Freelance Slave: Can You End Your Dynamic But Keep Your Relationship?

Can You End Your Dynamic But Keep Your Relationship?

By Karma Said

“There is nothing to say. Our dynamic is over,” Joshua — the love of my life and my (now former, I guess) Master — had replied. 

Which was not at all what I was aiming for, when I started this text chain. I wanted to reframe our relationship, renegotiate it, not end it. It should be possible, I reasoned. After all, my marriage to my husband, David, was not ended by my affair with Joshua, even though our marriage had always been a monogamy. “Our relationship is bigger than the agreement it was formed under. Agreements can change,” was the idea Joshua had me convey to my husband — when, under His directions, I finally confessed to David of my transgressions. David ultimately came to accept this principle, so shouldn’t the same apply to our own connection, Joshua and mine? We were in a Master-slave dynamic, and I no longer wished to be His slave, but isn’t our love also bigger than the terms and conditions under which it was forged?

Wasn’t it?

I met Joshua almost five years ago. I was a staff reporter for a conservative news outlet, researching a feature about religious figures in NYC’s kink scene. Master Joshua — a well-known local event organizer and professional Dominant — was my source. He was hosting the roundtable discussion on kink and religion from which I planned to cull my story. The BDSM play party that followed was to be my first real-life kink event. 

At the time, having known about BDSM only from kinky romances, I was expecting something airy, along the lines of a burlesque or cosplay party. The reality of BDSM play shook me to the core. I have never witnessed such unashamed, primal interactions before, and the rawness of it spoke to me. Watching Joshua play in particular clarified that my interest, both in BDSM and in Him, went far beyond the professional.

Which was a problem, considering that I am married, with two young children. I had thought my marriage was solid, but meeting Joshua threw its weaknesses into sharp relief. To begin with, my soft-spoken husband did not speak much anymore. Over the years, an uncomfortable silence had settled between us. I don’t know when or why: maybe it was just the cost of our daily grinds, or of the fights we had, or, more likely, the fights we didn’t have. All those trivial, everyday dissatisfactions that David bore with quiet resentment, since his time and my temper were too short to make them worth addressing. And I resented his resentment. I still loved David — he was my home, my shelter — but all it took for Joshua to draw me out of pocket were a few friendly texts.

Master Joshua and his slave. Photos by LMB Productions

My job allowed me to question Joshua openly about who He was and what He did. He replied in kind, leaning into my curiosity, eager both to be known and to pass His knowledge on. Our fascination with each other grew. Following Joshua’s advice, I told David about my interest in kink and incorporating it into our marriage; he had no such interest himself, but — once he realized I would not be deterred — reluctantly agreed that I explore the topic on my own, providing that I “don’t go too far.” I took him up on it, though I was not on my own, I was with Joshua, and “too far” already happened, the moment we locked eyes. Still, we did try. As Joshua led me through the carnal wonderland of kink — birthing new sensations, emotions, and facets of identity with every new flick of His wrist — He and I did set boundaries. We couldn’t keep to them, and within months my “exploration” became a full-fledged affair. 

While it’s understandably the less popular point of view, Infidelity can be as crushing for the betrayer as it is for the betrayed. The lies eat right through your soul. It’s like drinking a spoonful of bleach with your coffee every morning, going through your day deathly sick, only to greet the next morning with a bigger spoon. Though I desperately wanted out of the situation, I would not let go of Joshua: I knew ours to be one of the most pivotal relationships of my life. Nor could I bring myself to risk it all by coming clean to David. It was Joshua who, almost a full torturous year later, broke the gridlock. “I know what needs to be done,” He said. His statuesque features were grave and calm. “I will help you. I will be your Dominant, and you will be my submissive. I will get you a collar: you can wear it once you earn it, once you prove your commitment. You will prove your commitment by telling David the truth.”

It took us several weeks of coaching till I could look David in the eyes and say, shakily: “I broke my word. I cheated and I lied about it. I’ll tell you everything now, everything you want to know. And when you know it all you can decide… what you want to do next. We can talk about divorce, if that’s what you want. Or we can talk about how we could possibly stay together, because people DO do this. There’s more than one way to be a family. I really, really hope you choose that, because you and the kids, you are my life.” It took David several months of snarling, icy deliberation to finally reply, with a sigh: “you know, I do believe that marriage shouldn’t be a cage. It should be whatever we agree it is. And agreements CAN be changed. So let’s talk and see if we can reach a new agreement.”

During those tense, uncertain months, my heart was surprisingly calm. I knew that whatever the outcome, telling the truth was the right thing to do. It was evident from how incredibly good it felt. It was a spiritual revival, and I credited Joshua for it — His unfaltering guidance and support were what made it possible. I trusted Him to lead me in everything from there on. He became my oracle: my own private, direct line to God. Any situation that arose in my life, any doubt or confusion, I would bring to Joshua. He would listen carefully, ask me questions, then tell me what to do. And I would do it. Simple. His directives were right by definition because I had chosen Him as my trusted leader. And if somehow His instructions didn’t work out, I would consult  Him again to receive new ones, to follow until they did. Simple. 


