In Denver with Amanda, and up too early this morning, with all sorts of things running through my head. Not bad things or worries, just things to be done.

She’s still sleeping in the hotel room. I’m down in the hotel coffee bar, sipping coffee and writing. I left her a note, telling her where I was.

The last two days have been a whirlwind, with me forgetting until the last minute that I had to pack for a ten-day trip. I don’t know when I actually last packed a suitcase: when I came to Amanda and Kevin, my stuff was loaded into a UHaul. Then too, I don’t wear much clothing anyway, shoes and skirts only, and it somehow escaped my awareness that I would have to wear tops on this trip.

We got in yesterday morning and immediately met with a realtor, Barbara, one Amanda had contacted previously. We spent the afternoon with her, walking through six properties.

Amanda wants a place with lots of land that’s semi-private, which is a definition in the making. What Amanda thankfully has not said to Barbara is that she wants a place where she can walk her slut-slave naked on a leash and be seen but on private grounds. Instead she simply says she wants an open space and maybe some trees.

We found two that Amanda likes. Today, we will do more of the same house-hunting. Monday, we’ll scope the office space we have in mind.

In the midst of this, I have been thinking about what an adventure I am living! Aside from all of my truth about my submissiveness and sexuality and the slave lifestyle, I am experiencing things and outcomes I would never have had or envisioned in my vanilla life.

It’s not that everything is always wonderful or there aren’t challenges and disappointments. Slavery is hard.

Yet, I think that sometimes people in vanilla life hitch themselves to a sequence of life events that are predetermined. Years later, they did all the expected things, but regret they didn’t try other things, experiment more, follow their desires, and jump into adventures.

I was this person until I was thirty years old. And then I jumped.

I am a slave, which means I am controlled by another. Yet my life is far more free and adventurous than when I was not on a leash.



I have been tired the last two days, perhaps even a little under the weather, though no doubt also recuperating from the emotional intensity of last week and weekend. Even though everything landed so very well, the process of getting there was exhausting. I’m fine, just needing some rest.

I’ve been writing things but not finishing them, my mind getting foggy in too short a time. I probably will feel better tomorrow or Friday and finish a half dozen posts all at once.

It will now be Saturday when Amanda and I drive to Denver to scout the office park and office space, but more to find a house for us to live in.

Amanda is fiercely anti-sentimental except for times with me in bed. And she is determinedly unconventional. She will not like the appearance or feel of “newlyweds” purchasing their first house together. And so I expect the hunt for a house will bring out the domme in her, and she will put my slavery on some display, or at least, in the story to real estate agents, reduce me to a business assistant who will temporarily be staying with her. That might be the best scenario for me to expect.

I have been thinking this week about how much a mystery Amanda is to me. The more I know her — and as intimately as I know her — she confounds and mesmerizes me. I like that she is a mystery, and I don’t want to demystify her. But that doesn’t stop me from wondering things.

At one point earlier in her life Amanda was a switch. In fact, when I was acquired and taken by them, the understanding was that she easily alternated between domme and sub. I assumed there would be times when Master K would dominate Amanda and me both, together. But that has never happened. Now, in retrospect, it seems all the more delicious a thought, a fantasy of a kind.

Truth is, I don’t understand someone who is both dom and sub, how you can really do that. Which is not a judgment, just the myopic view from down the rabbit hole of my utter submissiveness. I don’t really understand dominance in the first place, except in a sort of abstract reversal of what I am. Switching between both dom and sub is a strangeness I cannot fathom. (I welcome someone else, a switch, to enlighten me.)

In any case, it would seem Amanda has left behind whatever submissive interest she may have once had. I asked her once about it, and she just said, “That isn’t me.” Which is fair enough, her version of what I told her is “my truth.” She went through an experimentation and found it wasn’t her truth. But I still wonder how and why she experienced the submissive state in the first place.

Whatever submissive experiences she once had probably informs her dominance of me. I’d like to know more about that.

The other thing is her sexual orientation. That she is lesbian is not some closeted secret: Amanda has come out to everyone in her world. As everyone reading this knows, in public she and I are obvious.

Amanda is not a secret, but she is a mystery.

At one point she had been bisexual, including sexual relationships with men some years ago and then between Amanda and Kevin. But their relationship has distanced, along with her shift away from submissiveness. Perhaps the two are related.

