Home > Rayne > Clear Cup of Coffee

Clear Cup of Coffee

July 17th, 2007

We have a clear coffee mug that showed up sometime in our relationship. I’m not sure where it came from. I only know it wasn’t something I brought with me and we didn’t buy it somewhere.

Often I avoid using it. Our new coffee pot makes the coffee pretty hot and for some reason it cools slower in this mug. But when I do use it, I love to watch as I pour the cream in.

It shoots straight for the bottom and then begins to change the coffee a light tan before I even put the spoon in. Usually a little more than half way up the middle, it stops until I begin to stir. Once I’ve mixed itup, sugar, cream and coffee, it’s the perfect cup.

In my mind, this is what it’s like, teaching a slave. You pour all the ingredients in and they rest on the bottom until you reach in and mix them up.

So what happens if you stop mixing? If you let the coffee sit there unattended for a long period of time. First it grows cold. Then it spoils.

I used to think this wasn’t true about slaves. I’d tell slaves talking about how being ignored (I’m not suggesting that I’m ignored. I’m definitely NOT ignored) put out the fire that burned in them that if they only tried they could keep it alive on their own. And I used to believe this too.

The longer Master and I go without playing, I see the fallacy of these words. The longer it is between him using me roughly for his pleasure, speaking those dark words in my ear, pinning me to the bed while he beats me for his own pleasure and none of mine, the faster I feel the light dying. Just as it flickers, he saves me. Just before it sputters out, he adds more fuel to its base. And then he goes about his business.

I used to think that I could be trained for a week or two and then go about my business staying in my place and always yearning to serve. Why would anyone need anything beyond that? If a slave is trained well, she should just serve and serve and need nothing in return. Right? Right??!

Except I don’t think that’s correct. I think if I continue to think that way I’ll do more harm than good. Because I need Master. I need interaction with him as a Master to a slave and not just as a couple. Being so often in the public eye, what with work and such, makes that really difficult.

Some will argue that a master and slave always interact as a master and slave regardless of the ritual or apparel, and for the most part that’s true. And maybe I’m just talking out my ass, but for me, there’s this pull, this need to be treated like property. To be objectified and enslaved. To feel owned.

I always wear a collar and I walk around the house naked when we’re home. I serve Master and attempt to make him proud to own me. But without the ritual, without the discipline, without the play time, I feel like I’m dying. Well, maybe not me on the whole. But my fire. The burning need to be owned. The desperate desire to be enslaved. I feel like it’s flickering. And I don’t want it to go out.

Something has to give. Either I need a job that allows me to be home more when Master is or we need to move or something. And I really don’t want that something to be my slavery. And neither does he.

We’ll work it out, I’m sure. I was able to mention it to him before he took off for his meeting today. Tonight we’re going to dinner with one of his coworkers and one of his ex-coworkers so that doesn’t leave much time to talk about it tonight.

Categories: Rayne Tags:
Comments are closed.
%d bloggers like this: