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Owned Flesh

September 8th, 2007

It’s weird never knowing what’s going to happen next. On our days off together, Master usually outlines His “vanilla” plans (i.e. doing things around the house, hiking, road trips, playing a game, etc.) for the day in the morning but there is always the chance that something might change. As spontaneous as we are, that chance is almost definitely a certainty. And I’m sometimes kept in the dark about anything outside of that outline (i.e. scenes, changes in plans, etc.) until the very last minute or until the change takes place.

For a long while, I could come home from work and breathe easy. There were no chains waiting for me. No padlocks sitting open with the key still in the lock anticipating a chain to hold closed. There was no whip sitting on the tool cart next to Master’s desk. Or if there was, it was most often left over from a rare scene and not being stored there so that Master could reach it easily.

Now there’s a chain coiled behind the office door waiting for me. As soon as dinner’s figured out, I’m ordered to my knees with the chain in hand to offer both collar and chain up to be padlocked in place, Master being the only key holder. The past few nights, before or after the chain was in place, Master ordered me to kiss His feet and show Him how happy I was to be home. Last night, it was to show how happy I was to have Him home (I was off yesterday and He had to work). And the flogger is always at the ready. Always close at hand.

Sometimes I find myself dreading coming home. Not for any reason except I don’t know what’s coming next. What new form of torture He plans to use on me. I generally leave work five or ten minutes earlier than I’m supposed to (I’m usually finished with my night stuff between 6:15 and 6:45 depending on what was for dinner and I’m supposed to be there till 7). I still walk through the front door at almost the same time every night. And I still meet Master with a smile, a hug, and a kiss. Now, however, there are butterflies in my stomach and sometimes a slight shake to my hands.

It’s not fear. Not really. Oddly enough, I’m not afraid of where He plans to take me. It’s nerves. I am nervous. I’m worried about what my reaction will be to where He takes me. Will I prove myself capable of even more debauchery than I already have? Will I react badly and cause myself (or Him) more trouble than I’m worth?

This new series of events in our nightlife is really soothing the feeling I had of being a pretend slave. I feel less like a submissive wife and more like owned flesh than I have in the five years we’ve been together. And He doesn’t let up. Every minute is just as or more intense than the last. Whether we’re both fully rested and well or exhausted and/or feeling ill, He pushes me into the head-space He wants me to be in and holds me below the surface until I learn to breathe it in. Now instead of drowning at home when He decides to be more forceful about our roles, I’m breathing slavery as if it’s the oxygen I need to survive. And I’m drowning at work, trying desperately to grasp the concept of functioning without His constant direction.

I’m never going to be able to finish this. Remember I said our ideas of my schedule don’t always mesh well? Today’s one of those days. He keeps ripping me out of my reverie and sending me to do something else and it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to regain my train of thought. I’ll try to finish up over the next few days.

The leaves are changing color already. Autumn’s coming. Autumn is my favorite season. And there’s only one month and eleven days until we get on a plane destined for Florida. I can’t wait.

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