I want to see you laying on the floor in front of me. I want to see that frightened look in your eyes.
I want to pick you up and toss you onto the bed like a rag doll.
When you begin to struggle and pull away, I want to slap you once, hard. I want you to know that it is pointless to fight me.
I want to hogtie you. I want your ankles and wrists bound together in the air. I want you completely helpless.
I want you to feel vulnerable as I stand over you. I want to see your cunt dripping with your fear.
I want to take you, any way I want, over and over. I want to use all of your holes. I want you completely open to me.
I want to see the resignation in your eyes when you realize that I can do anything to you.
I want to come all over your face. I want my come to dry on your lips. I want to leave you there, tasting me on your tongue.
Now, little Kitten. Time for bed.
Go to sleep like a good little girl and dream of all that I have planned for you. There's so much more than you even know.
"It's time for one, I think. You know that?" His voice was quiet.
"When you get back. A birthday spanking. Twenty-nine spanks for you," he said and I could hear him smiling.
"And one to grow on," I quipped without thinking.
"No, I didn't mean that...I don't need more than..."
"Yes, one to grow on, Kitten. I like that idea. Thank you for that," he teased. He knows how often I speak without thinking. He loves that I get myself in the good kind of trouble with him.
"You're welcome," I mumbled. Me and my big mouth.
"We'll go out to that party on Saturday night and you'll be there next to me, the perfect little girlfriend. You'll be the sweet girl that everyone thinks they know. But no one there will know that you're going to get spanked hard the next day, and that you'll love every minute of it."
I squirmed again. He kept spinning his fantasy of spanking me hard and marking me with his belt for my birthday. He told me that he planned to remind of my spanking during the party on Saturday, that he would put his hand on the back of my neck and let me know that he owns me. He reveled in my double life, in the difference between my real life identity and my submissive identity. He loved that only he could see both sides of me.
"You know that I own you, Kitten. But Sunday...Sunday you'll really feel it."
When I could not hold back any longer, I cried out quietly and closed my eyes. I didn't want to draw attention to what he was doing. As he held my nipples and continued to pinch, the sharp pain dulled to an ache and I was able to open my eyes. I looked at him calmly until he twisted harder.
Finally, he let me go and I moved to go inside the house, but he had something else in mind. He caught me by the neck and slammed me back against the truck. I stared at him, eyes wide with shock. He reached down and unzipped my jeans. I whined slightly and murmured "no" into his ear. I didn't want to be exposed.
He stood back and smiled that cruel smile that I know so well. "Pull down your pants." I paused. He snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Down. Now. Your panties too." I reluctantly pulled them down to my mid-thighs and looked around. There were no cars coming and none of the neighbors were out. But if a car came around the corner...
"All the way, Kitten," he growled and he pulled my pants all the way to my ankles. He pushed me back against the truck and felt between my legs. My pussy was wet already and he quickly brought me to orgasm with his fingers. I clung to him, burying my face in his shoulder in case anyone was watching, biting my lip to keep from crying out.
He pulled away and put his hand on the back of my neck. "Come with me," he cooed, "leave your pants down." I shuffled after him, quickly realizing that he was leading me to the end of the driveway, away from shelter of the trees. He led me right to the edge of the street and stepped away from me. I looked around at him, panicked. I barely noticed when the wind started whipping up and thunder started rolling in the background.
"Daddy, please...," I trailed off. He had walked back up the driveway. I could still hear his footsteps, but I couldn't see him anymore.
"Stay where you are, Kitten," he called out from behind me. I closed my eyes and waited for him, flinching at every car engine and door-slam that I heard.
Finally, I felt his hands on my ass. He leaned down and pulled my pants back up and fastened them as lightning started to flash all around us. He pulled me close to him and breathed in my hair. "Such a good girl," he sighed as he looked down at me. I smiled at him despite myself. The lightning lit up his face. God, His eyes looked so beautiful. How did he ever find me?
We were laughing and hugging as the thunder grew louder. The wind tossed my hair and blew all around us. Quietly, rain began to fall - lightly at first then building to a driving rain. We stood there, drenched and staring into each others' eyes, smiling like two silly kids in love.
"Let's get you inside, Kitten," he said as he hugged me tight one last time. He took my hand and we ran inside, our feet splashing in puddles all the way.