I knew it was only a matter of time till we made all our dreams come true this way.  Ours was a self-fulfilling bond of faith, perfect and unbreakable. It only grew stronger when Joshua asked me to trade in my role as submissive for that of a slave, allowing me to write my own guiding principles as to what that meant (“We write our own rules, you and I.”) To me, it meant that Joshua would always be right and that my job was to make it so.  

In the beginning I called Him Maker, since He had made me into who I am (“Master” reminded me too much of Dr. Frankenstein’s hunchback assistant, Igor: “yeth, Mathter.”) “Maker” is who He still is for me today. 

Over the following year, we DID make our dreams come true. I published my memoir about my relationship with Him, began speaking in public and writing articles about it, and restored my family to something better and stronger than it was before. I required a lot of support, to start with, but learned to use the principles He taught me to navigate my life on my own, growing more independent as He got busier. 

He too had found His stride, flourishing into the successful relationship Mentor He had always dreamt of being; producing transformational, life-altering workshops for dozens, nearly every weekend. We both worked hard to achieve our goals, and I worked hard for His, at times stretching my wallet and schedule till there were few resources left for much else. Even though He did His best for me, we were chronically rushed: we had time to fuck but not to talk. Which was fine by me, but, in that silence, all the fights we didn’t have brewed. All those trivial, everyday dissatisfactions that I bore with quiet resentment since my time and His temper were too short to make them worth addressing, against the chain of command. 

The resentment was never too heavy, and I always found ways to let it go. But He must have resented me in turn, because the fights we did keep having were wearing us down. If a Master is always right by definition, the slave who inadvertently crosses Him — which was happening more and more often, it seemed — is always wrong. But I didn’t always feel like I was wrong, when He confronted me. More and more often, I felt like I was being wronged. 

After our last and worst fight (the last one is always the worst, ain’t it), I looked up the principles I wrote for us, a little over a year ago, about becoming His slave. 

I, slave, will obey, serve and please my Master. That’s my purpose, in Your regard.

OBEY: If/when Your will conflicts with my own, I submit to Your will. I’ll communicate my position, knowing that the choice of if/how to consider it is Your own prerogative. If I perceive Your command to carry a risk to my health, reputation or family relations, I will express my concerns and offer solutions, which You will either consider or not. Ultimately, it’s Your call. 

SERVE: I will do my best to be useful to You, in any given situation. If my best isn’t good enough, I’ll continue working on it until it is. 

PLEASE: the feeling I get from knowing that I’ve pleased You pulls me. The feeling I get from displeasing You repels me. That’s how it’s been since You’ve collared me. I reaffirm that pleasing You is my core drive, and that I will always move towards it. 

 A slave cannot argue. I, slave, will accept the reality You present to me unconditionally, trusting that You are looking out for my interests. 

Relationships can break that contracts, but still thrive Photo by: LMB Productions.

There’s  more (I’m  too prolific a writer for my own good) but that doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t hold true anymore, for either of us. Oh, I still love Him alright, a great big burning love right in the middle of my chest. But He is a human being, not a god. And I am a human being too, not a vessel to be filled by Him. Neither of us could keep to this lofty agreement, and neither of us has been keeping to it, for some time now. But agreements can be changed, right?

Sometimes they can. But once I tried to remove the title “slave” it all came crashing down, all our carefully balanced promises and kind intentions, like a poorly played game of Genga. My timing must have been terrible and my delivery must way off, because the message Joshua received had hurt and offended Him enough to reply “Fine. There is nothing to say. Our dynamic is over.” Followed by:”I need some time away from you.” 

I have pulled my home tight around me, in the silent months that followed. I hug my children tighter and tell them that I love them more often, hungry to hear them say it back. I curl around my husband at night, and he is kind enough to hold me while I cry about Joshua. “Ha. Did you tell Him that agreements can change?” David had asked, with heavy irony. I didn’t begrudge him the jab — at the very least, it’s karma.

 When my family is not around I feel alone, adrift in the middle of the ocean; I feel I am finally becoming the captain of my own ship; I feel both. And when I miss my Maker too much, I fill the void with daydreams about the conversation I wish we had had. 



“So, you don’t want to be my slave anymore,” He asks, sad but no longer angry.

“That’s been fading for a while now, Maker. We were just too preoccupied with life to notice. It’s neither of our faults,” I add quickly, as in my imagination He frowns, “We just changed. People change. Agreements can too.”

“What WOULD you like to be, then?”

“Your best friend,” I reply instantly, “Your ally, Your confidant — Your lover, if You will have me. You could still do whatever You want to me. But let’s be free. Whatever else we are together, I would like us both to be free.”

He paces. He thinks about it, His statuesque features grave and calm. Then He nods once: yes. 


  • Note to the reader: this post was written exactly a year ago. Joshua and and I are still together. Right now he calls me his freelance slave. And I call him  — well, something different every week, but always something full of love.



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