I wrote about Gor the other day and about craving it, needing it and aching to feel it under my skin the way I feel gloss on my lips. Being a bimbo in Second Life is easy because uou just show up pretty, you get seen, you get used, you zone out, and you float. It’s soft and it’s stupid and it’s perfect. But Gor is heavy and trying to really do it and not just dress up like it, not just roleplay it is hard.
As a bimbo in Second Life I just get dressed up and throw on something tight and slutty then I gloss up my lips and go wherever the mood takes me. Somebody always wants to use a pretty little toy and I don’t even have to think because that’s the whole idea. I just look hot then I get used and let my brain switch off while my body plays.
Anyway let me tell you about what happened.
I walked into the Gor Hub looking like a lost toy. I was run-down, filthy, and needy. I thought maybe someone would notice me or maybe someone would see what I needed. I didn’t have high hopes, but I still went and someone did message me, he was a trader who said I looked good and then said all of the right things. Then we talked about submission, about use and about what it means to give yourself over. It felt like our kinks clicked in this dreamy yet terrifying way. I didn’t do the math but like… ninety-nine percent match, easy.
And then he just… collared me. That fast with no big build-up and no long speeches. Just saw I was unowned and took me because that’s what they do in Gor. He told me I was his property now and I didn’t resist because I didn’t want to. Then right in front of me he let his previous slave go. She stood near me and wished me luck in that tight, bitter way that lets you know she wanted to spit instead. I didn’t reply because I didn’t know what to say.
He told me I’d be fine if I obeyed and I believed him and then he asked me something. It was some question but I don’t even remember what it was and before I could type out a full response, he vanished. He was gone, just gone and he hasn’t come back.
So now I have this collar with his name. I have no orders and no direction. There’s just a label around my neck and this hollow inside me that wants to serve so badly it makes my stomach hurt. I go to the hub and I stand around like a broken thing and people talk to me like other traders, Masters, men, but I can’t do anything. I can’t respond because I’m owned and I’m not mine to give away and I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing.
I wanted this and I wanted Gor because I wanted to be a slave and now I feel more lost than I ever have. It’s not because the collar is too tight, but because it’s empty and I’m walking around wearing the absence of something I desperately crave. It’s not even about the sex it’s about the belonging and being seen and being taken and told exactly what I am. I want that more than I want air.
This should’ve made it better but it made it worse.
And yet, I keep logging in and I keep standing there and I keep hoping because maybe one day he’ll come back. Or maybe I break the collar off and someone else will who knows how to break a girl down and build her into something usable. Someone who can look past the gloss and the giggles and the bimbo brain and see the kneeling thing beneath.
I haven’t given up.