I've also spent some time this week talking to my new therapist. Before anyone worries, my seeing a therapist is nothing new. I've talked to one for years in an effort to control the anxiety that has been a part of most of my adult life. (And for the record, I think that most people in my life could benefit from a bit of therapy here and there!) For the past five years, my anxiety has been completely manageable and I only go to therapy intermittently for maintenance appointments.
I have been without a therapist for the past several months and decided to return recently for a whole host of reasons. My relationship is not a reason that I decided to go back, but it did factor into my selection of a new therapist. I knew that my relationship and my submission would come up in the course of conversation and wanted someone who would understand that dynamic. So I found a wonderful kink-aware therapist who is working to help me maximize my relationship, understand my kink more, and generally make me a better submissive, all while talking with me about managing the true sources of anxiety in my life.
The first thing she did in our session was to ask me if my owner knew that I was talking to her. I hadn't told Him, but I suspected that he would find out in no time. He knows everything and I cannot keep anything from him, which she understood completely. It didn't seem strange to tell her any of that.
The second thing she did was walk me through some breathing exercises that would help me with my anxiety. She told me that better breathing would contribute to my submission by allowing me to take more pain - no judgments about whether my need for pain was wrong in some way. And it has already paid off...more on that in another post this week!
It is wonderful to speak to someone who doesn't approach what I do and love as wrong or a problem to treat. She supports and does not judge. It is exactly what I need at this juncture as He and I face everything that lay ahead.
I will be back with a titillating new post in a day or so. Stay tuned!
He choked me harder. I could feel his thumb on the side of my neck. It was pushing against something vital, an artery or a nerve. I could feel the fear rising in my chest. His thumb, that singular point of pressure, was hurting me.
"Look at me. I want you to see me. I want my face to be the last thing that you see. I want you to look into my eyes as you fade to darkness."
I nodded as best I could, eyes wide with terror.
"I want to feel you fade away as I hold you."
I tried to breathe. I couldn't draw a breath past his fingers. I struggled slightly as he held me closer.
"Are you ready?"
Yes. I was ready for him to take all of this from me. I was ready for him to destroy me, finally. I was ready to close my eyes and let him.
The strange thing is, is that he has never read the blog. He has been hands off this entire time and stressed that I should keep this as my own place. But because of that, he doesn't know what is at stake here. It is not just that I would rather not tell my family and friends about my predilections or that I do not want to be exposed at work. He doesn't know how much of my private self I have revealed in this space and how vulnerable it makes me feel to know that just anyone can find out these things about me.
I think it is also a bit unsafe. There are a lot of scary people out there on the internet. Who knows what a little lurking and creative Googling could lead to? I've been very careful to keep an invisible online presence in my real life, but I feel like he's exposing me and that makes me very uncomfortable.
I feel a bit off balance right now because I need to work out some things about this assignment and this experience, but I know that everyone involved (except for Him!) is free to come here and read my inner thoughts. I'm confused about sharing us with another woman and what that means for our relationship, and what monogamy vs. an open relationship means to us, but I can't talk about that here anymore. I can't reveal those insecurities or those weaknesses to the world when the world can interact with me in person.
This blog is protection to me. It is distance. It is not that close to the core of who I am at the same time as it is the place that is the most authentic me. I do not want to censor myself here and I do not want to hide from my own sanctuary. I don't know what to do, whether I should throw caution to the wind or whether I should batten down the hatches and cover my head in fear.
I do not want to lose this blog. I do not want to abandon all of the work that I have put in here. I do not want to cut off my ability to work out my issues in a place that is safe for me, among people who understand me. At the same time, I cannot be this person in the real world. I just cannot, for so many reasons. I have too much to lose.
I don't know what set Him off, but he made that proclamation one evening over the phone. I was already reeling from the events of earlier that afternoon.
Here's what had happened earlier: I recently joined a social networking site. I tried to keep him abreast of all of my communications, but he didn't like that certain people could contact me. He especially did not like that a strange man contacted me and pressed for a meeting, disrespecting his ownership of me.
That afternoon, a text message came through: I will be monitoring your page and making random spot checks.
And then: E-mail me your password. I will monitor your messages as well.
I sat, looking at my phone, mouth open. I put the phone down when it started shaking with the trembling of my hand.
One last text: Understand?
I managed to text back a quick, "yes sir," before turning off my phone completely. Maybe if the phone was off, I could stop him from marching any further into my life. Maybe if I cut off text messages, I wouldn't have to give up everything to him.
It didn't work, of course. After a tension-filled half-hour, I turned my phone back on and e-mailed him my password.
