A note on the table

He sent me an address, that was all I had. Just an address in a text. I looked it up on the internet and got some directions. It was about 3 hour drive from where I was. I had no instructions on what to wear or what to do when I got there, nothing , just an address. I resisted the temptation to see if I could see what the place looked like.

Driving in the car, I could feel my excitement mouting, my stomach leaping with anticiaption, my mouth dry. Excited, scared, happy, apprehensive, really it was the whole gammit of emotions all rolled into one.

I wished I could be there straight away, but also wished the miles would go slower...I was nervous. I had not seen him for nearly six months.

I followed the instructions,t he houses became more and more spread out until I turned into lane and could see, at the end, a small cottage, but no car, no familar old car waiting for me.

A note was attachd to the front door with a pin. "The key is in the same place it is a home". I looked and he was right, it was, pushd into a flower pot, deep in the soil. I pulled it out and brushed it off. I slid the key into the lock, opened the door and stepped stright into the smal living room. It was beamed, with a big fireplace and beautifully furnished. I put my bag down and walked to the kitchen. There on the table was my rope, curled up, with a note on top of it.

"You know what to do"

 And he was right, I did know what to do. I took the rope and walked up the stairs, stripped slowly and carefully folded my clothes, and piling then up on the floor and knelt down beside the end of the bed.

The floorbaords had been warmed by the sun coming in the window and I looked around the room at the big comfy bed, the small windows, with the curtains wafting in the warm summer breeze. I looked around and could see a chest of drawers, a door tot eh bathroom and a wooden chest.

 I knelt back on my heels and waited to hear the door downstairs open.

More questions than answers

Today he is busy....today I have to put myself to bed...............tonight I will go to sleep without him being there to say goodnight to me.

Some times this has made me feel so very sad and alone, even knowing that I am not alone, I am his so how can I be alone..............but now?

I am not sure...do I feel alone?

 Do I feel deep within my heart and soul I am his? I am not sure.  and that frightens me more than if I knew for certain one way or the other.

He tells me I am his, he tells me I have no choice but to be his, as he has said that is how it is.
But.........does what is inside me, that doubt, that uncertainty count................and
I want to talk about it, but he will not...............

And so once again I am in waiting mode.

He has talked about when I will be home again, about how busy he is, and how little time we will have and yet he does not see that that is the very heart of the problem....................

This month is apparently Q and A month......but it feels like I have more than enough Q and A of my own that are unanswerable.
But please feel free to ask any questions.......I may be able to answer yours...coz I sure as  hell can't answer my own.................but then maybe I shouldn't even be trying too.

"The gentleman called and said he would be back soon".

I didn't want to take the coat off, but knew I had to shower, to get ready and so very reluctantly I stood up and took it off. I hung it in the cupboard where not so long ago I had been left. I stripped off my clothes and got into the shower.

I love having a shower, and always feel somehow renewed by it. It seemed to wash away more than my tears and left me feeling expectant and happy. I dried myself with one of the huge fluffy white towels and started to dry my hair. I don't normally, but it is one of the things that he always tells me off about, and so I carefully dried it, brushing it, which again is not something I do, even though it is shoulder length, I just rarely brush it.

As I stepped into the dress, I felt its softness on my skin, as I did it up behind my neck I thought of him and his hands on my neck. I put my hair up, thinking again of how much he likes it that way. Putting in my earrings and putting on a necklace he had given me long ago, a simple silver heart, that rested just at the top of my cleavage.

I decided not to wear any make up, sometimes he tells me to and sometimes he doesn't, but this time I decided not to.

I tidied up the rooms and sat on the chair and waited for him, I waited a long time, not wanting to turn on the television in case he came back and thought I wasn't excited about him coming back, not wanting to be distracted by the television either, I turned on the music and turned it down very low. I curled my legs up under me on the sofa and waited., thinking of nothing in particular other than how much I love being his slave, being owned by him and how happy I was.

A knock at the door made me jump, I leapt up and ran to the door, thinking maybe he had lost his key, I opened the door smiling, ready.................but it was room service.

My heart sank, thinking he was busy and had ordered me dinner. But the man wheeled in a trolley and began to set the table. He carefully laid the cutlery on the table, the plates, he moved the orchid onto the centre of the table and lit the candles.

"The gentleman called and said he would be back soon".

And with that he left.

I looked at the table  and was filled with happiness and a sudden stomach rumbling hunger. He hates that I am a fussy eater and always makes me try food. I wondered what we would be eating, he likes just about everything, especially fish and I hate it, so I was hoping it wasn't that as I really was hungry by now.

