My handbag fell unceremoniously to the ground. Just a moment later the door slammed shut with a resounding crash, whose dampened echo I could still hear reverberating down the cold, grey corridor for several seconds. Satisfying as it was, my selfish display of anger did little but alarm the cat and inform my husband that dinner wouldn't be fancy tonight. I thanked no one in particular that it was Friday and proceeded into the living room.
Instead of the usual mumblings of some technical TV show, I was greeted by silence. "Jacob?" I called, but my husband didn't respond. Our tabby Maine Coon wafted over to me and lazily rubbed up against my leg before flopping down on the carpet. Back in the hall, I realized Jacob's coat was missing on the rack.
"Oh, please, please bring home something to eat", I muttered. "Curry, fried chicken, hell, even sandwiches will do." My stomach gave an irritated grumble. In the kitchen, all that was available were two bright orange mandarins. I didn't even like mandarins all that much, because they never ceased to remind me of Christmas. I grabbed both of them without hesitation. Behind my eyes, pressure began to build up. I turned off the lights and dragged myself to the bathroom.
I was dozing in the bathtub, surrounded by the faint fragrance of discarded mandarin peels, when I heard the front door open and close softly. Moments later, Jacob's head appeared from behind the bathroom door. "Hello, Sweety," he greeted me.
"Mrm," was my reply. "Hey."
"I got your text. How are you feeling?"
"Like I want to fuck the world up. But at least I was able to persuade my headache to go away." Jacob looked relieved. I was touched: he was always so concerned for my well-being. And his own, I suspect, because I'm horrible company when I have one of my headaches. "I don't suppose you've picked up something to eat?"
A conspiratory smile told me he had. "Finish up in here and you'll get something. I'll bring you something to wear."
"You are a god!" I called after him and sunk beneath my vanilla-scented bubbles.
An hour later, my irritated frown had been inverted to a satisfied smile. Jacob chewed happily on the last remaining sake nigari. The calm and satisfaction evident on his face seeped into me, and soon I had almost forgotten all about the many little things that had ruined my mood at the office. For quite some time, we said nothing, sipping our wine and listening to music. As I began to feel light-headed, the conditioning started to kick in. Candlelight sushi, the musical backdrop taken care of by one of my favourite bands, my blue fuzzy bathrobe on freshly scrubbed skin... then I realized Jacob had been looking at me, smiling, for a while now. "Hm?" I inquired lazily.
"You have the look," he said. He meant the facial expression I always got when I had decided that I wanted to hit the sheets with anything but sleep in mind.
"Maybe I do," I replied and took another sip of wine.
"Maybe we should clean up and go to bed."
"Maybe that's a good idea," I agreed, smiling wider.
"After all, you've had a rough day."
"Don't even remind me." I stretched and started putting away the dishes.
About a quarter of an hour later, I was kneeling on the sheepskin rug in front of the bed. My eyes were closed and my hands were clasped around my forearms at my back. It was a ritual we'd adapted months ago. Every evening, I stayed in this position for at least five minutes, emptying my mind as much as possible, until my Master told me I could get up and go to bed. Either that, or...
"Princess?" A simple word that meant so much more than many might suspect. Whenever it escaped Jacob's lips, I felt energized, called upon. It was my name, my function and status, and now it was an inquiry.
I had two options. If I answered 'Beloved', I would slip between the sheets with Jacob. He would hold me in his arms until sleep enveloped us both in comforting darkness. It was an option I rarely made use of, but now I hesitated. I had barely escaped a migraine, I was exhausted, and I really rather fancied the idea of complaining myself to sleep in the comforting embrace of my husband.
He was standing somewhere behind me, I could sense him nearby. I could feel expectation emanating from him. Scenes from last Sunday night flooded my mind, accompanied by a smile. "Yes, Sir," I said.
"Stand before me."
When I complied, he slid the bathrobe from my shoulders. Cold air met my skin. I tried my hardest not to shiver. As he had instructed me to, I kept my arms behind my back and my eyes lowered.
"When was your last confession?" he asked.
"It's been a while." Over a month, surely. It used to be a weekly ritual before life got in the way.
"High time then." My Master took a small golden key from a drawer and unlocked the cabinet next to the dresser. From there, he retrieved an elegantly fashioned leather collar. Along the edges, it was engraved with a pattern resembling celtic knotwork, and at the front it was adorned with a single silver ring. Motionless, I waited for him to fix it around my neck. As soon as it was fastened, I felt part of my brain switch off, and another awaken. None of the everyday madness had any power over me anymore. Only he did. A silver chain connected my collar with my Master's hand. A quick tug was my signal to begin.
I dropped to my knees and bowed my head. I took a deep breath before I began. "Confiteor, Domine, mea culpa." Recollections drifted through my mind. Of course there'd been transgressions – two of which I really had hoped might stay unnoticed. But now there was no going back. "During the last three weeks, I've ignored my diet at work. I've been eating cake and drinking coffee with whipped cream." Saying that, I became uncomfortably aware of the extra pounds I'd been meaning to shed. Those extra thirty pounds that doctors had told me I'd be better off without for years now. The mound of my belly mocked me with every breath.
"Then you'll burn them off", my Master said with a wave of his hand. "Starting tomorrow morning, 15 minutes of yoga after waking up. Naked. So I can see you."
"Yes, Sir." I hated getting up for gymnastics, and I cursed every drop of cream for this.
"What else?"
I suppressed a sigh. There was no point in stalling, no point in avoiding the inevitable. "I touched myself without permission."
My eyes were fixed on the carpet, but I heard the smirk in my Master's voice. "How many times?"
Like a scolded child, I muttered, "Five."
He grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my face toward his. "Five times? Either you're insatiable or I don't fuck you enough."
I squirmed. Already I felt myself getting wetter.
"Which is it, Princess? Don't I hit your greedy little slit often enough?"
