Being Her slave wasn't always whips and chains, it wasn't even always chores. There were other times, some playful, some melancholy. He accepted them all, and went about his daily life serving Her as best he could.
He particularly liked the warm, sunny days when She would take him outside and play with him the yard, rolling him around and rubbing his belly, tickling him, both of them laughing like children. He felt very much like the beloved pet She primarily called him. It was so very much fun.
Walks together in the park. She had even discovered a way to keep him leashed for those very public walks. Dressed normally, but with fishing line attached to his chastity device, and coming out the top of his pants. No one could really see it unless they were up close, and She could always keep him just the length of the line away. He never minded being leashed, it made him feel secure, protected.
Then there were the rainy days, when they would just sit together, his head in Her lap, while She idly stroked his hair. Words were rarely spoken. Words were rarely needed between them now. He worshipped and adored Her. She cared for and disciplined him.
He felt that She loved him, though She rarely said it, he felt it from Her. With each smile She would give him. He could even feel it when She was angry with him. He knew She just wanted him to be the best he could be in serving Her.
Some days She just wanted to be left alone, and He would go downstairs to the playroom and shine Her leather toys and boots, he could spend hours down there, caressing and caring for the tools and implements of Her craft. Each one he would take up to shine would bring vivid images to his mind of the first time She had used that particular implement on him, the first time this particular boot had been pressed to his head, mashing him to the floor.
Each cuff he shined, as he held it, he could feel it around his wrist, holding him in place for whatever amusement She wanted him for. Yes, it wasn't always "fantasy Domme and willing slave." Sometimes it was just life.
And he found that he could no longer picture any other life. He was hers, there was no denying this. He no longer had any doubts in his mind. Did he fear Her? Yes, he feared Her very much. Her anger could be epic. Her disappointment broke his very soul into pieces, a look of disappointment could shatter him, but he knew, without doubt, that She would always pick up the pieces and put him back together.
There was one instant of this that was forefront in his mind. She had assigned him a task. On the surface it seemed easy enough, just to take apart an old wooden chair. He set about the task as he would any other, with diligence and attention to detail, until he got to one rusty nail that simply refused to budge.
Pry, pull, pound, he could not remove that damn nail. Finally, he let out a grunting shout of anger and frustration and slammed his fist down on the offending nail.
Blood was suddenly gushing from a small gash in his hand, and he clutched it, the pain suddenly hitting him and as he rocked back and forth, tears in his eyes, because he felt he had failed Her.
Then suddenly, She was there, gently urging him to his feet and leading him to the bathroom, carefully washing his hand, and applying medication to the cut, and bandaging it expertly. She then kissed it and looked into his eyes, brushing the tears away, She leaned down and kissed his forehead and whispered, "my very good boy." Then She hugged him, and he cried tears of relief, tears of joy.
He was owned, he was protected. She would always be there to guide him along his journey as Her pet, Her slave. He always marveled at the new heights of love he could feel for Her. She never ceased to amaze, surprise and delight him.
Yes, fear was a part of that. Fear bred respect, and he should rightfully fear Her anger, Her disappointment. But that was a very small part of what it meant to be Hers.
Love was at the heart of it all, and above all else, he felt loved.
He had been a very good boy. The past weeks had been busy, the two Trans girls that had helped Mistress gang bang him had moved in to become part of the Family. They were submissive to Mistress, but above him in the household order, so he found himself serving all three.
He lit cigarettes, served as an ashtray, drank their piss. He found it easier to drink their piss actually than Mistress' as he could just close his lips around their cocks and drink like an oversized straw.
They were far more playful with him as well. They took turns taking him for his walks around the backyard for his workouts, sometimes they would take a big double-headed dildo on the walk and make him fetch it...and then have him fuck them with it while holding it in his mouth. The also loved tickling him, and unlike Mistress actually rolled around on the ground wrestling with him. It was rough, but he enjoyed both of them immensely, and they made him feel ten years younger.
It was challenging serving all three. Mistress of course always took precedence. She was the Queen of the House, and ruled it with a firm, yet fair hand. He often witnessed the gurls getting whipped, they often participated in his whippings. Overall he was quite content with the new situation.