakes, and respectful of others’ value and perspectives.

It’s not thinking less of yourself, it’s thinking of yourself accurately, without needing to be the center of everything.

I've recently heard someone say the statement, “Humility makes us forget who we are for the sake of our Masters.” And every time I read it, something in me resists it deeply, because that has never been my experience, and more importantly, it is not what humility means to me.

My humility does not erase me. It does not blur the lines of who I am, or soften me into something shapeless and dependent. It does not strip me of identity, voice, or self worth. If anything, my humility has required me to know myself more, not less. To understand my needs, my boundaries, my emotions, and my growth in a way I never did before.

Before I stepped into this dynamic, I struggled with self worth. I let people walk over me because I didn’t believe I deserved better. That wasn’t humility, that was a lack of self. That was silence where there should have been a voice.

What I have now is entirely different.

My humility is a conscious choice. It is me standing firmly in who I am and choosing to offer respect, trust, and devotion, not because I am lesser, but because I am aware. Aware of my strengths. Aware of my flaws. Aware of the power in giving myself with intention, not losing myself without it.

I do not disappear behind my Masters. I stand beside them as myself, growing, learning, sometimes stumbling, but always present. My voice still exists. My thoughts still matter. My feelings are not erased for the sake of obedience. True structure, true leadership, and true connection do not demand that kind of disappearance, they require honesty and presence.

If I were to “forget who I am,” there would be nothing real left to offer. Because devotion without identity is empty. Submission without self awareness is not strength, it’s vulnerability without protection. And that is not something I am willing to call humility.

Humility, for me, is knowing exactly who I am, and choosing, willingly and fully, how I show up. It is grounding, not erasing. It is clarity, not confusion. It is strength wrapped in softness, not silence forced by fear. So no, humility does not make me forget who I am. It reminds me.

I swear to walk my spiritual path with intention and honesty, to continue learning, growing, and listening as I am able.

I vow to remain mindful in my submission, practicing it with integrity, self respect, and care, and to offer my best effort each day, knowing that growth is a living thing.

This I swear in good faith, to the best of my ability, and with honor.

This past week I did something a little outside my comfort zone. I attended a virtual support growth circle for s-types. The focus was on visioning and goal setting for slavery, submission, and service in the coming year. And honestly? I didn’t expect it to hit me the way it did.

I’ve never really been one for resolutions or long term goal setting. I don’t know if it is fear of failing, lack of follow through, or just knowing myself well enough to assume I won’t maintain it, but historically, I just, don’t do that. So walking into a space that asked me to look ahead like this felt a little scary. But also? Kinda thrilling. I felt a sense of belonging almost immediately. Listening to other s-types share their words, their hopes, their intentions, it stirred something soft and curious in me. I left that circle with my brain buzzing and my heart a little fluttery.

I sat with it for several days after. Letting it roll around in my head. And eventually, I chose to engage with it instead of avoiding it (which, yes, is growth for me). They had said we could pick as many or as few words as we wanted. Given my track record, maybe “follow through” should’ve been the obvious choice, but instead, I found myself drawn to three words. Three words that feel grounding, protective, and deeply aligned with how I want to live my slavery next year.

Stewardship
The disciplined care of what has been entrusted.

This one landed in my heart in the best way. Stewardship centers responsibility over performance. It reminds me that my slavery isn’t about proving or pushing, it is about conscious tending. To my body. My protocols. My service. My limits. It honors Leather values of accountability while still letting me remain sovereign and present inside my devotion. That feels, really good.

Integrated
All parts acknowledged and included.

This word feels deeply personal to me. Given my lived experience with DID and internal systems, integration matters. A lot. This word tells me that my slavery does not require fragmentation to function. I don’t have to split myself apart to be “good.” My service gets to hold all of me. Every part. Every voice. That feels tender and incredibly affirming.

Sustainable
Built to last without self harm.

Ohhh this one, this one feels important. Sustainable reframes devotion as something livable, not extractive. It reminds me that no protocol that breaks me is worthy of my service. My slavery deserves to be steady, embodied, and long-lasting, not something I burn myself out on trying to maintain. I want to last. I want my devotion to endure.

My 2026 Intention Statement

In 2026, I commit to Stewardship of my service, my body, and my devotion. My slavery is not an act of disappearance, but of responsible care. I choose to tend what I am given, agreements, protocols, rituals, and expectations, with honesty and accountability, while also honoring my own limits. I will no longer confuse endurance with worth, nor sacrifice my well being to prove loyalty.