In a general sense, I am not surprised by the fluidity of sexuality. I have gone through a process myself, from a time I would have considered myself fully heterosexual, to my status now as bisexual. And I think my sexuality is very wrapped up in my submissiveness, as I have written about often. I know that people shift and flow, even back and forth, in more ways than we might ever imagine.

In the specific reality of Amanda, though, I am surprised, as I had come to believe early on that she was actually more attracted to men than women. And part of the mystery is that this fluidity for her has seemed to happen with me here, before my eyes, although I guess I haven’t really been paying attention.

Again, all of this is fine, of course, not a matter of consequence or judgment. But it comes to bear on my future with Amanda because of this: She considers herself to be a lesbian and me to be bisexual. And so she believes that I have a need, a submissive need, for men. Sometimes.

Kevin (now “Kevin” to me, which I’ll write more about) will be a more limited part of my life, once we move to Denver, details still being worked out. (He hasn’t seemed to know that yet this week, which is another reason I’m tired.)

Just saying, I think there’s a script here still being written.


Yesterday Amanda and I spent the morning at the cafe and the afternoon shopping and hiking. All the while we were talking about Denver, our move there, and our schedules this fall.

She told me we’ll be going to Denver on Thursday, maybe for as long as ten days, to scout some real estate. (She assured me I’ll be able to write and post during that time.)

So, the simple summary goes like this: Amanda wants to find a house in the Denver area and move in by November 1. She wants to start to set up the new office space December 1. And she wants the new office to be operational January 1.

The office location is already picked out and reserved. Our trip to Denver next week is about finding a house there. It won’t be difficult to find something and close in a couple months, as Amanda does not have to sell a house first.

What might be more difficult is finding the kind of house Amanda wants. She says she wants a place with a lot of land, a semi-public path to walk me around on a leash, and a place with a separate building for “other activities.” I said what she was describing was a ranch with a stable and a rodeo arena. “Well no, not that,” Amanda said.

So this might be tough.

She had brought a calendar-planner and rolled it out on the cafe table. The dates above were marked, along with tentative travel to and from Denver.

She also had highlighted the Thanksgiving week “S in PA with Mother.” And then the Christmas holiday “S & A in PA with Mother.”

So it is all happening.


One thing I referred to last night bears more explanation: Amanda and Kevin have come to a new arrangement between them regarding me. This has just happened, following my conversations with Amanda in the park.

Up till now, they both have owned me, in some sort of agreement. This is documented, I am told, in a formal contract between them.

Now — and I think this has been something deeply important to Amanda — she and Kevin have agreed that Amanda will have sole ownership of me. I don’t know all the details of this. But she will provide me to him on a monthly basis. (This is following the “what about Kevin” conversation in the park.) As a kind of compensation, Kevin will allow Amanda and I to continue living/visiting the house through the next year. (Amanda will be going back and forth between the new office there and the existing office here.)

As part of this arrangement — again, I think Amanda is directing this — I am no longer formally owned by Kevin, and so he is not formally my master. Relationally and in D/s terms, he still can dominate me as he wishes to, as he does now. I am still “provided to him” per Amanda, and I am always submissive, so that’s how he will still use me. But I am not “his slave.”

Much of this is semantics. In practice, this has been sort of how things have worked anyway. And things will largely remain the same. But there is a difference now because of the formal adjustment to the arrangement between them. It changes the underlying understanding. It changes how we each think of each other.

One simple but profound difference is in how I address him. I am no longer to call him Master K. I am to refer to him as Mister K or simply as Kevin. Again, this is a preference on Amanda’s part, and there’s more back story to be told here, but that’s for another time.

Apparently Kevin is fine with all this. Well, I am told he is genuinely saddened not to have me around all the time, and as stoic as he is, I sense from him that is true. But in this arrangement, he still gets to have me, and he’s pleased about that.

As for me, it’s hard to be bound to a padded horse, impaled in the ass by a man, and not call him Master.


Tonight the air is cooler, a sure sign of fall. There’s a swirl of wind. The trees rustle. Right now as I sit here, the sun holds on to the day, but barely, starting to spread and glow along the horizon. It will get chilly soon.

It is a change of seasons for me as well.

Amanda has me wearing a strapless bandeau midi dress, in deep scarlets and oranges, a pattern that is both floral and paisley. The fabric is frightfully thin, draping my curves and flowing around and between me in the breeze.