I heard his key in the door and once more leapt to my feet. He flung the door open dramatically and stood there smiling at me. "I see you are ready slave, you look lovely, give me five minutes, close your eyes"
I could hear him crashing about in the room for a bit, I heard him in the bathroom; could hear him washing, heard the swish of the towel as he took it off the rail. I smelt his aftershave, and I heard him come back into the room.I heard him sit down and sigh.

"You can open them now slave".

I was half expecting a surprise of some sort; not a gift , but a surprise, but there he was opposite me, looking very clean, very handsome, in a beautiful white shirt and pair of trouser, and bare feet, which made me smile. I think,, in his rush he had forgotten his shoes.

"Hungry slave? I am sorry I was late".

I was itching to ask him what was for dinner, and then it arrived and I couldn't believe it. It was all of my favourite food. Each course was my favourite food, not his, but mine. He smiled at me as I laughed at the food and how thoughtful he had been. I thanked him over and over again, but he just said "My slave, you are welcome".

And when the last bit of dinner had been eaten, the wine had been drunk, the candles were flickering gently, he took me by the hand, and led me to the bed.

And there we  made love,................... nothing else................... we just made love.............................late into the night..................soft gentle, loving, heart wrenchingly beautiful love making.

I woke in the middle of the night; he was fast asleep, his hand resting on my breast, and as I stirred his hand tightened slightly and he smiled in his sleep.
I slipped out from underneath his hand,  picked up my dress and his clothes, put on a rope, quietly went into the bathroom.

I returned with my rope on around my neck and as I got back in beside him, I put the end in his hand. His fingers curled around it and he whispered.

"Sleep well my slave, I love you".

And I lay in his arms, safe, and full and very very happy and I closed my eyes

Dreaming of the sound of his footsteps.

She stood on one side of the door, knowing that soon she would hear his footsteps walking along the corridor, then his knock on the door.

She had spent the last few days preparing for her meeting. Her body had been scrubbed, and wrapped in seaweed, pampered, soothed with lotion. Her hair had been trimmed, coloured and styled as he liked. A long body massage had been taken, days before, relaxing her muscles, preparing them for what was to come. Her hands and feet smoothed, rubbed, massaged, polished and nails painted.

She had showered and ensured that there was not one single hair where it shouldn't be, his threat to use tweezers to remedy this always at the forefront of her mind when she was in the shower.

Her shower had been warm and long, the water gentle; caressing her body, flowing over her breasts, down the small of her back, her soapy hands gliding easily over her body. She had carefully dried herself and rubbed in the body lotion.
He loved to stroke her soft skin, especially at the back of her legs, the underside of her breasts and along her inner thighs. He often commented on its softness, he enjoyed feeling it after he had used the cane on it too, or looking at the marks made by the whip and the marks left by the rope, running his finger along the welts, or his tongue tracing slowly along the marks he had made on her body, claiming ownership of her and her body, reminding her she existed for him and him alone.

Her hair was carefully brushed, tied back into a pony tail, the way he liked it. The way it gave him easy access to her neck and a ready handle to maneuver her head towards his cock, to pull her around the room, and he liked to be able to see her neck when she was face down on the floor with his foot resting there.

Her face was clean, free of any make up, her eyes bright and wide with expectation, a small smile on her lips.

Her mind over the last few days had been twisting and turning,  a multitude of scenario rushing through her mind, feelings flooding her head; anxiety, fear, excitement, happiness and a  million other feelings that have no name.

She was dressed very simply, in a blue halter neck dress, just that, nothing else; no jewelry, no collar, no ropes............ nothing. He had told her he wanted to undress her, to collar her, to claim back what was his, to see her kneel before him, to watch her put her head to the floor at his feet, and to pull her up and listen to her beg to be allowed to suck his cock. He wanted to look down as her, to see her look at him as he pushed his cock deep into her mouth, watch her gag and choke as he held her head, his fingers entwined in her hair.

So she was ready. Her body was ready, her mind was ready.

He was his.

She left the door and she sat on the bed and waited for the sound of his footsteps down the corridor.

A waiting slave

At 9am I got a text that had one word............................

'slave"

I waited for the rest of the text, thinking he had mis-sent it. I waited and waited and waited and there was nothing.