So back to later that night on the phone: I listened as he logged into my account and dissected my every message. He questioned my word choice and deemed my tone to be frequently too flirtatious. I hadn't been watching the tone of every message. I didn't think he'd ever read them.
I was upset that he had invaded my personal space and read all of my private messages. And now he was going to "tighten the leash"? Would he request that I give him all of my e-mail passwords? Would be demand to read all of my diaries?
He's never been a micromanager, but now he was doing something that I never thought he would do. What would he do next? I asked, but he wouldn't tell me. I think the anticipation, the dread of that line of thought, was the worst part.
No, actually, the worst part was that I didn't know why. What had I done wrong that made him decide to "step up my discipline"? I asked him, plaintively whining - why?
"Because it makes my cock hard, Kitten. Because I can and because it makes me fucking hard. And that's all the reason I need."
But what if I couldn't handle more? The last time he started bearing down on me, I almost cracked. What if I lost it again?
"Stop worrying. Breathe."
I took a deep breath. I sighed.
"I wouldn't do this if I thought you couldn't handle it. But anyway, you're asking the wrong questions. Instead of worrying about whether you can handle this, you should be asking - how can I please you more, serve you better. How can I be a better girl at all times. Those are your questions."
Please Him. Serve Him. Be a better girl. I'm repeating that to myself. I'm waiting for his next command.
He didn't back off. What kind of owner would he be if he didn't exploit that opportunity to break down my last defenses? He is a very good owner, so I suppose I just answered my own question.
The unfair thing was that I was fragile going into that day. I hadn't gotten over the events of the previous weekend. I was still feeling a little off-kilter. I don't often fantasize about sweet, languorous romantic sex, but that was really all I was ready for that day. I didn't feel that incredible aching need to be hurt, to be obliterated. I needed to be held and cradled and babied.
But, I don't know if you've noticed, I don't get a choice anymore. No, that's not exactly right - sometimes he gives me a choice, but I don't have the right to one. He was going hard on me that day and most of it was psychological. My perfect weakness.
I started thinking about everything that had changed in my life since we started and about all those things that had changed within me. I had lost so much.
That girl that I used to be, the one who would walk down the street with her head held high but who was certain that everyone was judging her (and that she came up short in everyone's estimation), that girl was gone. She was always scared and she was defensive and she was brittle and she was mean. But she was safe. No one could get close enough to touch her.
I missed her so suddenly, so acutely. Why had he destroyed her? She was flawed, but she was mine. She protected me. She had been with me through so much.
She was a liar and a fraud, but at least she didn't owe anything to anyone. She lied to Him in the beginning because it wasn't like he was going to love me anyway. She didn't think that love was possible, not for me, not after everything. She was looking after herself. Love, the possibility of real love didn't matter.
She knew there were ugly things about me, things so foul that he would leave me if he found out. She knew that I was a terrible person and she knew that I didn't deserve even the most fleeting moments of happiness.
God, she hated me so much. She was the one that cut me and told me that I was worthless. She sabotaged everything that I ever did because she thought she had to hurt me before anyone else did. She was just trying to help me. She didn't know that she was the problem all along.
Losing her had been the hardest thing in my whole life. All of those breakups and heartaches were nothing compared to this. Now that I think about it, how much of that pain had been her fault in the first place? She had blinded me to so much for so long. It was time for her to go.
So what is left? Vulnerability and exposure and risk - of losing and being left, certainly. But also closeness and intimacy and growth. Trust, trusting Him with my life and trusting myself. No more sabotage and no more lying for cover. No more dishonesty. No more hate.
And a different kind of strength, one that still lets me walk down the street with my head held high. But now I don't care who's looking and whether they're judging me. Just let them. I know who I am. He loves me. And I deserve every bit of that love.
I felt him lift his head off of the pillow and I did the same in response. I looked at him with a silent question in my eyes. "Go get it," he whispered. I frowned and paused, hesitant to get up. "Go now," he said more loudly and with a smack to my ass for emphasis. I pouted but soon scooted off to the other room.
When I came back into the room, my hands were behind my back. "What do you have there?," he asked quietly. He kept using this creepy, soft voice that was probably meant to lull me into a sense of calm but instead made me even more apprehensive.
"A bottle," I mumbled.
"A bottle of what?," he led.
"A bottle of stuff," I sassed, giggling at my pathetic attempt at avoidance.
