Why did I say it? I know, I was frustrated, thinking only of myself for a moment. The words just slipped out. Your response shocked me.
This morning had followed our usual routine. You had gotten out of bed to take your shower; assuring that I didn't need to use the bathroom, you proceeded to lock the chain to the heavy cuff on my ankle. You do this every morning, chaining me firmly to the bed while you shower. Only this morning, I responded differently. Not thinking for a moment, I muttered, "I hate this chain."
I realized as soon as I said it that I was wrong, and fully expected a swift and painful punishment for my words. My eyes had gone quickly to yours, and I saw a flash of anger sweep over your face. Then, as quickly as it had come, the anger was gone; it was replaced by an expression I didn't fully comprehend. Your next action caught me entirely off guard; you bent down and unlocked the chain. Then you quietly removed the leather cuff, now also freed from the heavy lock. Silently, you stood and placed the key in the palm of my hand, then turned and walked into the bathroom.
I looked down at the key, slightly confused, it was still warm from your hand and I realized with a momentary surprise, that I had never felt it between my fingers. I stood there for a moment, thinking that I had somehow escaped punishment and wondering if perhaps you had just decided to give me a break. I laid the key on the small maple table next to the bed, and then followed you to the bathroom.
Normally, you choose my clothes for the day; a practice that you seem to relish. On days like today, when we are both here and have no need to leave the house, you usually choose what you call my βslave dress,β a short black silk wrap dress. It ties at the waist and flows softly off my hips just to the top of my thigh. The dress only crosses loosely over my breasts, and you allow me no underwear, so my flesh is always readily available to your caress or grasp. Today when I walk in the bath, I notice your lean firm body pressed against the sink, you are silently shaving. I can't help but gasp a little at the muscles tensing in your arms, remembering the countless times your hands have wielded a whip carefully over my body. I have to shake my head a bit to remember why I am here.
"Master, what do you wish your slave to wear today?" I say softly. Convinced that I know the answer, I am surprised by your reply.
"Whatever you like dear," is all you say.
Suddenly I am confused. I have never been given such an answer. It was not said with anger, there didn't seem to be any animosity lacing your words. But, somehow, they stung and I didn't know why. I remained for a moment longer, wondering if perhaps I had misunderstood, but you only continued silently sliding the razor over your chin. I muttered softly "yes, Master," and left the bath.
I stood at the door to my closet for the longest time, feeling a little dazed. Finally, I slipped on a pair of jeans and a deep purple chenille sweater; a pair of socks, and I was done. I wandered down the stairs and made some coffee. As I was pouring myself a cup, I heard the soft pad of your feet walking over the warm oak floors to your den. I knew the routine, and automatically found myself standing at the door. Looking in, I saw you sitting at the desk, computer screen reflecting a project you had been working on.
Quietly, I approached, lowering myself to my knees beside your chair. My eyes went quickly to the floor and I asked softly, "Master, would you like some coffee or breakfast?"
Without raising your head, or even looking down at your slave, you replied softly, " No thank you dear, I am fine." Once again, the words were said kindly, but seemed so distant to me.
Finally, as if you sensed my confusion, you spoke again. "Why don't you go shopping, or to lunch and a movie with a friend? If you need money, help yourself, my wallet is on the dresser."
Feeling completely lost, I merely nodded silently and stood. I waited a moment, hoping you would end my confusion, then finally turned and left the room. I went down to the living room and sunk deep into one of the leather chairs, drinking my coffee. The chaos racing through my head was only getting worse when I heard your footsteps wander down and into the kitchen. I could hear as you opened the cupboard for your coffee cup, and a moment later I could smell the bread as it toasted.
Suddenly, without a clue as to why, I felt tears filling my eyes and flowing warm and salty over my cheeks. I could not stay here any longer, I needed to think. I went to the bedroom and quietly removed $50 from your wallet, and returned to the den. Wiping the tears from my face, I stood in the doorway. "Master, I am going for awhile, is that okay?"
"Have fun dear," was the only reply.
I had hoped you would stop me. I had hoped you would call me to your feet. I wanted desperately to hear you call me βsweet slaveβ, or βpetβ, or any of the terms you usually used. When it didn't happen, I merely left.
Once in the car, I drove to the mall. Tears were covering my face and I had little idea as to why. In the parking lot, I knew that I had no wish to shop, so I just kept driving. I drove aimlessly for about an hour, trying desperately to understand what was happening, but it was to no avail. Finally, without really knowing how I had gotten there, I once again found myself at home. Knowing that I could stand the confusion no longer, I went to the den. You still sat in the chair at the desk. I walked to you, and kneeled down at your side. My eyes looked up, pleading silently. When you finally met my gaze, you knew the confusion I was experiencing, and your face softened. Suddenly, I simply broke into sobs, laying my head in your lap.
Your arms wrapped strong around me as you whispered, "it will be okay my sweet slave." You held me there for a few moments then you stood. "Follow me," was all you said as you took me softly by the hand and led me to the bedroom.
Once there, you led me quietly to the cage in the corner. You rarely actually put me in this cage, and I never quite understood the use. Without saying a word, you signaled for me to undress. I simply nodded and obeyed your order, not really knowing what to expect. Regardless, you now pointed me into the cage, reaching in, you locked the wrist shackles on to my arms, and bent down to attach the ankle shackles. Walking to the bureau, you pulled a black hood from the drawer.
Coming back, you whisper quietly, "pet, you need to think, I will check on you in a few minutes." Then adding earplugs to my ears you slip the hood over my head.
I am left there, alone with myself. Tugging lightly at the shackles I sighed softly. It was then, right then, that I realized that it was a sigh of relief.