I enter this year Integrated. All parts of me are welcome within my service. I will not fragment, mask, or silence myself in order to be acceptable or compliant. My obedience will be conscious, chosen, and whole, rooted in consent and clarity rather than fear or survival. Unity within myself is not a weakness, it is the foundation of my strength as a slave.

Above all, my devotion in 2026 will be Sustainable. I will build a dynamic that can be lived in, not survived. My service will be steady rather than extractive, intentional rather than compulsive. What I offer will be real, embodied, and lasting, because a slavery that destroys the slave is not honorable, and a devotion that cannot endure is not true.

I don’t know exactly what this next year will bring. I still feel shy about goal setting. But choosing these words feels different. It feels intentional. It feels kind. And it feels like a promise, not to be perfect, but to be present.

And honestly? I’m excited. Excited to see how this unfolds, one obedient, thoughtful, sustainable step at a time
 

I recently went to a discussion group, and I honestly didn’t expect how much it would fill my cup. There was warmth in the room, laughter, thoughtful conversation, and that quiet feeling of being understood without having to explain myself too much. One moment in particular stayed with me. A fellow submissive shared that she has an altar in her home dedicated to her submission.

As she spoke, I felt something in me light up.

Since then, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. The idea of creating an altar for myself feels deeply grounding. I love the thought of having something tangible to look at, something that helps me visualize my submission and keep my intentions clear. A space that gently reminds me who I am, how I serve, and what I am working toward, not out of pressure, but out of devotion and care.

More than anything, I’m drawn to the quiet intimacy of it. A place where I can sit with myself, breathe, reflect, and reconnect with my submissive headspace. Somewhere I can honor my service, my growth, and my commitment in a way that feels nurturing and intentional. The more I imagine it, the more it feels like an act of self love through submission, rooted, mindful, and entirely mine.

As I sit here, my heart a little fluttery with excitement, I’ve started to lovingly ponder what I might place on my altar. Just thinking about it makes me feel warm and centered. So far, these are the pieces that are calling to me.

I imagine beginning with a small purple cloth, the exact shade that represents the House of Koch, laying the foundation for everything else. Resting on it would be my very first collar, the one my Master Damon gave me, now retired, but still so full of meaning and memory. Alongside it, my wolf tag with my name on it. It once hung from my collar, but after it was removed, it became something just for me, something deeply personal.

I would add the candle I had when I first met my Master Calvin, its presence reminding me of beginnings and the feelings that stirred in me then. I’d like to place a framed copy of my slave papers there as well, honoring my identity and the path I walk. Perhaps a few crystals, chosen intuitively, and a vase of flowers, or maybe even a small plant, something I can nurture, the way I nurture my submission itself.

I love the idea of keeping my small recording device there too, so I can softly speak my thoughts when they arise and later give them form in words. Maybe my favorite Gorean novel would rest nearby, or a small card with my favorite submissive quotes, something to read when I need grounding or inspiration. Of course, there would be a picture of my Masters, watching over the space, and finally, a small piece of leather, simple, symbolic, and deeply comforting.

Even imagining it all together makes me feel more rooted, more present, and quietly happy in my submission.

So what would you add to your altar? Let me know in the comments!

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the Gorean novels and what they actually say about slavery, devotion, and desire, especially when compared to how parts of the Gorean Lifestyle sometimes get practiced or spoken about today. This is coming from my own heart, from a place of submission, reflection, and love for the philosophy as I understand it.

In the books, it is very clear that most often there is one slave for one Master. That bond matters. Many kajirae become love slaves, deeply cherished, deeply wanted, and deeply seen by their Masters. Even when the text explores darker or more controversial elements, such as Masters who genetically created slaves with deformities because they found them exotic. It still reinforces one powerful truth, every slave was unique. No two were the same. No two were desired for the same reasons. Slaves were not interchangeable objects, they were individuals, shaped by purpose, temperament, body, and spirit.

That’s why it truly troubles me when, in the Gorean Lifestyle, I hear kajirae tearing each other down. “She’s not obedient enough.” “She’s not pleasing.” “She doesn’t have this skill or that skill.” As if there is a single mold we are all supposed to fit into. As if worth is measured by a checklist instead of by presence, intention, and devotion.

The books never supported that idea. Quite the opposite. Masters celebrated their slaves. They delighted in their differences. One slave might be prized for grace, another for fire, another for softness, another for endurance. Diversity wasn’t a flaw, it was the point. It was what made ownership meaningful and desire specific.

