ordinary time

It’s been another week of work and normalcy. These periods of nothing special are lovely but I’m afraid they provide very little eventfulness to write about on a slave blog. Yet in this season of my life I find this comforting.

In a way, the blandness of our week reveals more of the real dom-slave relationship she and I have. The real sub-slavery between domme and girl do not depend on what happens, not upon shackles and leashes, but on the nuances of how she and I simply are.

I remember, early in my life with her, I worried about what I was — friend or slave. I even wrote about that here, and with a certain obsession. Now that’s not even a thought. In our plain everydays, she and I drift in and out of being friends and lovers and domme/slave — from one to another to another — quite seamlessly. These are quiet, subtle transitions that happen in the movement of ordinary time. It is a dance of dances, from tap to hip-hop to salsa to ballroom.

We are not always in sync, nor all sweetness and light, nor is this romantic bliss. Amanda has been buried in work all week, and I have followed her work ethic. She has been exhausted, and I have been stewing over a separate thing. We have had a spat or two, some sharpness of tongue, occasional grumblings. Yet the train we’re on always emerges from those dark tunnels, out the other side into a routine rhythm, clacking along the tracks.

I am still collared, almost always, high-heeled, almost always, and there are my formal times of serving coffee or drinks. We maintain the visible structure of formal slavery even in the absence of events that test it. My slavery to her is not this week testified to through highlights and headlines.

And between us, it is not needed. The proof of my utter and helpless enslavement is in the way she has imprinted my life with her dominance. The proof of her possession of me is her internal branding of me, the mark she has made within — the evidence of things unseen.

In soon time, no doubt, something will happen visibly and publicly, and my slavish obedience to her will once again be revealed to others for their amusement and lust.

For now, though, it is ordinary time.

2 thoughts on “ordinary time

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