He grabbed the front of my bra and pulled me to the ground in front of him. "This isn't a joke, little girl. Tell me what you're holding."
I looked at the ground. "An enema, sir."
"That's right. And where am I going to put it?"
"In my ass," I mumbled.
He put me over his knee, but not before he offered me my favorite stuffed animal to hold. I cried into the plush fur of the animal as he put me into position, overwhelmed by my littleness and the humiliation of what he was about to do to me. He held me close to him as he squeezed the liquid into me. His palm was resting on my back and he massaged me in slow circles.
I wanted to leave right away. I wanted to keep my head low and to flee the room immediately. But he was watching the clock and he made me stay. He held me firmly in place, no matter how much I whined or pleaded. I found it easier to bear the wait if I stayed still and breathed slowly. He smoothed down my hair and rubbed my back as he held me down. I sniffled a little bit from time to time, but the sudden crying that came from that place of disbelief of what he was about to do had passed.
I waited forever. His voice was so kind as he told me that I had to wait just a little longer, that no, it was not time to go yet. He said these things as if they were out of his control, as if there was no helping how long he was making me wait. And I believed him.
I know now that he did not have to make me wait a proscribed period of time and that he was delaying just because he could. I know rationally in my mind now that my discomfort was his pleasure and this was all about trust and my training. But at that moment? I felt like a little child, railing against the unfair imposition of a harsh rule. The strange thing was that, again in that moment, I identified with him. He was on my side. He didn't want to make me wait; he just had to.
And even stranger, the whole thing started to feel a little hot. His hand on my back and his soothing voice, the anticipation and the slight flush at my cheeks. This was complete and total control over my body. I didn't have anything left that he didn't control now. This was ownership and domination, the most invasive kind. Every part of me belonged to him and he could dictate my every inner working. There was no part of me that didn't belong to him.
He let me go and I rushed off with a sense of relief. While I was gone, I wondered what he must think of me now. What could he possibly think now that I let him do this to me?
When I walked back into the bedroom, he looked at me with a serious expression on his face. "Now there's nothing between us, Kitten." After what I had told him just before, this felt like so much, all at one time. I was exposed to him like never before. I laid down next to him, touching his face with my fingertips. He pulled me to him and I swear we melted together. We were the same person. There was nothing between us, no secrets, nothing we didn't share. Everything about me is a part of him. I closed my eyes and cuddled closer.
She was my best childhood friend. We ran with a pack of neighborhood girls, but she and I seemed to spend most of our time by ourselves. We went to the same grade school. We carpooled to school together, snickering in the backseat about some inside joke or another. We went to the same church. We wore identical white dresses on Sunday mornings. We colored in our Sunday School bulletins together.
It is also a story of sexual awakening, and of hidden desires, and of shame. It is a story of stolen glances, the dark corner of the basement playroom, and that secret that we never spoke about, not even between ourselves.
I don't remember when we started being more than friends, or when it became part of our play to touch each other in those places that we knew were wrong to touch. I don't remember how it came to be that we understood what that wetness meant or why our bodies convulsed when we touched. I don't know how it ended or why. I don't know why it was so wrong. But it was. We were so young.
I had my first orgasm with her. I didn't know what it was at the time, but I remember it as clearly as I remember anything in my life. I remember the sleeping bags on the floor next to her bed, I remember the way the floor creaked quietly as I climbed on top of her. I remember feeling aggressive and too forward and behaving unlike a good little girl should behave. I remember feeling like something was wrong with me, that I was put together the wrong way.
"I think you're truly bisexual, Kitten. That's what this story tells me. There's nothing wrong with you. You were just made this way and that is okay. You weren't wrong to experiment with her. It wasn't wrong. Do you accept that?"
I don't know. It was hidden for a reason. It was a secret for a reason. I knew then what it meant to be gay and in my family, that was unacceptable. It meant that you had sexual urges. It meant that there was something impure inside you.
I felt the guilt as I passed her in the hallway at the high school. We were no longer friends. Our high school was large and we were in different social circles. But I caught her eye once and I saw that shame there. She knew what had happened between us, even if she couldn't talk about it. I didn't blame her; I carried my shame on the inside too.
"Kitten, you have to let this go. You can't feel ashamed anymore. I love you and accept you for everything that you are. Have I judged you for anything that you've told me?"