As a kajira at heart, I believe this deeply, I do not need to be like any other slave to be valuable. And neither do you. We are not meant to mirror each other. We are meant to be ourselves, offered honestly and fully, for the Master who desires exactly what we are.

So please, do not berate another slave for not being you, for not serving the way you serve, or for walking a different path of obedience. She is not you. And honestly? Her Master likely prefers it that way.

Submission is not sameness. It is sincerity. And diversity, in all its forms, is a beautiful thing worthy of celebration.

Some quotes from the books. That either reference specific types of slaves, or how the Master's will and pleasure controls them.
For More Research - Please Read The Series!

It is a beautiful moment when the woman realizes that the man who owns her is her love master, and the man realizes that the girl he bought, looking up at him, tears in her eyes, is his love slave.
Then the only danger is that he will weaken. One must be strong with a love slave. If one truly loves her, he will be that strong. The slavery in which a love slave is kept is an unusually deep slavery. She must serve him with a perfection which would stun and startle other girls; if she should fail in any way, even in so small a way that the lapse would be overlooked in the case of another wench, or bring perhaps a mild word of reprimand, she is likely to be tied at the slave ring and whipped; there is a good reason for this; she is, you see, a love slave; no woman can be more in a man's power; and with no woman must he be stronger. Beasts of Gor Book 12 Page 236

Though any Gorean male might make me, in spite of myself, a panting, orgasmic slave in his arms, I knew it had been only he, Clitus Vitellius, whom I had truly loved, and yet loved. In his arms I had always been the most helpless. He was my love master. Slave Girl of Gor Book 11 Page 358

Lara's lips had been rich and fine, sensitive and curious, tender, eager, hungry; the lips of Vika were maddening; I recalled those lips, full and red, pouting, defiant, scornful, scarlet with a slave girl's challenge to my blood; I wondered if Vika might be a bred slave, a Passion Slave, one of those girls bred for beauty and passion over generations by the zealous owners of the great Slave Houses of Ar, for lips such as Vika's were a feature often bred into Passion Slaves; they were lips formed for the kiss of a master. Priest-Kings of Gor Book 3 Page 53

Ho-Hak's right ear twitched. His ears were unusual, very large, and with extremely long lower lobes, drawn lower still by small, heavy pendants set in them. He had been a slave, doubtless, and, doubtless, judging by the collar, and the large hands and broad back, had served on the galleys, but he had been an unusual slave, a bred exotic, doubtless originally intended by the slave maters for a destiny higher than that of galley bench.
There are various types of "exotics" bred by Gorean slavers, all of whom are to be distinguished from more normal varieties of bred slaves, such as Passion Slaves and Draft Slaves. Exotics may be bred for almost any purpose, and some of these purposes, unfortunately, seem to be little more than to produce quaint or unusual specimens. Ho-Hak may well have been one so bred.
"You are an exotic," I said to him.
Ho-Hak's ears leaned forward toward me, but he did not seem angry. He had brown hair, and brown eyes; the hair, long, was tied behind his head with a string of rence cloth. He wore a sleeveless tunic of rence cloth, like most of the rence growers.
"Yes," said Ho-Hak. "I was bred for a collector."
"I see," I said.

"I broke his neck and escaped," said Ho-Hak. "Later I was recaptured and sent to the galleys."
"And you again escaped," I said.
"In doing so," said Ho-Hak, looking at his large hands, heavy and powerful, "I killed six men." Raiders of Gor Book 6 Pages 15 - 16

Ho-Hak had been bred a slave, a degraded and distorted exotic, Raiders of Gor Book 6 Page 88

I have not mentioned exotics, incidentally, slaves bred or trained for unusual purposes. Fighting Slave of Gor Book 14 Page 164

Another slave, an exotic, bred for stripes, put more laundry beside her. Prize of Gor Book 27 Page 136

[More Quotes On Exotics and Bred Slaves, Both Male, and Female]()

"You will learn to
wear tunics, and silks, and bangles," I said. "You will be taught to kneel and move. You may be perfumed and painted. Swordsmen of Gor Book 29 Page 383

Just as, in our world, it is not uncommon to seek the advice of an interior decorator in obtaining and organizing the appointments of one's own dwelling, so, too, in the Gorean world, it is not uncommon to call in a trainer and beautician to appraise and improve a girl. Slave Girl of Gor Book 11 Page 216

