Samantha walked in the front door and gracelessly dropped her bag to the floor. She let out a groan and set her keys on the table, kicking off her shoes and walking into the warmth of the kitchen. Pulling her cell phone out of her back pocket, Sam scrolled through the conversation from just before she'd left for home:
M: how is the day going?
S: incredibly frustrating
M: tell me
S: it's a long story
M: call me
And she had, explaining the frustrations and pressures, sharing the feeling of being overwhelmed while he listened patiently and sympathetically. He offered his love, and when they hung up, he sent one more message:
M: message me when you arrive home
Samantha typed "home safe," and hit send. She sat at the table and played back through the day, losing herself in her daydreams and reliving the moments that made her tense. She wondered if she should have handled things differently. A familiar tension rose up between her shoulder blades, and she was startled out of her thoughts by the message alert on her phone. Glancing at the screen without touching it, she read,
M: Good girl. Now stop.
With a puzzled thought, she typed quickly.
S: Stop what?
M: Thinking so hard.
S: Lol, get out of my head.
M: Stop, sweetheart. It's time to let it go for the day. You're done. You're mine now.
The corners of Samantha's mouth turned up in a small smile. She loved when he said that to her. As if she didn't belong to him just as entirely for the rest of the day. But he knew her well, and knew she'd be fixating on all the things she couldn't change. She curled up in her chair, tucking her feet against the edge of the table while being grateful he wasn't there to see it. Smiling to herself, she wrote back:
S: I'm always yours.
M: Yes you are. And I would like you to do some things for me tonight.
S: What kind of things?
M: First, you will go to your spot and kneel. You will close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing and nothing else for five minutes. Do you understand?
S: Yes, Sir.
M: Good. Next I would like you to do your chores. Tonight you will do your laundry, and decide what you'd like for dinner, then start it...keeping in mind that chocolate is not an option. I expect something with nutritional value. Tidy up our bedroom, as well, please. When I arrive home, I expect to find you waiting in your place in our playroom, ready for me.
She read the message over and over. She knew what he was doing, and it was already working. He was refocusing her. Giving her a purpose and allowing her to let go, to stop being Samantha and start being His. It was as easy as breathing now, and she felt the eager anticipation begin to build within her.
S: Yes, Master.
M: Good girl. Get started now.
S: Ok, Sir.
Samantha stood and started for the bedroom, feeling the sense of calm that only her Sir could create spreading through her. Pulling her shirt over her head, she tossed it in the laundry basket, and followed it with the rest of her clothes. When she knelt, she was to be naked. It was a rule. She pulled one of Sir's t-shirts out of the closet and a pair of shorts out of her own, then headed back toward the living room. Pausing at the doorway, Sam took in the chair her Sir preferred to sit in, and her spot on the floor at its side. There was a small, soft pillow and blanket there, put in place one day by her Sir, and left for her comfort. She dropped the clothes on the chair before picking up and folding the blanket until it formed a small pad, and set it down. Letting her knees fall on top of it, she settled into position.
She loved this. Admittedly, she loved it more when her Sir was in the chair, but this would do for now. She let her breathing take on a calm, deep rhythm and tried to focus on it, but her mind kept wandering to how she might please her Sir later.
Focus, Sam told herself. Just breath
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Every time her thoughts would stray, Samantha forced them back. The tension eased out of her body, until her muscles felt loose and pliant. She slowly became aware of how much time had passed, and opened her eyes to glance at the clock.
Well, shit. She'd spent more time than the required five minutes lost in kneeling. She needed to get her ass in gear if she was going to be ready and in place before Sir got home.
Sam tossed Sir's t-shirt over her head, and pulled on her shorts, not bothering with underwear - She wouldn't be wearing them for very long anyway - and dashed off to get her chores accomplished.
Laundry in, dinner set to warm, and fresh from a shower, Samantha had minutes to spare before Sir arrived. Finishing up some last-minute tidying, she heard his truck pull into the driveway, and let her grin spread across her face. It was time.
She tossed her clothes into a pile on the now-clean bedroom floor, and bolted for the playroom, making a bee-line past the St. Andrew's cross and horse, and heading for the large bed against the far wall. This was her spot for waiting unless specifically instructed otherwise.
Her Sir called her default position "Show me", and she climbed onto the bed and settled into it as her heart began to pound. On her knees, face down, with the upper half of her body on the bed. Legs wide. Her ass and pussy exposed and accessible.
And already, she was wet. Again, Samantha focused on her breathing, straining to hear the soft click as the front door closed. He was home. Her Sir was here.
