A Search Completed
After five years of searching, I believe I’ve finally found him—the partner who sees me, who understands the strange mix of longing, vulnerability, and strength that carries me. With him, I feel both safe and challenged, both owned and cherished. After long talks, shared fantasies, and hard questions, I am ready to step off the cliff and into a life of chosen servitude.
What follows is the shape of our agreement: a journey that blends ritual, fantasy, and reality. It is not about a weekend game or a passing thrill. It is the act of surrendering, day after day, into something enduring.
The Last Night of Freedom
The night before my transformation, I will spend alone, in a hotel room. I will shower, shave, and prepare myself. My phone, wallet, and everyday clothes will be put away in a bag—tokens of the self I am leaving behind. For one night, I will sit with the weight of what I am about to do: trade control for obedience, independence for belonging. It is a farewell.
The First Day
Morning comes, and with it—him. He will arrive, carrying not just gear, but presence. Together we will make a record, a spoken document of consent and intent, my own voice declaring what I am ready for. These words anchor the seriousness of it: I am here willingly. I choose servitude. I surrender to him.
The Ritual of Binding
We agreed that symbols matter. So, one by one, cuffs will be locked around my wrists, ankles, and neck. They are heavy, steel, designed to never feel casual. Once closed, they will not be opened casually—they will rest on me day after day, a reminder, a claim, a tether. In truth, yes, they could be removed in extremity, but what matters is this: I have given up the right to decide. To me, they are permanent.
I will then strip away my ordinary clothes and seal myself into a latex suit beneath the steel. Fabric and flesh would once have separated body from restraint. Now there will be no buffer. Only him.
The Passage
We will leave the hotel together, leaving behind the phone, the old name, the old links to who I was. A prepaid room key and nothing more will remain. This break is symbolic but real: I am not going back.
The Cage of Belonging
At his home, a cage waits for me. It is not welded, not impossible to open—in a fire, in a crisis, it can be undone. But that is not the point. The point is that I will not be the one with the key. When I first crawl inside, I will hear the lock click closed, and I will understand: I have crossed the line from “visitor” to “property.” To know escape is possible only in theory, but forbidden in practice, magnifies its permanence.
The cage is my home, my meditation, my cradle and my cell. There I will kneel, lie, wait, rest. There I will remember who I have become.
The New Name
The first day ends with naming. My old name, the one on résumés and ID cards, will fade. To him, I am another word now, one that marks my service and redefines my role. A permanent title. What that word is—pet, object, boy, slave—will be his to choose. And once spoken, so it shall be.
Life in Service
From then onward, life narrows to what truly matters: obedience, service, devotion. My days will orbit around his routines. Chores will not be chores, but rituals of loyalty. Denial will not be punishment, but proof of ownership. Collars, cages, cuffs—these are not props, but truths I live inside of.
When he uses me, I will not ask “when” or “how long.” I will only ask, “Yes, Sir?” The surrender is the gift, but also the anchor. In a world of constant choices and noise, I will rest in the quiet simplicity of being his.
Planning the Future
We have talked, carefully, about sustainability. No fantasy can work if it sacrifices health or safety. This path is not about destruction—but about discipline, grounding, permanence in spirit. There are escape routes for emergencies, people who can intervene if needed. But they exist outside my reach, safeguarded by others, not by me.
This balance—safety without control—is what makes this livable for years, even decades. Real life won’t disappear. I will still exist in the world. But under it all will be this undeniable truth: I have given myself away.
Reflection
The journey here was long. Five years of conversations, trial and error, disappointment, searching for someone who didn’t just hunger for fantasy, but respected reality. Now I have found him. Now, every day forward, I wake not as “me” but as his.
The cuffs are heavy. The cage is small. The rules are unyielding.
And I am free—because I am no longer my own.
