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But I cannot be sad forever. I chose this life, I did not settle for it. I was strong enough to meet my Master and take on that role with Him. I had been hurt, who hasn’t? But I saw something in Him that was different. I did not stumble and fall— I took the leap. I fucking earned being Owned.
We are not weak, when we submit. When we are someone’s “most treasured possession,” we were the ones strong enough to submit. To match our Owner’s energy and desires. We are enough as we are, but we still find ways to grow, evolve. To be better than we were before. To submerge ourselves deeper into our submission and training.
Can I say I am not still small and nervous some days? Of course. Not about taking the “leap,” with her, which doesn’t feel like a leap at all, but more of a settling into a lovely, serene pool.
I am still nervous and small some days. But I am that insecure little mouse less and less, and the Kitten I was meant to be more and more. Some days, even a princess.
This is who I am.
* * *
August 25, 8:45am
Today marksthe three year anniversary of me coming back from Thailand. Last night, I didn’t want to go to sleep. I felt a streak of stubbornness (“I am never going to sleep ever again!”). Master told me, “Time for bed, Kitten.” And I went. Maybe a bit reluctantly, but I climbed in and crawled up to him.
As I wake up, he praises me, “Good kitten,” for snuggling so well against him. He was up a lot of the night and he appreciates it. An hour or so after he’s left for meetings, I’m still at our hotel and I wake up. I look at the clock and see there’s a half hour until breakfast is over. I know he always likes me to eat breakfast. Usually, at home, I don’t. But we almost always eat breakfast together at the hotel– and since he was nice enough to let me sleep longer, I know he’ll like it if I make sure to eat on my own.
I don’t want to eat anything. But I know he wants me to do this and I want to hear “Good kitten,” when he comes back. As soon as I know what time it is, I sleepily- but without a beat- roll out of bed. I’m not worried. I know it takes me ten minutes to shower. Five minutes to get dressed. Five minutes to quickly check the social network (I am good and I wait until I’m all ready to go before I do this). This leaves ten minutes to get to the breakfast room. I leave with seven minutes to go. Perfect.
I assemble my breakfast in the hotel breakfast room. I remember the hotel in Germany had the most amazing continental breakfast. I know it isn’t much, but if this were the same hotel in Europe, I’d have organized a huge feast of bagel generously smeared with Nutella, a mocha hot chocolate, delicious jams and croissants, fresh pressed juice, maybe a croissant with good cheese and deli meat, smoked salmon…
I did not expect to be lounging in a European hotel before I turned thirty (and maybe not even after). When I finished breakfast, I went exploring. Or simply wandered around the parks. I love their parks. They have all these really cool exercise equipment that I have no idea how to use. I never saw anyone use them, so I never did figure that out. Maybe it’s more decorative.
But I find a few items that I’ll eat, anyway. Orange juice, a smoothie, and a waffle that you make in those cool flip waffle machines. They’re actually really tasty. I find some strawberry jam to spread on top, and wish I had Nutella, too. But I’ll eat it. Because I know I’m supposed to do this for him. And for me.
When I go back upstairs, I pack up the room. I want extra kudos. Even if he doesn’t expect it (and I’m not sure if he does or not), I know we won’t have much time to pack up when he returns. Maybe this way I’ll even get an extra five minutes of snuggles before we have to get going (we might not have time, regardless, but at least I’ve put in the effort).
I’m finished putting things away, and I turn to focus on my waffle and juice.
Submission takes many forms. Sometimes it’s strict, Gorean protocol. Sometimes it’s complicated “scenes” with rope, fire, wax, and an array of scary looking- particularly to the untrained eye- implements. It’s not always passive, but it’s not always complicated.
Sometimes it’s just eating a waffle with strawberry jam.
We drive a few hours until we reach home. And then we return to bed, to lie in the late afternoon sun. Evening comes round again. We still haven’t left the bed. He whispers into my ear, so softly I am not sure I heard it,
“I love you.” Master’s words touch me, and a warmth spreads through my body and eases me into a deep sleep.
* * *
Kitten Awakened
Pale morning slips in through the window, her mind half awakens and idly wonders what time it might be— but her thoughts are jarred as his hands grip the small of her back and he thrusts, hard, purposefully, her permission asked and received long ago. He throws the sheets back to reveal her round, naked curves. Always ready for him.
Yes, she moans, and her body opens to him, instinctively, her wetness unleashed by the touch of his hand. But he quickly shoves her face into her pillow, muffling her words.
“You are mine and always mine.” A wave of warmth washes over her, more than simply his body in hers. She belongs. She is wanted. A thousand times he’s entered her body, and he’ll want her just as much a thousand mornings later.
“Focus on the pleasure, focus on how it feels.” Speaking will only be a distraction. Only her whimpers and moans have any relevancy as he drives his desire deep into her writhing form.
Sweetness mixed with savory. How can he be so rough, demanding, and yet so softly gentle? I am nothing but my holes to be used, however and whichever way he pleases, and yet, I feel so
“Take me, please!” the words jerk from her involuntarily.
— he plunges, harder, deeper, her words and thoughts cut off. Lost in pleasure, moaning, whimpering. “Yes, whimper for me, you know that only makes me harder. You know your only purpose is for me to jerk off into.”Yes, she screams internally, words lost to her.
“Just like that, slave,” his tone is strained, as she tightens, instinctively, around his cock. “Come from me, now!” he snaps- and she does, coming instantly at his command. She knows she is beautiful, worthy, and loved, why does she need to be called names?
“Good slave,” he says in a pleased voice, “feel me, all of me,” never stopping or slowing down as he drives into her again and again.
“Come, slave, now!” Her body betrays her with wave after wave of orgasm…she loses track of time…and then she feels him stiffen, his muffled groans, “Beg for it, slave, tell me what you need.”
“Please, master. Please fill your slave.” And he thrusts one final time and collapses into her.
“Thank you, slave, for proving your worth.” He kisses her on her shoulder, gently turns her onto her side, and pulls up the sheets. He will be there when she wakes up.
…and she, as she always does knowing she is safe beside him, returns to a deep sleep filled with wandering dreams.
* * *
