So often in this world, when we use the word “service,” we’re referring to domestic service. Many other times, we’re referring to sexual service. And occasionally, we’re referring to things you might call support service, like functioning as a personal assistant or a driver. But I’d like to introduce another form of service, one that I think many of us on the right side of the slash have provided but that isn’t really discussed or named:
This form of service centers around suffering. It’s about enduring things that are deeply unpleasant, even deeply painful, in the pursuit of making your partner/s happy. The most obvious form of that is physical. In my case, it means enduring physical pain in a scene far beyond any sense of enjoyment. Why? Because my screams make my partner laugh and my trembling body turns them on, that’s why. It’s about giving him or her pleasure. That is my service.
But sacrificial service often manifests itself in non-physical ways, too, although this really only occurs in my primary dynamic. My sacrificial service comes into play when I don’t get something I really, desperately want. In these scenarios, it’s generally less about giving him pleasure and more about meeting his needs and/or putting his own wants above my own.
This can often be intensely painful. As much as I’d love to say I’m the perfect slave who has aligned my will entirely with my Sir’s, it’s not really that easy. I’m a human. He’s a human. No two humans are exactly alike. There are times when their needs, wants, and desires may differ from each other. But I have chosen in my role to always put his needs, wants, and desires ahead of my own – no matter how strongly I may feel my need, want, or desire.
So why do I do it? Why do I suffer like this? What do I get out of it?
It’s really hard to express the deep fulfillment, peace, and happiness I feel when I reach the other side of my suffering. When the whip stops cracking, when the knife stops cutting. or when I’ve said my quiet “Yes, Sir,” and acquiesced to his will. For some time afterward – perhaps hours, perhaps days – I will feel as if I’m almost literally floating. I’m so far above the mundanity of the world around me that nothing can touch me.
It is the deep satisfaction of knowing that I have served him in a way that challenged me that leads to this high. Because as I sometimes like to say, it doesn’t fully feel like service if I enjoy it. If I get pleasure out of it, then some of it is about me, too. Sacrificial service feels more purely like service to me than any other kind. (Emphasis on “to me.”) Although of course the irony is that I get the highest high out of it because of how much I hate it – so I guess in my own weird and twisted way, I enjoy that, too.
Just not while it’s happening!