At first, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to think of something to write about. I shouldn’t have been. M always comes through.
I was sitting here tapping away at an email to my father, when M said, “You can put your stuff back on now.” My “stuff” being the leather collar and cuffs, and chain leash I’m required to wear most of the time. “And stop taking them off when M and S come up here. They both know what you are. You’ve spoken with S about it in detail. But you rush to take them off every time they come up here. All because the little bitch is embarrassed. That’s a bad dog. You shouldn’t be embarrassed of being a slave.”
I was so stunned that it was probably five minutes before I was able to think of a retort. “I-I’m not embarrassed!” I stammered. “Come here!”
“Excuse me? You come here.”
I sighed all melodramatic-like, and walked over to him. I’m given a great many concessions.
Walking to him when he’s the one who walked away shouldn’t hurt my pride as much as it does.
“I’m not embarrassed. I just don’t want to embarrass them.”
“What do I care if they’re embarrassed?”
The proper response is “Yes, Master.” I think I giggled nervously and walked away.
On a lot of kink forums, you hear complaints about “forcing” your kink on someone else, which is generally viewed as committing a kinky act in a public, non-kinky venue, or even participating in extreme play, without getting the consent of the people who may or may not be watching.
And in some cases, I can see their reasoning. But where do we draw the line?
I mean, is answering my door in a collar and cuffs really that obtrusive? More obtrusive than someone, who knows I prefer they call first, using the key they talked my landlord into giving them to unlock the door to my hallway, so they can traipse up my stairs, and pound on my door? I throw clothes on. Isn’t that enough courtesy for someone who’s shown me none?
But instead, I’m embarrassed for them. I rip the off the most obtrusive evidence of my slavery (I wear an Eternity Collar that only comes off for court appearances, plane trips, and doctor visits.), and tuck them in a corner. I hope I don’t have a giant purple dildo on the table, or a bigger black one hanging off the wall to test its suction cup, but mostly, these things have become so commonplace that my eyes just glaze over them until we’re standing right next to them.
But I know that even though they both know what I am, and they both have a pretty good knowledge of kink and sexuality, they’ll at least pretend to be uncomfortable for appearances.
But should that matter to me?
The answer, at this point, is no. It shouldn’t. Because M said it shouldn’t, and his word is law. And that should be the end of it, but it won’t be.
I’ll do as he says, of course. But I’ll fret over it until it happens, and I’ll fret over it after it happens, and until I see the women again, I’ll worry about if things are gonna be weird. And when things aren’t weird the first time, I’ll expect them to be weird the second.
Eventually, I’ll tell M I’m fretting over it, because, after all, I’m required to be completely transparent with him. Or as much as possible, anyway. And I’ll probably get in trouble. I mean, maybe not punishment worthy trouble, but at least a stern talking to about how it shouldn’t matter to me how they feel. All that should matter is that he is pleased.
And if I do as he says, he will be pleased. So maybe I should just skip the fretting. Seems we’ll both be happier that way. And isn’t it M’s responsibility, being the one in control, to worry about what the neighbors think if he chooses to?
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