Amanda regrets not thinking of a bandeau dress for me earlier in the summer — so easy to pull the top down and reveal my breasts in the car, but easy to cover up again quickly. Mistress, though, is not about flashing, but about revealing. She wants people, strangers, to stare at me and consume. And she wants me to go through the time-consuming process of taking something off or putting something on — a conditioning of me that blurs the line between public and private. Even so, this is a convenient dress for her to have me in. Amanda bought me two of these bandeau dresses on sale, and I’m guessing she’ll have me in the other one tomorrow at the cafe.

My hair has grown out fuller after its recent trim — enjoying its seven days of perfect until it starts into messy again — and it tumbles over my bare shoulders. My hair, like me, needs to be tamed over and over again —bound to the will of curlers just as Amanda has me wrapped around her finger. Eventually we both — my hair and I — emerge from the shaping “salon,” styled and trained to stay in place.

This evening I’m in high heels, the fashionable bondage — four-inch pumps in a wine red that match my bandeau dress. These make it hard for me to get out of the patio lounge chair but somehow make me more fuckable, which to Amanda’s mind is perfect for me.

A few days ago, I was “theirs.” Now, after the decisions made, I am “hers.” Of course, I have always been hers in practice and presence, and to Master K have always just been his sex toy. But there has been an impression of his ownership of me too: this has always felt like a joint custody.

Now it is different. Just in these couple of days since our conversations in the park, the season has changed. Amanda, and Amanda alone, owns me, and the feeling is subtle but palpable. Amanda feels it too and is starting to handle me differently.

She is making me into an image she has for me.

She always has dressed me; I’ve always worn the clothes she’s laid out for me. But this is different somehow, as if she’s not just dressing me, but making me into something, not just controlling what I wear but controlling precisely how I appear to others.

I am wearing a collar tonight. I often wear collars of course, but this is made of sateen, with a lock in front, a measure of elegant. It too is wine red, the color of my heels and dress.

And my lipstick, also chosen by her, is the same scarlet wine, glistening.

I perhaps have looked like this before, though I feel this is different. I am “put together” in a different way. I think this is an image Amanda has in her head. I think she is making me look like an image she imagines of me or of a slave she wishes me to be. And she can do this because she owns me, solely, completely, utterly. I am hers now, no one else’s.

Another breeze picks up and swirls under my dress. It billows up then settles again.

The winds are changing. It feels like a new season.

conversations and decisions, 3

We had come to an end of the Kevin conversation, but there was something more I needed to say.

The old man vacated the park bench. We scrambled from our grassy knoll to claim it. We sat down in the same place we’d started the morning.

“So, I made another decision,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“I want you to meet my mother.”

Amanda’s eyes opened wide. It stunned her. “Shae…”

“All of my thinking about my life led me to this decision to be with you. I don’t know how this kind of thing, with you, ever happens again in my life. And I can’t imagine going further without my mother knowing my truth. My full truth. All of it… So I plan to tell her I am bisexual, that I am living in a D/s relationship as a slave. To you. I want her to know me, and to know who you are to me.”

Amanda blinked. Her eyes were wet. She tried to remain composed. “That’s a lot for her to absorb, much less understand.”

“I’ll find the words and the right way to say it. As best I can. It will be hard. But I need her to know about me. Completely.”

“She’s your mother. She will still love you.”

“I don’t know. It will probably make it all different.”

“Maybe. Or better.”

“So, I’ve been thinking about the holidays. I thought, with your approval and permission, I would fly out to Pennsylvania to be with her at Thanksgiving. I would tell her then. She and I would have time to talk. Or yell, or scream. Or go to our respective corners.”

“I think you’re underestimating her.”

“Well, then, if she is still talking to me and is open to it, I thought maybe, Amanda, possibly, you would consider coming home with me at Christmas, You could meet my mother then. Now, I know we have the office to set up and we’ll be very busy and probably still finding a house for us and you probably had other Christmas plans, so that timing is probably not good—”

“Shut up,” Amanda said. “I will be there. We will make it happen.”

“OK then.” I took a deep breath. I had nothing more to say. I had run out of words.

Amanda stood from the park bench and extended her hand to me. She pulled me up and into her, putting her arms around my waist. My hands rested on her shoulders. She kissed me. We kissed again,. And again.

In time — which was what this whole morning was: about how our lives would be together in time — we walked down through the busy park holding hands for all to see.