Men are so vain. You should see how some of them lead naked, painted, bejeweled slaves about on leashes, put them through slave paces publicly, make them dance in the open for tarsk-bits, put them up as stakes in the dicing halls, and marketplaces, and such. Prize of Gor Book 27 Page 154

This was the day of my collaring. I was not permitted cosmetics. Captive of Gor Book 7 Page 269

How incredibly, and yet rationally and justifiably, I felt at his mercy. He was my master. He owned me. He could do whatever he wanted with me. He could trade me or sell me, or even slay me upon a whim, should he wish. I was absolutely his, his girl. Slave Girl of Gor Book 11 Page 108

I would allow Vika to share the great stone couch, it's sleeping pelts, and silken sheets. This was unusual, however, for normally the Gorean slave girl sleeps at the foot of her Masters couch, often on a straw mat with only a thin, cotton-like blanket, woven from the soft fibers of the Rep plant, to protect her from the cold. If she has not pleased her Master of late, she may be, of course, as a disciplinary measure, simply chained nude to the slave ring in the bottom of the couch, sans both the blanket and the mat. The stones of the floor are hard and the Gorean nights cold and it is a rare girl who, when unchained in the morning, does not seek more dutifully to serve her master. Priest ings of Gor Book 3 Page 67

How incredibly, and yet rationally and justifiably, I felt at his mercy. He was my master. He owned me. He could do whatever he wanted with me. He could trade me or sell me, or even slay me upon a whim, should he wish. I was absolutely his, his girl. Slave Girl of Gor Book 11 Page 108

I pride myself on mentoring people in this lifestyle. It is something I hold close to my heart, and I take it seriously. I tend to mentor one on one, quietly, intentionally, and with a lot of care.

I also want to be very clear about one boundary I keep for myself, I don’t mentor Dominants. That isn’t judgment, it is ethics, at least as I understand them. In my world, Dominants should be mentored by other Dominants, and submissives by other submissives. Power deserves to be learned from those who live it from the same side of the slash. But that’s a deeper conversation for another day.

That is my opinion. No, I will not argue it, in the comment section.

Recently, someone asked me what I like to start with when I mentor. What’s the first lesson? What do I teach right out the gate? The honest answer is, it depends. I know how much people hate that response. It is so vague.

Most of my mentoring is tailored specifically to the individual, because no two submissives are the same. I shape conversations, lessons, training ideas, and guidance around the kind of submissive you desire to be. I also say this early and often, I am not an expert. Not even close. Everything I offer is rooted in my lived experience and the education I’ve gathered along the way. I don’t pretend to know everything, and I never want to.

After we talk about consent, autonomy, bodily agency, and your rights as a human being and a submissive, there’s one thing I almost always say next.

Surround yourself with other submissives. As many as you can.

Please don’t make me your only mentor. That’s not healthy, and it is not fair to you. I can only teach what I know. For example, I am not a full time brat, so I would never claim I can fully educate someone on that path. I can offer perspective, sure, but lived experience matters.

Find submissives you admire. Find ones whose energy calls to you. Find ones who submit differently than you do. Each of us carries our own stories, wounds, joys, mistakes, and wisdom.

I like to think of it like a big, infinite buffet table.

Every submissive brings a dish. You get to sit at the table, talk, listen, learn, and taste. You can fill your plate with the things that nourish you, the flavors that feel right in your body and your heart. And the things that don’t resonate? You can simply smile and say, “Thank you,” and leave them for someone else. No guilt. No shame. No judgment!

Always take guidance with a grain of salt. Not everything will apply to you, and that is more than okay. It is healthy. What matters most is that you are happy, your partner is happy, and the dynamic you’ve negotiated together is consensual, informed, and intentional.

You don’t need to submit the way I do. You don’t need to submit the way your friends do. You don’t need to submit the way anyone else thinks you “should.”

You are not them. Your relationship is not theirs.

You are a unique and beautiful person, and that deserves to be celebrated, not corrected. So go to classes. Read books. Devour podcasts. Attend live demos. Ask questions. Listen more than you speak. And when possible, experience things in consensual, risk aware ways. Be informed, be cautious, and be gentle with yourself, because yes, sometimes shit happens, and sometimes we get hurt. Growth isn’t sterile. Learning isn’t always pretty.

But you are allowed to learn. You are allowed to explore. And you are allowed to become the submissive that feels most true to you.