Maybe? I think so?
Alright. So, some context. On October 18th I attended Charm School- and Sarah turned my world upside down. I attended the class that Victoria and I scheduled thinking I was going to learn about how to politely serve when I didn't want to, the types of service I wanted to do, and how to curtsy (or something like that). Instead I spent the class doing some self searching trying to understand who I was at the root of my submission, what motivated me to submit, and what my needs are.
I completely admit I had this notion of slaves as quiet and meek doormats with an inability to have opinions and say 'no.' When I started diving into this lifestyle, I defined myself in one way: submissive. And over time, that's changed a bit- my labels include: puppy, masochist, little girl, and bottom. The idea of slave never even entered into the equation. The was NO way I could even remotely be a slave. If you ask anyone who has spoken to me even for a minute, I'm incredibly opinionated. As an only child, I learned how to speak up and be a part of the conversation with adults at the dinner table if I wanted to speak at all. I always have something to say about everything. At my job, I must say no about two hundred times a day, and that's just by two in the afternoon. Plus, I have the mouth of a sailor sometimes; I will tell almost anyone how to go fuck themselves, where to fuck themselves, and for how long to do it- in several different ways. How could these qualities translate into any form of slave.
Honestly, I think the schema I build for myself around the word 'slave' manipulated my view of what a slave is. My idea completely was turned on its side when Sarah stood before me and spoke.
If you've never met Sarah, allow me to give you a picture. From the beginning, you can tell she's happy- happy to do what she does, and happy with who she is. She has this way of making you feel at ease in her presence. Sarah is boisterous- in no way does she whisper. She's able to project her voice as loud as I do when there are 242 screaming children. And holy shit, does Sarah have a potty mouth some times (in appropriate moments). Now, if this wonderfully opinionated, smart, and fun woman is a slave, my concept of slave must be off.
She changed me to associate slave with service. Now, I love service. My career is naturally one of service. I take care of others for 10 hours a day, 5 days a week. And that doesn't count what I do when I'm at home.
Taking care of those who I care about pleases me endlessly. When I'm in a relationship, my wants to serve go far further than sexual or bottoming. I tried to explain to my Daddy that I wanted to do his laundry (after he complained about needing to do it). He asked me why, and the only reason I could come up with was "it would make me happy." Now, do I get off on the smell of tide and sweaty man socks? No (but that would be one hell of a fetish). I want to do what I can to make his day easier. Making his day better is what gets me off.
I enjoy tasks. As I type, I'm currently waiting to get home so I can wake him up from his nap. It gives me butterflies in my stomach to know I have this task waiting for me to complete.
Daddy and I play every Sunday. I dress up for him every time. Sure, I know I could just take a dirty and raunchy nude photo. It would take me less than two minutes to successfully do; But I know going the extra step by dressing up for him is pleasing.
I have writing assignments daily so I can communicate in a way that's most effective for me. As well, I'm given physical tasks to complete, which I asked for. These are acts of service in their own right- I can communicate clearly, respectfully (as it gives me time to process) and effectively with my writing assignment. My workouts and healthy eating habits help me be a better version of myself. I'm more physically able to complete other tasks he gives me.
In my dynamic I have the ability to say no, but I haven't needed to. Because of our clear and honest communication, I haven't been asked to do something that would make me want or feel the need to say no. Perhaps that's the secret in the 'no' rule.
So, am I a slave? Maybe. I think so. But in the end, does the actual label make a difference?