It’s over.  “Slave cowpie” is gone.

My slavery has reached an end, for one Master at least. 

For weeks, my attempts to reach out have met with a wall of silence that I expect goes on forever.

A silent, uncertain ending is not one I would have chosen for us.  I would have cling onto some thread of compatibility as we moved past our failed attempt at my slavery. 

I don’t blame him at all for the way things didn’t work out between us.  I knew from the start that he was a married man with two other slaves in his life.  There were no guarantees offered or taken by either of us.  

And though there are numerous reasons why we did not make it as Master and slave, I believe it boils down to time and circumstance working against us.

He always said that leaving a slave was his ultimate weapon.  I assume the idea is that if she comes crawling back, she truly is his slave.  If she doesn’t, she is not worth the effort. 

Clearly, I fall into the latter group. 

It’s a hard blow to my self-esteem, to be dropped so utterly and completely by someone who once filled my life so utterly and completely.  And to now find myself in a master-less void filled apathy by and self-doubt and nothing but memories to comfort me. 

I tell myself all the pat things -- (he wasn’t right for me, he have time for me, he wasn’t attractive to me, etc.) -- and know them to be true, but it does not reach to my damaged and dormant libido and does little to spark a desire to begin my quest again.

The thought of looking for a new Master, or a slave, (which I am considering as well) is a daunting one and one I have yet to fully embrace. 

Ultimately there is no choice, though…only delay.  If I don’t want to be alone, I will have to reach out, someday, someway.  And I will, soon.

My slavery is slipping away.

I’ve tried to explain why and how I’m feeling, and sometimes I think its helping. 

Sometimes the old feelings are there or at least a spark of them. 

But then something happens—or rather nothing happens, for that is at the crux of my unhappiness — and the spark dies a little more.

What we had was grand and glorious, something I could sink my slave teeth into.  Something that allowed me to do anything for him, from laying down my self like a piece of shit, to laying down my life. 

Slavery that strong doesn’t happen every day and it doesn’t come easily.

Now, when the spark is all but gone, he wants me to shit on a piece of paper and transfer it to the toilet with my mouth and of course take pictures. 

Does he not see the impossibility of that.  Given the fragile state of my slavery, I could no more do that now than I could with a perfect stranger.

Is he trying to breathe new life into my slavery?  Or is he just blind to my reality? 

Does it even matter?