Roles

He has never ordered her - or even asked her - to do it, yet she kneels upon an oversize pillow placed on the hardwood floor beside His favorite recliner, simply because she wants to. The television is on; He watches a documentary about Abraham Lincoln. she does not focus on the images, nor on the sounds, emanating from the television. Instead, her mind drifts, thinking back on T/their relationship...

she recalls how, after having dated for about a month, she finally found the courage to tell Him her innermost secret: "i am very much interested in BDSM," she had said simply, "and i enjoy being a submissive, and i want You to be the One who guides me through this realm and molds me into a good slave." In those five seconds or so which had followed her admission, her confession, the silence had been indeed pregnant, weighing her down as much as if she were attempting to balance a fully-loaded semi trailer upon her narrow shoulders. "I've heard of this before," He had finally replied quietly, "and I've seen a few pictures online, but I don't know much about it." "Then please allow me to teach You what You will need to know so You can best teach me," she requested, holding His hands across the table and looking deep into His eyes with a pleading expression, trusting Him immensely despite having known Him for all of six weeks at best.

At the time, T/they had been living separately, in different apartment complexes separated by five large city blocks. she had provided Him with various resources - books, copies of letters from like-minded friends, links to Web sites and online journals, some of her "special" magazines, erotic tales revolving around the BDSM realm... As the weeks passed, she had noticed a subtle change within Him: He was becoming - or at least was portraying Himself to be - more confident in Himself, more in control of life in general. In lovemaking, He was slowly becoming more controlling, more insisting in how things were to be done, yet He had a natural knack for ensuring that her needs were also met, even if rather delayed (to her delightful frustration).

Some three months into the relationship, He had stunned her. For the first time, He had prepared a true scene. Stepping into His bedroom, she had been pleasantly surprised to find Velcro-closing cuffs with tethers already attached to the bedposts, with a bottle of massage oil and a cheap-but-functional cat-o'-nine-tails upon one of the pillows. He had taken His time in securing the cuffs around her ankles and her wrists, constantly touching her throughout the restraining process, continually telling her how much He was looking forward to watching her struggle for Him, yet instructing her to never hesitate to use her safeword if necessary, especially as He was still fairly new to the role of a Dominant. And then He had left her, alone in the bedroom, alone with her thoughts with only His blue-light lamp providing a dim illumination of her predicament. she likely could have broken free of such cheaply-made restraints if she had truly fought against the cuffs, but the symbolism of her bonds combined with the fact that He was finally truly engaging her in her area of need and desire kept her as still as the dead upon the bed, until He had returned with a pot of hot water, set it upon a towel atop the dresser, placed the bottle of massage oil in the water, then took the whip into His hand and began to hone his skills upon her naked flesh. To her surprise, the restraints had held her quite securely despite the cheap method of their manufacture, and the warm oil massaged into her reddened body was indeed a most fitting way to end T/their first scene T/together.

When her lease was about to end, she had announced to her landlord that she would let it lapse. He had taken a day off from work to help her move into His - suddenly T/their - apartment. And although He had never requested it, she had "made" herself a full-time slave to Him... and He did not do or say anything to stop her, which made her quite happy deep inside. her scant clothing (typically just a thong, and perhaps a light robe on cool mornings), her sudden "compulsion" with cleaning the apartment, the amount of time she spent in the kitchen, the way she attended to His needs as if she were a waitress at a high-class restaurant - all this and more had quickly become a key area of T/their relationship, and she knew from His every glance and touch and word that He appreciated her she had taken to her role as His submissive, as His slave.

Now, on the first anniversary of T/their marriage, in the home which had belonged to His recently-deceased father, she kneels upon an oversize pillow placed on the hardwood floor beside His favorite recliner. she wears her usual black thong, as well as a black satin collar - T/their symbol of her status and of servitude to Him, a symbol which likely will not shock those who are unaware of T/their relationship.

As the narrator discusses President Lincoln's reasoning behind freeing the slaves, she looks up at Him, proud that He has truly grown into His role as her Master. she wonders what He thinks, watching a documentary about the president who freed the slaves while His own slave knelt beside His favorite recliner. Then He reaches down unexpectedly and caresses her upturned face, surprising her pleasantly, and she realizes once again:

This is where i belong.