Waiting

I kneel fully clothed, my hands behind me, my back straight, my knees slightly parted, my eyes focused downward in submission. I feel Masters gaze on me from where he sits across the room. Internally I squirm, under his watchful eye wishing I was naked. It is easier for me to embrace my role as slave when I am naked with a collar around my neck.

When I am naked I am the slave that bows to the will of my Master, dressed I feel in charge, like I am the boss, but this is an illusion, my status doesn’t change with the clothes I wear. I am his slave, dressed or undressed. So I sit, waiting. Waiting and learning. Learning to release my need for control, remembering who I answer to, who I relinquished my control to when I accepted his collar around my neck.

Time passes slowly while the internal struggle wages war inside me.“I am a responsible grown woman, a leader, not a follower; I don’t answer to anyone, they answer to me. I should get up; I don’t need to stay here. He can’t make me, he won’t make me, and it’s not like he is holding me down.” My mind twists and turns with these thoughts but I don’t get up, I don’t move. I stay where I am, on my knees, eyes down. Why?

I do it not because I have to but because I want to. I do it to satisfy something inside me that craves not having to make all the decisions. I do it because there is nothing more freeing than letting go of who you think you are and just being. With those thoughts I stop fighting, relax and release.

Master can sense when I have let go. He stands up and walks to me; I watch his legs as he approaches and shiver in anticipation. He puts his hand on my head and runs his fingers through my hair. “Good girl” he says “Stand up.”

I stand, tears forming in the corners of my eyes not in sadness but in relief, in appreciation. He leans in, wraps his arms around me and kisses me as a tear slides down my cheek. I am happy, I am cared for, I am a slave, yet I am free.