Coming Together Again

We are Master and slave. Always, and all ways. It is not something that we do. It is something that we are.

When we first came together, to live with one another full-time, we resisted adopting that language. It seemed too torrid, too lurid, too laden with the overtones from overblown fiction that were simply no part of our lives. Reality eventually convinced us that we belonged to each other in this way, and we came to use this descriptive language to designate the truth of what it is we are with one another.

This passage of time has tested our understandings and our perceptions of how that works. The power that we hold between us has been balanced most delicately in these weeks when Master's physical strength and personal wellness has been compromised and gravely challenged; when it has fallen to me to support, manage, guide, cheerlead, and sometimes even push...

We've had to reign in our natural proclivities and essential personae to a degree that has been fairly significant. Once or twice we've danced at the edge of snapping at each other -- and pulled back, knowing the stresses with which we were each dealing and understanding what was at stake. Too, we've believed fervently in the day when all would ultimately be restored to its rightful place, when health and healing would be achieved and we could each pick up our own mantle again and resume our positions in the dance...

Five weeks doesn't seem like a long time. Really. Except when it seems like an eternity. Dominance and submission is a delicate thing. Patterns laid down on top of patterns -- carefully and consistently, over weeks and months and years. Built into memory and reflex and habit. Our patterns have been -- not broken exactly, but set aside because they simply could not serve our reality in these weeks. The slave, in serving, had to put aside the former demands and requirements of the collar for the duration...

And the duration was without any specified boundary or limit. Nebulous. When He was well, then... Indeterminate.

I've found myself edgy just lately. Balancing on the razor edge. Unable to relax. Jittery, jumpy, depressed. Knowing it would not be always like this, but not "knowing."

So...

One night this last week, as we headed for bed yet again. Late. As I prepared the coffee for the next day. Locked the doors and put out the lights. Hunted down the cell phones to get them onto chargers. Turned down the bed. Found the pillow for under His knee. Retrieved the pillows that He uses on the therapy table and brought them back to the bedroom. Got ready to take the compression stockings off and wash them out -- ready for tomorrow... He looked at me suddenly and asked, "Where is your collar?" I told Him, and He said, "Get it and put it on." I did as I was told. Almost grumpy. Almost pouty. He took me by the hand and took me out the door and to the car, putting me, not in the driver's seat where I've been now for weeks, but in the passenger seat. I was speechless. We drove into the night with Him at the wheel -- a scary proposition, but I remained collared and quiet. He took me to a local pub and marched me inside to explore the possibilities for a beer I might like since my favorite Thai beer is no longer available locally. We sat and talked and drank and enjoyed the company of the young bar tender for perhaps an hour or 45 minutes. Then home and to bed, calmer and relaxed than I've felt for weeks...

Yesterday, as we awoke, He decided to indulge me in a session with the leather floggers that I so love, and which we hardly ever use. We began with me displayed over a pillow, and I struggled not with the implements but because of muscle spasms in my back. Still, I wanted to manage it because it was so unique to have leather and not wood as the implement. Even so, the intensity built quickly and I was soon crying frantically. One of the "tricks" of lying on the bed for "play" is that I can only hear if I turn my head so my good ear is up. That generally means I cannot see what He is doing and what implement He is using, so I did not know what it was that had reduced me to such upset. He took a few minutes to talk with me. Asking me who's I was, and for how long, and... It is our standard litany, and serves to center me and calm me in most cases...

When I'd settled down a bit, He started back in with the latigo flogger. It is the heaviest and meanest flogger in the arsenal. If I'd seen it coming I might have fussed, but I didn't. Instead, I felt only the heaviness and the depth of the thud. And then, I felt myself slide over the cliff into subspace...

I've not been to space in well over a year. Have believed I'd not go there ever again. Have thought I'd lost the "knack." Or that perhaps our sort of "play" precluded that for me. Yesterday I went there and stayed there for (apparently) a good long while. It seems He took full advantage of the situation to up the ante even further, bringing on some even more extreme toys, a knife or two, and, yes, even one of His beloved paddles... I simply floated happily along humming and cooing at the end of the string He held.

I eventually found my way back in and was sufficiently coherent to manage the "stupid, spacey, dizzy one" fucks...

I think we're coming together in our proper places again...

swan

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