I had to let it go. It was over, long over. But it didn't have to be negative. I could still hold on to those things she taught me, those lazy afternoons we spent kissing in my bedroom, the feel of her small nipples under my fingers. I could smile at our innocence and our sense of discovery. I could hold on to the the feeling of kissing her goodbye at the side door as her mother called her home for dinner.
"No secrets between us, Kitten. There can be nothing that you don't share with me. Tell me everything."
"Oh? Tell me about it."
"I was a couple of inches under the water and you were holding me down with your palm on my chest. The water was cold, like I was in a pool. And I could see you above me."
"You could see my face?"
"Yes, you were looking down on me. I could see you clearly through the water.
"Was I trying to kill you?"
"No, you were just holding me there. I was calm. I thought that I should be struggling, but I didn't. You were calm. You were just looking down at me."
"Have you ever fantasized about me drowning you when you were awake?"
"No, I don't think so. It just came out of nowhere and into my dream."
"See, Kitten. I own you even in your dreams. Remember that part of your rules that says that I own your soul?"
"Now you know what that means."
I want the absolution of perfection. I want to burn away all of my regrets, and there are so many regrets. I look back on my life and see all of my mistakes and I want to erase them. Can one act of devotion to Him really take away all of the things that I have ever done wrong? Each lover that I have betrayed or bullied? I don't know, but I try.
I imagine my submissive self as a figurine made of glass, able to warm to his touch. Clear, hollow. You can see right through me. Perfect. This is what I strive for.
But sometimes I fail spectacularly. The wonderful thing about this humble relationship that I have with Him, one that some have tried to define but which resists definition, is that his discipline erases everything in an instant. I fuck up, I know it, I repent, he beats me, all is well. It is forgiven and forgotten. I don't carry it with me past the moment he releases me. I am clear once again.
This is what happened last weekend, more or less. One day I wonder if He will make an appearance here and tell his version of things. For now, all you have is my story. It may be a bit warped at this point.
It started when he was talking about a girl that he used to know who had been in a porn film. I don't know why we were talking about this. It shouldn't have been a big deal, except he was being a bit casual about the whole thing. It took a bit to build, but suddenly I was extremely jealous and I just wanted the conversation to stop. I accused him of fucking her and then bringing her up to throw in my face, as if her being in a porn film had anything to do with me. I kept accusing him and he didn't deny it, which just made me insane with jealousy.
I had to get out of the conversation, but I was feeding it and it was building. I got up from the bed and stomped out of the bedroom, slamming the door in the process. I'd like to think that I didn't realize how loudly the door was going to slam, but I did. As an experienced teenage door-slammer, I knew exactly what I was doing.
I went into the bathroom, closing the door behind me, and sat down to pee. As soon as I sat down, he came barging through the bathroom door. I instinctively threw up my hands to block him and said: "Get the fuck out of here!"
Yes, that is exactly what I said. To my credit, I knew as the words were leaving my mouth that I was in trouble. Actually, I think my exact words were "Get the fuck out of here! Ohhh nooo..."
He grabbed my head by the hair and shook me a few times while he asked me, "What did you say?" in this creepy, calm voice. I just lowered my eyes and shook my head. There could be no forgiving how I let my mouth run away with me, for how I had disrespected him with my tone and my words. "How about I let you get yourself together for a few minutes?," he suggested in a voice that told me that I should steel myself for something. I nodded as I stared down at my hands.
When I walked back into the bedroom, he was sitting on the side of the bed, hands folded in his lap. He looked up when I walked in. "Get across my knee," he whispered. I went right to him. I knew that I should be spanked. I didn't argue.
He held my chin in one hand as he spanked me hard with the other. He doesn't usually spank me as hard as he did that day. He seemed perfectly calm, but I wonder whether the hard spanking was the result of anger. After a minute, he pushed me off of his lap and growled that it wasn't enough and ordered me to kneel next to the bed. If I was resigned before, I was suddenly terrified. I heard him pick up the belt.
I started apologizing like a madwoman, sobbing with my face buried in the mattress. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, Daddy, I'm sorry," as if that would get me out of this.
He pulled my head up by the back of my hair. "Not that you deserve to know this, but I didn't fuck her. But you don't deserve to know that because I DON'T ANSWER TO YOU. YOU ANSWER TO ME, do you understand that?," he yelled. Something clicked into place. I did understand. I answer to Him. He doesn't answer to me. It was all so simple.
He still beat me with the belt. He still made me count each stroke out loud. I took each one through tears and counted against my fists. But when he was done and he lay next to me, gently running his fingers over the welts on my back, he was calm. All was forgiven and I was empty and clear again. He washed everything away.
