This morning Amanda walked me on a leash. This was the second time I’ve been leashed along the front road, and this time it was much farther — actually the full circle around, and then back.

Amanda kept me clothed. She was testing the leash-walk in front of neighbors who might have been watching.

Amanda has now had “successful” conversations with four of the five neighbors, mostly achieving her goal of wooing the territory.

With them, she has been careful not to refer to me as her slave, and she has decided against trying to broach the idea of my nudity in public. That, she thinks, will come later. For now, she focuses on our lifestyle and the simple idea of walking me on a leash around the development.

No one has objected to this, though one resident, a single woman, doesn’t really understand our lifestyle; she just said, “Do whatever you want. I won’t care.” But most of the neighbors have been open. The elderly couple at the south end gave a warm reception to Amanda. The man said, “We could use some entertainment around here.”

One home at the north end may be a problem, but doesn’t seem to be used right now.

Being walked on a leash is always something that affects me. Even as often as I am put on a leash, it is never something that feels ordinary to me.

Even in the privacy of our house or out in the back forty or up on the ridge, just Amanda and me, being on a leash puts me into a submissive quiet. It’s not a bad feeling — indeed it fulfills me submissively — but it’s sobering within, reminding me that I am a property owned.

Proper leash-walking is about being a shadow to your mistress, staying close, slightly to the side and stride behind. You are tethered to another. Indeed in training, it is done without a physical leash — I shadow her, imagining I am leashed. It makes me even more aware of how I am tied to her and how that is a metaphor for not having my own life but being a shadow to hers.

Today, she walked me in public, now having gained some permission, and interest, of our neighbors. She walked me around completely, then back again, giving people two chances to see me this way. And she made a point of stopping within view to adjust my collar or to point out some phantom thing in the woods across the way — giving anyone ample chance to see Amanda with her possession in tow.

Being walked in the possible sight of curious others peering from windows is another kind of experience. I feel exposed even though dressed. I can’t help but wonder what others are thinking, and I assume pity or judgment or lust. It’s hard for me to accept that passively, and it makes me want Amanda to march me up to someone’s door and give me a chance to explain, to tell them what this is about within me and with her.

Indeed this is what Amanda eventually intends, her vision of the friendly stroll through the neighborhood, visiting and chatting with friends in front yards, with me on a leash and dressed or undressed in some revealing way. In that Amandian utopia, I will be given a chance to explain what I am.

The problem is, as always, we can’t ever really explain submissiveness, much as we always keep trying.

2 thoughts on “neighbors

  1. Once in a Target, a woman came up to us, stopped and snapped at my Mistress, “Why don’t you go get a goddamn dog instead?” She cooly replied, “It would please me less.” i was wearing thick locked leather cuffs, but otherwise entirely ordinary. i was doing my best to stand up straight and not snort laughter. So i was just standing there repeating in my head- coat hanger, coat hanger, don’t laugh girl. The very tall blonde Mistress just kept walking and remarked how rude some people are, to discuss slaves that way in front of them. So unseemly for someone supposedly free, she mused. And off we went, quick as you please, back to the house which felt like the only place on earth where life made any sense then.

    Liked by 3 people

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