A blog from a woman on a journey of discovery.

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Thursday, 18 November 2010

It needs to be a very long rope

Since I last managed to post on Saturday I have been one sickly slave. I am one of those people who is never ill, never sick and always disgustingly healthy. So being struck down with some revolting sickness bug has left me feeling pathetic and wondering how I got it. I am exposed in my work to so many germs, yucky things and coughing spluttering people depositing bodily fluids at will, that I have such a strong immune system that it surprises me when one tiny little bug gets though all those antibodies flowing through me. You have to be a big germ to bring down this slave.

I spent all day horizontal Saturday, and Sunday apart from a very rough 4 hour journey home on a bouncing rickety  bus through the jungle, where I clenched muscles I didn't know I have. Monday  I didn't move from my pit, not even to have a drink, Tuesday I managed a few hours at work before being sent home for looking too sick, Wednesday I was off  again and finally, today, I did a whole day. Having felt so bad, it never ceases to amaze me that I feel so good today; full of energy, buzzing at work and desperate to get home and have the opportunity to talk with him.

When I managed to be in contact with him, he was kind, thoughtful, asking how I felt, making sure I was looking after his property well enough. from all these thousands of miles away.  I felt more cared for, more concern directed at me, than I ever felt in my old vanilla relationships. He often tells me that he takes care of his property........and he does.

As soon as he felt I was well enough however, we were back to the old routines, feeling his control, him using his slave, ensuring I knew who was boss, and that I may have been ill, but first and foremost  I AM his slave.

I sleep with my feet tied, my hands tied to my feet in front of me and the end of the rope tied to the bed. If I need to get up I have to call or text or IM and ask for permission, although this time I was given an "open permission " to get up. How difficult I found it, dithering on the edge of the bed, wondering if I really needed to, or if I was just trying to make myself need to, because I had an opportunity  to make the decision for myself. And yet when he makes me choose something, I squirm and try to get out of it, until the count down begins and I know if he gets to zero, the choice will be his, and he usually chooses both options, plus an extra for being indecisive! That overwhelming need for control filled those moments in the dark hours of the night.

I miss his hand on the end of my rope; feeling the resistance if I move in the night, how he slowly lets it run through his fingers as I walk to the bathroom and how he seems to have some secret knowledge of just where to stop it so I am just short of the toilet. I miss his cruel chuckle as I beg for that extra six inches, and I even miss having to stand there for what seems like hours with my bladder seemingly contorting inside me. And I even miss the snide remark and the wicked smile on his face when I crawl back into bed beside him and thank him, and the laugh when he says"You're welcome slave".

 This is rapidly becoming one of those..."I miss....." posts so I am going to stop before I'm a gibbering heap of miserable, self pitying ineptitude in the corner.

I'm going to go outside, enjoy the warm breeze, the noises of the night and think about my return to the end of his rope.

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