the experience of strangers, 4: marching orders

This, again, is another entry in a non-fiction reenactment of my imagined week with a dom-stranger. I’m making a few assumptions:

This is based on the notion of a dom-stranger taking me for a short period of time. I realize it’s a rare possibility in actual D/s life, but it is what Amanda has done with me and intends to do more of. It’s not for everyone, I know, but it’s what I am in, so I write about it.

The assumption in this scenario with Master Z is that he will have me for about a week. This has been established in my real life previously with Master McKenna, and again in another context with Kevin. We have learned that four days is too few and ten days too many.

Here with Master Z it’s for seven days, which seems to be the sweet spot.

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I am dressed in a cream linen suit — knee-length skirt and blazer with a simple, button-up blouse the color of a claret. The darker red sets off my auburn hair. I match my lipstick to it.

I don’t know why he has asked for this professional look, but I rather like that he has. It says something about him.

An inexperienced dom would have me undress for him almost immediately, strip me down from the start, ostensibly as a show of his dominant power, but really just to satisfy his adolescent lusts in getting a girl naked. Boy with a Barbie. More experienced doms like Master Z know that a woman’s clothing is how she sees herself in relation to him, and by dressing her in different looks, taking parts of it away, and having her re-dress into something else is a significant way for him to gradually take control of her.

Innocent as it may appear, this cream-colored business outfit I wear right now is the beginning of his control of me. It says something about him, that he knows how to mind-fuck me.

I find the living room and sit, glad that he is not there yet, glad that I am early. It’s a good rule for sub-slaves never to make her master wait.

When he arrives, he takes the large leather chair opposite me. He sees me in my linen suit, and says, “I like you in that.”

“I think it makes me look like I’m about to sell you a house,” I reply. “But I’m guessing you have other intentions.”

I hope he likes my repartee. Sometimes attempts at wit sound like sass. But he slowly smiles. He says nothing, and I figure I’m good but dare not say anything more. He takes his time to speak. I wait.

“Shae,” he finally says, “you are to be sitting here each morning at 0700. You will wear a professional outfit like this one. In this session each morning, I’ll update you on the schedule of my day ahead, talk about my intentions for you relating to my work, the house, and my personal pleasures, and let you know of your specific orders, those that change from day to day.”

“Yes, sir.” Again I have my notebook out. If the first hour and a half was a general orientation, this is his more specific introduction to the life he has for me. A need for more notes.

My experience has been that doms generally hold a kind of meeting up front just like this — a sort of introductory overview how this week will work with them. Master McKenna did that with me, and while Kevin did not, he and Amanda were sharing me in those first months, and Amanda in that first day certainly gave me the overview of general schedule and daily requirements.

Master Z informs me that I will have one “house mission” each day. He will show me how to skim the pool, and I am to do this on Sunday and Wednesday. I am to clean the toilets throughout the house on Tuesday and Friday. I will scrub the kitchen floor on Thursdays. On Mondays, he will have business notes for me to type into documents. He expects this work will take two to three hours. In these tasks, I will dress according to his preferences.

“Of course,” I say.

When I am done my “mission” each morning, I am to report to him. He may “do me in some way,” as he vaguely puts it, while he is working, or shoo me away. “You’ll have down time, and do what you want, but you’re always to be at my beck and call. Invisible leash.” Meals are on my own, to be whatever I can cobble together in the kitchen whenever he is not using me, and he will not ask me to cook for him, though I am to barmaid for him, make and serve him drinks.

This seems to be a minor point, but I circle it in my notebook. Knowing how to be with one’s master is perhaps the most important thing of all. Generally, he wants you to be present yet not underfoot. He wants to be aware of you but not focused on you. You are to be significantly insignificant. I recall Master Michael’s training of me in walking with him — slightly to the side and two steps back, as if on a leash, there but out of sight. That may be useful for me now with Master Z, not only for walking with him but for being with him in general. To the side.

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In any live-in arrangement, there is the question of how a dominant does his professional job with a slave at home. Master McKenna, as one example, makes his home his office and pulls the strings for his various corps from the mansion. Master Kevin always had to go into the office, but made hay with me in the evenings and early mornings.

In most scenarios of my being gifted for short sequences, I would assume the dom-stranger finds a solution for his work and day-responsibilities to accommodate me that particular week. It’s a remarkable event, not because of me, but because a man taking literal ownership of any submissive woman is a rare opportunity for him. So it makes no sense for me to be bequeathed to a dominant, then for him to spend half his time that week at the office. Surely he knows that.

Master Z, I will soon find out, has an office job, but is modifying his schedule this week. He has to do some work from home, but has much of his afternoons free.

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He mentions other people who may be visiting this week.

If you’re in such a situation of servitude in a new place, this is essential information. You need to know who else will be around and how to act with them.

Master Z tells me about the pool guy on Fridays. A cleaning crew of three comes on Mondays and “does the house.” And his brother, Ozzie, who “marches in unannounced at least three times a week.” He tells me that whatever state I’m in when others show up, I am to remain as is. “Whatever you’re doing,” he adds, “however I have you dressed, you are not to cover up.”

“Yes, sir,” I say.

This isn’t quite so public as McKenna’s “open house,” which is like Grand Central Station, but still it seems there will be folks popping in.

Apparently Amanda runs in circles of D/s people whose lifestyle is not secret, who are open with friends and colleagues about their keeping of a slave girl. She, the queen of public display, must make this as one of her requirements in selecting dom-strangers for me, who likewise enjoy providing me for public consumption.

She wants my humiliation to be witnessed by everyone.

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