He set each item out on the table by the couch - the plug, the bottle of lube, the leather wrist restraints, the nipple clamps. I eyed the line-up warily. He had asked me to bring each of these things, but I didn't know whether (or in what manner) each would make an appearance.
He put a blanket on the floor by the couch. "On your hands and knees," he ordered without ceremony. "Did you get ready for me, Kitten?" I nodded quickly. I didn't (and still don't!) want to discuss what that entailed.
He slid the plug into my ass and all rational thought went out the window. It really only takes sinking the plug into place to drop me immediately into my most submissive headspace. He slid his cock into my pussy and I cried out. It was so tight and I felt so full. He started pounding into me and fooling with the plug at the same time - pushing it in deeper, moving it from side to side to stretch my asshole. I couldn't separate the sensations. They blended together into one great roar.
He pulled out the plug and started fucking my ass with a steady rhythm. He pulled out and back in went the plug. Over and over, he fucked my asshole with his cock then the plug, his cock then the plug. He put his hand on the back of my neck and pushed my upper body against the ground. My ass was in the air, vulnerable. I was clawing at the ground and screaming myself hoarse. I was past the point of orgasm, or maybe I was still having one? I was too delirious to tell.
He continued fucking me, past the point where I thought I could bear it. But he had his grip on my hips and I had nowhere to go. I wanted to ask him to wait, couldn't we go upstairs first and relax, but that was just a last-ditch attempt at control. I thought to myself: "This is submission."
He warned me before he pulled the plug out and put his cock in for the last time. "I'm going to come in your ass, Kitten, are you ready? Can you take it?" He didn't require a response. He moaned loudly, sharply, and pulled back hard on my hips as he came.
The unbelievable thing was that he stayed hard after coming and had me suck him until he came again. He probably didn't know how dirty and degraded I felt after he had fucked me in the ass on the floor, like I'm an animal. Actually, he probably did know that.
It was only later that I realized that I had rug burn on both of my elbows - sensitive patches where I had worn the skin away by trying to hold onto the floor and failing spectacularly. Those patches of skin have just begun to heal but I think my ego has been damaged forever.
But we talked about her nonetheless. I asked Him during a pause in the conversation, "If S. came to play with us, do you think she could stay?"
He hesitated. "Would you like that?," he asked guardedly.
I thought for a moment. I wasn't sure. I'm not poly, at least I don't think I am at this point, but sharing ourselves completely with her, loving her and welcoming her into our lives, seemed so right at the moment. I shrugged.
"Kitten, I have an assignment for you." I looked up at him. He doesn't usually give me assignments. "I want you to find a girl for us."
Now it was my turn to hesitate. "One to stay?," I asked nervously.
"No, just one to play with us. I want to see you with her. I want you to do that for me."
Immediately, I was full of questions and anxiety. How would I find her, where should I even start to look? Oh god, would I have to resort to those terrifying BDSM personals? People would judge my pictures and the rejection...
He didn't want to take my questions. "Find a way, Kitten. That's all I'm going to say. Be a good girl for me and find her."
So here I am. Please, please help me! Have any of you gone through this? How did you find your girl? Or do you know of anyone who would be interested? Or would you be interested?
Recently, we were having a disagreement about something minor, but I was feeling a little unfocused nonetheless. He had me get down on my knees, look up at him and repeat some things after him. Those things became my formal rules. I am to memorize them and repeat them to myself whenever I have lost my way or need to feel reconnected to him. They will be a sort of mantra for me, mental guidelines that I can turn to in times of crisis.
He also has expressed an intention to have me repeat my rules when it pleases him or to reinforce a lesson or punishment. This introduction of ritual - the kneeling, the repetition of set words - is new for us. He is relatively informal with me in the sense that I do not have to greet him a certain way or perform regular tasks on a daily basis. The only thing I regularly repeat for him is a description of my job ("to stay still and shut the fuck up"), which he usually makes me do when I'm resolutely not doing my job. ;-)
I don't mind the ritual aspect of it at all, it's just new for me. It may take some getting used to, but I am sure that it will become a bond between us in time. Anyway, the rules/mantra below:
1. I will obey your every command. No questions.
2. My place is at your feet, kneeling before you.
3. I will think before I speak at all times when in your presence.
4. I will be your good little girl, now and forever.
5. You own me...my body, my mind and my soul.