Slave musings

Last night I made soft shelled tacos for dinner for Master and myself. Now I am not a taco artist and no matter how I fold Masters tacos the shells always seem to break or crack in half forcing all of the innards to spill out onto the plate. I have tried everything imaginable other than using actual glue, alas, nothing works. When I learned the trick of making the taco slightly moist by allowing steam to cover it I thought I had found relief. No matter how little or how much steam I use it still does not work. I have tried big shells, little shells, whole wheat shells, pure white shells, even 12 grain shells. I have put less food in, more food in, meat on top and meat on the bottom. You name, chances are I have tried it. No matter what I do those pesky shells some how over rule any folding I do and my Master is left with a mess on his plate rather than a tasty delight in his mouth.

And I do want to make a meal that Master enjoys, that is very important to me, which is why I am not certain why I behaved as I did when I handed Master his plate. I knew the moment I set the dish before him that he would not be pleased as the one shell was already tearing apart. Master attempted to take a bite but as he lifted the tortilla up, everything started to spill out and Master was left to clean up the mess and refold his dinner. I am not certain of Masters words exactly but he did say something along the lines of “how do you wrap these” at which point I stated that I tried to make it work but sometimes they just fall apart. Master nodded in agreement than added that he should teach me how he likes them folded.

This is where everything went wrong.

Instead of listening to Master, instead of taking his words as guidance, as an opportunity to learn something new since my way has proven, more than enough times, not to be successful, I shook my head and rolled my eyes. Yes, I rolled my eyes. Immediately I knew what I did was wrong and the look on Masters face combined with the tone to his voice stirred me to my core. Master was quiet when he spoke but his words bellowed inside my heart.

“Do you know what you want?” He was starring at me, not looking but actually penetrating me with a mere gaze.

Long pause.

“Do you want to be my slave?” His words slapped my cheeks creating instant tears to silently well.

“Yes Master I want to be Your slave.” My voice was humbled, distant almost, as though it was not even me speaking.

“Than show me.” His last three words cut me. I could feel that icy sensation right before a person begins to bleed only it was not a physical laceration but a mental, an emotional one; one that brought forth a tremendous amount of sadness.

I did not speak another word for sometime, nor did Master. We both focused on our meals and I was grateful to be excused once finished for I desperately wanted to remove myself from the negative space I had just created. This was the first time I was happy I had left the majority of cleaning after dinner for it allowed me time to push the tears back down, to fight the urge to regurgitate both my dinner and the expressions I had so carelessly expressed moments earlier.

By the time I tidied the kitchen and brought Master his dessert, Master was once more smiling and engaging in playful physical affection with me. I was happy to receive his smile and remained close by his side for the rest of evening but still, something inside me felt icky. I was and still am not happy with my responses to Master. I can not believe that I would be that disrespectful when all he truly wanted to do was help me do something better than I had before. And I like to improve. I am always looking for ways to improve. And it was not as though he was saying that I needed improvement or that something was even wrong with me or what I had done, he simply wanted to show me a different way. For Christ’s sake, all he wanted was to show me how to fold a taco so it does not fall apart, why on god’s green earth would that upset me so?

My reaction to Masters words are completely unacceptable and I am angry with myself for acting in such a manner. This is not simply a case of Master/slave either, truly, had I rolled my eyes at anyone for making such a comment, I would have been equally as rude.

The entire exchange last night kept my mind spinning and I am still reflecting on it today. I do not like myself when I do not obey Master, when I am rude or unkind to him especially since he does so much for me. Today while I was organizing I found a card I had sent him little over a year ago. Inside I told him of how happy I was to be his slave, how he has provided me a safe relationship where I feel as though I can release my fears and allow myself to surrender to the slave inside me. I thanked him over and over again and told him how much I craved to be by his side every day, to sleep every night either in a cage, on the floor or locked away as long as I was under the same roof I would be happy. I was gushing in the letter, full of love and submission, a true essence of slavery. I could not help but feel sad as my eyes scanned my words; my mind asking, where did that girl, that slave disappear to?

This is not the first time I have dismissed Masters words. Unfortunately I have done so from time to time since I moved to Ontario. What baffles me though is all I want is to be a good slave, to be obedient, to serve him and yet I continue to fail. Now, Master has never once stated that word, “failed” that is my own view on my behaviour, still, I feel that I am not very good to Master and I am struggling to understand why and more importantly, I am struggling to stop myself from acting the way I do.

I have always been honest with myself, in regards to my slavery. It took a very long time for me to accept that part of me and I did not enter this relationship lightly. I reflected, a great deal. I spoke with Master, with friends, with other like minded individuals. I contemplated for a very long time, trying on different kink hats to see what one fit me and much to my surprise, the slave cap fit best. So why, after all that reflection, after all that longing, after all that dreaming of being Masters owned property under the same roof, seeing him everyday, why now do I fight it, do I not behave in a manner I desperately ached to for so long?

When I think of not belonging to Master, I am immediately bombarded with tears. Although things are not perfect and we are still learning each others habits and idiosyncrasies, in my heart I want to be with him. I want to make my errors with him, to learn from those mistakes and be a better person. I want to kneel before him, to serve him, to love him. I know I want that because when I think of a life of not doing that to him, it makes me sad; the kind of sadness that creates an ache that feels like dark gray rain.

I believe I have to start at the beginning. To return to basics. To find the girl who took pleasure in giving to another and receiving joy when making Master happy. I need to remember the steps I have taken to get here and go back to the very first step and re-learn it all. I need and want to return to my mantra, to understand the words and feelings it evokes. I want to start my day knowing how precious love is and how grateful I am to be with a man who accepts me for who I am, flaws and all. I want to return to the place where looking up at Master as I rest on my knees, feeling safe in his presence, knowing he will do anything to me, at anytime and no matter what happens I will take pleasure from it all. And I need to remember that my desire to be a good slave resides in me, it does not require Master to punish me harder, to discipline me more because if I truly want this than I have to do it.

I love my Master. Very much. Sometimes, as cheesy as it sounds, I will just look at him and feel a love that overwhelms me. He is a very good man and I am lucky to have him.

~Masters slave

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