At 12 o'clock I got another text but couldn't read it. I could hear it going off, but couldn't access my phone for about one hour...well seventy six minutes to be exact...actually seventy six very long minutes...and when I finally got to it ..............................it was one word......................

"slave"

And now six hours later I have received another one...................

'Ready?"

And do I know what I am to be ready for....no I don't...am I twisting myself in circles trying to work it out..................no, I'm not.............that has been a long hard and often painful lesson, but one I have learnt......

And now I wait to find out....but as to how long I wait....................I will see.

My place is face down on the floor.

This morning we were able to talk, I was able to see him.

I woke in the night and realised that he was there. I said hello, and he told me to go back to sleep and then I struggled and struggled to sleep...wanting to talk to him, wanting to hear his voice.. but he as having none of it.

I tried again, I interrupted what he was doing.............and he ignored me.

I tried once more.........and I was told to do as I had been told.

When I woke up at the proper time, I greeted him as I always do, waiting to be allowed to get up and he left me there. I didn't want to call his attention again, I knew he knew I was there and so I waited ...almost patiently.

When he was ready, we talked. We talked about the last few days where we have had little contact about what I had been doing, how I was feeling and he said I looked like I was feeling a little lost, I told him I was fine, he said I looked lost, I said I was fine.....................he was right.

We had more discussion about how I was feeling, the conclusion that he came to was that I needed reminding of my place............so still in my rope which binds my feet, no more than 4 inches apart, up my back, round my neck and my hands bound before me in a noose, I was sent to stand my the wall with the pegs on my nipples and I was to think of nothing but him, to ignore any noise, any sound I heard, any thought that entered my head I was to dispel and I was to wait.

I stood for two hours.

When he called me back I knelt before him. 

I had to get the hood and place it over my head and then tie my hands behind my back.

I was instructed to lie face down on the floor, cross my legs at the ankle and to wait.

It is difficult to lie down without smacking your your head on the floor, somehow I managed it and as I lay down and felt the pegs on my nipples dig in, his voice filled my head.

"This is your place, this is where you will wait for me, you are a slave, this is your place."

And so that is it. From now on. I do not have to wait  like that for him to appear, but once I am talking to him, if he tells me to wait, I will wait like that; hooded, face down, legs crossed with the pegs on my nipples pressing into me to remind me of what I am and where my place is.

Pain is a gift from him.

Sight is a gift from him.

Movement is a gift from him.

An unrestricted breath is a gift from him.

His time is a gift.

Any can be given and any can be taken away.

He knows I am there and I must wait until he is ready and if he is not ready, I must wait anyway.

The waiting Game

She seemed to have spent her whole life waiting. Waiting like most people do.  She was, on the outside, just like most people.

As a child she waited for the her birthday, waiting for cards to drop through the door, she waited for Christmas, and that feeling of overwhelming excitement when she realised her stocking was full, and holding her breath for just a  extra second, she waited to peer inside.

She waited for the school bell, the end of term, which seemed to stretch out into infinity. She waited  for buses, trains and lots and lots of planes. She had lost count of the hours she had sat in cavernous airports and drafty train stations, at motorway cafés, and on the side of the road looking for a lift.

She waited.

 She was good at waiting.

 As a teenager she waited, like all teenagers d; for the phone to ring. She waited for the other person to hang up; laughing at their own inability to say goodbye.

She waited for people to change, to grow up, to look at their behaviour and find it wanting. She gave up waiting and left.

She waited twice for babies to come; holding them to herself, savoring the wait, enjoying those private moments late in the night , talking to them, telling them about the waiting game she played, and how she was waiting for their arrival.

She waited for him, night after night dreading his return, fearing the sound of the door opening. Her heart pounding.

And she lay beside him, silently, waiting for the alcohol to work, waiting for him to be fast asleep. And as she waited she planned her escape.

It was a long wait.

 She waited until she was ready, till she no longer cared if she lived or died, till he could hurt her no more, and she escaped.

Everyone else waited, waited for her to come back to life, for her vacant eyes to fill with life again.

She didn’t know she was waiting.

And then the sky was blue one day. And she noticed; and she knew she had stopped waiting.

And now.

Now she waits with her heart filled.

She waits for him. Her owner.

 She waits to talk to him. She waits to see him. She waits for his instructions, his orders. She waits.

She is still.

She waits until he asks her what she needs. She waits for the words to form in her head to explain to him how she feels and she waits to tell him.

 She waits on her knees.

This waiting is good….this feeling….this happiness…this total contentment…..this control.

This is what she has waited for.

The waiting is over.