Fantasies aren't reality, I know, I know, I know. Except when they are. Except when you make them into reality.

This used to be about sex. The literature of my people was pornography, filled with cries for mercy, drama enacted on people without prolonged negotiation, partners engaged in a dance in the middle of a bonfire. Now, it's 300-page manuals about how to make sure nothing bad will happen.

A slave's life is mostly composed of patience and study. Yes, study. If not with actual books, then following the example of greater, senior slaves. Or learning every nuance of their owner's character, so that they can more completely and seamlessly offer themselves at the right time and in the right manner.

What goes on when people overfetishize safety is that they're relapsing into that old frame of mind that what we're doing is bad.

Safe, sane and consensual what do those words really mean? Assimilation, that's what.