This Thing About Slavery

I used to get off on reading about men enslaved by women, and used as love slaves, pets, beasts of burden, prisoners, and kitchen drudges. You know the genre of such books. I admit that I still drool reading any part of that, but somehow I transcended to a higher plane.

I read would-be-slave men’s comments on some blogs. They wish to be true slaves. They wish to be used and abused for the rest of their lives. It is a thought of misty softness that allows the man to give himself to a woman that way. She will use him sexually, and maybe lend his services to other women. Some men would also prefer their services provided to other men. It is a no-fault relationship because they are forced. They have no responsibility, just the pain and the joy. Hey, I have been there in my fantasies. I understand.

As far as fantasies go we can be from one extreme to another, and no harm is done. This is why, mostly unattached men, comment along these lines tending to extremes. Discarding for the moment the fake blogs, the rest are more sober in their approach. Some still admit to wishes, some admit to real cuckoldry of various degrees and elaborate on it. Somehow cuckoldry fits in with a version of slavery. At least, the authors try to make it so.

There is the idea that involuntary slavery is the ultimate of submission. This is advocated by the writer of the fake blog Owning And Training A Male Slave. In “her” words from the book, “In my view a male is an inferior being who is fit only to grace my presence as a full and abject non consensual slave.” This fits right up the expectations of some men in need of extreme slavery. Practicality and legality aside, it could be fun for a while. It could also be fun from time to time, say, for a weekend. But long term, or forever, forget it. After your first tooth-ache you will want out.

What most fantasy male slaves don’t admit is that there could be fun only for a very short time. An involuntary slave does not get to pick his mistress or master; he gets picked, and has nothing to say about it. When his food, water, medical care, or even his life, are controlled by some obviously dangerous and likely demented person, be it female or male, the preservation of freedom suddenly kicks in. The joy would quickly lose its edge as soon as the slave’s hand is whacked off for ill behavior, or as a fellow slave is killed just for the joy of the owner. Even in less extreme cases I can see a need of a slave for companionship, acceptence, time off, and just some enjoyment of life. Continuously harsh reality would not satisfy long.

So, I don’t really take it seriously when horny men talk about real slavery. What they mean is “pretended real slavery.” Now, that rocks! You can take it as far as you want, and then say the safe word, and you are out. I could live with that on a short-term basis.

I know that I have not given you much in the way of demonstration of my essay. You can read the above-mentioned link and see some of the gullible readers gushing about this writer’s ideas. I still can’t tell whether the blog is from the slave's or the owner’s perspective, given the context. Of course, it makes no difference, because they are the same: it is written by the man who is both slave and owner mistress.

But there is a somewhat interesting discussion going on at From Submissive to Slave. It tends to show that a would-be male slave does not really want to be enslaved against his will by just anyone. First it must be a woman, and a strictly clinical definition is not sufficient: she has to be his type in order to be sufficiently attractive so that he can carry out his slavely duties. Next, she must do certain things that a slave owner should do; at least according to his expectations. The list goes on, and it is kind of like a shopping expedition for a toy at the mall: the purchase must be just right.

Well, sheesh! Whatever happened to real slavery?

Oh, I know, this is slavery with conditions. I get it! She does not really own you, she just pretends. You call the shots, and she follows the rules. Hey, it’s just like in a vanilla marriage, “Honey, can you be in charge tonight? I’m really horny. By the way, I’ll need a clean shirt for my golf date tomorrow.”

I don’t mean to dismiss all male slave-wannabies. As I said, I have my needs and fantasies also. But at least I call a spade a “spade”, and not a “friggin’ implement of moving stuff”. We know who we are, so let’s be honest. We can still play and pretend. But let’s not try to fool the reader.