1/23/13
Sometimes it feels like the only thing worse than getting caught doing something bad is getting away from serving your punishment for it. The guilt itself is enough to kill you. Your stomach turns a little every time you see him from a distance, having completely forgotten about your betrayal or misdemeanour, making little flips every time you get pulled into his lap affectionately and each rare kiss turns into a curse. Nothing is worse than guilt. Or at least, that's what you sometimes feel.
And then you have my Master. And he makes you forget that silly notion.
My name is Kanni, I have a small tattoo on my right wrist that marks me as his, and he named me when I was a good puppy. Do you know what a good Kanni gets to do with her Master? She gets to wake up in the morning and make breakfast for him. Waffles. Sometimes he likes omelettes. He always has bacon or sausage, or something or other else that "once had a face." He isn't the perkiest Master when he first wakes up.
He grumpily stomps out of bed and grumpily brushes his teeth and grumpily takes his seat before grumpily eating breakfast and stalking off to take a grumpy shower of grumpiness. He has an uncanny ability of running late on the mornings when he needs to be on time as well. In any case, whether he's late or on time or early, Kanni always has to clean the house. I never liked doing yard work, and my Master has always been kind in that respect. Most of my chores are boring. Laundry, cooking, dusting, mopping, bathrooms... But then... Then there's the last one: my journal.
My journal and I have a bittersweet relationship. Master comes home from work. He sits on the couch tired and I keep my mouth shut wisely for a few minutes while I get him water and if he's hungry, a snack. He eats and watches television with his favourite puppy under his feet. Sometimes he doesn't like her posture and corrects it, tapping the insides of her thighs to make her widen her stance or when he's happy with her, he'll pat her tail with his foot, driving the plug in further playfully. Sometimes he'd pull me closer to him afterwards with my collar and mock scold me for a while until I turned beet red.
After he was relaxed and we had eaten dinner, we'd play fetch. Master finds it entertaining when he throws me the ball and it rolls under furniture or somewhere else where my rear ends up high in the air as I struggle to reach it. My belt jingles as I crawl back to him; I think we're both rather amused by the bells. After fetch, I write my journal, and if he feels like it, he asks me to read it to him as I sit at his feet. Then he pulls me into his lap, playing with me or talking to me softly. If he was really tired that night, he'd send me to bed and come in to turn out my light. If not, he'd let me fall asleep with my head in his lap, head swimming with dreams of a wonderful Master and another wonderful day.
My undoing came when Master started to give me leash on my journal entries. He'd stopped asking me to read them to him every night. I know I shouldn't have done it, take advantage of the freedom he gave me but... But those journal entries are just so hard to write sometimes...
The short of it all is quite simply that luck favoured me for a while. If I didn't have my journal finished, I could simply stand as I read to him; with my eyes lowered and the book held away from his view, he could never tell that the page was blank. But I think my game was over when he realised that I hadn't needed to buy a journal in about three months. I should have pieced it together the morning before he played checkmate. "Puppy?" he said, halfway through the door to work.
"Yes, Master?" I said, peeking my head out of the kitchen to answer.
"Kanni, you know that I do not enjoy games, right?"
His voice dripped with artificial curiosity. His words were redefining the dictionary, though I didn't know it just yet:
Kanni, you know I do not "mess around." Do not challenge me.
"Of course, Master."
There was a pause. I would say the silence was "icy cold" or use some other such cliché, but the boiling water on the stove was more than enough of a reminder that it was quite a different kind of cliché: it was getting hotter in the room, and good puppies do not play with fire. Or at least smart ones don't. "Good girl," he said, and then he promptly left.
Confused, I had gone back and finished my chores. When he came home that night, after dinner, we did not play fetch. Instead, he watched television. At first though, I believed his ennui was finally starting to seep into his soul. And then he called to me from the couch as I did the dished in the kitchen, "Kanni, who do you think is worse: Nathan Wallace for lying, or Rotti for lying to himself?" I looked over the divider at my Master. For the first time that day, I did not simply notice him but honestly saw him. His face was studying me carefully and his lips were pursed; he was thinking, not bored.
"Well, Master I do not know. They are both lying. Has something been bothering you?" I asked, the last part turning my mouth to cotton as I said it.
"Yes."
There was another pause as I realised this was his command for me to ask further. "Master, what has been bothering you?"
"I have been lied to, and I have been lying to myself." My stomach made a little flip. I began to ask him what he meant, but he quickly recollected himself. Shaking his head, he stood up and turned off the TV. "Bedtime, Kanni," he said, smiling warmly again. Finishing the last dish, I put it away and obediently came out from the kitchen on all fours. Master chuckled and leaned down, pulling me up so I could walk on two's rather than four's and gently pushed me towards our room.
I got into our bed giggling and watched him as he laid the blanket on top of his puppy. He went to the closet, opened it, showing me the only monster in our room was him, and smiling turned off the light. He came to her bedside and gently stroked her cheek. Yawning, I looked up at him through the dark and smiled. "Master?"
"Yes, puppy?"
"Master, what were you lying to yourself about?"
He chuckled softly and leaned down, kissing my forehead then cheek. His hand rested in my hair for a second, and stroking my cheek gently, he answered with two words to break my heart. "Good girl."
The next morning, I woke up as usual. I had decided that was it. I would start writing my journals like a good girl. When he left for work, I was very good about his breakfast; he had a large one. Everything I could think of, I made: pancakes with blueberries, waffles with cinnamon, farmers' omelette, sausage, bacon, hash browns. He ate and one his way out, Master ruffled my hair. The rest of the day went on, but somewhere among the chores, time began to fly. Before I knew it, it was five thirty, and my Master's key would soon be turning the lock.
I ran to the dining table and pulled open the drawer there; I had a half hour. I could finish a good entry if I tried. My heart sank to my stomach as I saw inside rested no journal. Where was it? What had I done with it? I could hear my heart pounding into my ears as I hopelessly searched every room in the house. Minutes turned into milliseconds in my panic, and soon, my fleeting time was gone. I heard my Master open the door and step into the living room. That was it. I was done. There would be a spanking. Perhaps I wouldn't be allowed to sleep in my bed. Maybe even he wouldn't talk to me for a while. And thus, my mind was off.
The evening went on as normally as it possibly could. I performed duties as usual. I spent more time than usual on all fours, simply trying to keep my Master happy for a while longer. I won't ever admit it, but I might have been on all fours also to check under the couch for the damned, backstabbing binding. Dinner went by with a more talkative Master. He asked me questions, but I couldn't muster a word in my panic; I spent most of dinner nodding or shaking my head.
I was immersed in doing the dishes when his voice broke into the haze of my distraction. "Kanni. Here girl."
Putting the unfinished dishes into the sink and washing my hands, I came out drying them. "Y-yes Master?" I asked softly.
"Kanni, journal time," he said, a small grin playing mischievously at the corners of his mouth.
"I... Master I do not have one tonight..." I said, my head bowed as I came to stand in front of h
This grin deepened, openly mocking me. "It should prove no hindrance. 'Read' me your journal, girl," he said, a warmth in his voice hot enough to scorch Satan. I nodded, words caught somewhere in nonexistence, when he said, "Kanni, here," pointing to the ground in front of him.
I knelt at his feet and started quietly. "Friday, May the Third. Today my Master..." And thus I went through an entire entry. I never once did manage to look up at him.
Once I finished, I heard a small rustling and looked in time to see a black, leather journal drop into my lap.
My
black, leather journal. I looked up, tears forming in my eyes. "Master... Master I meant to..."
