Morning Greeting
» Rules & Rituals
I’ve said that my current fantasies have been trapped in a groove of late.
They are also trite as Hell; hence I haven’t felt like spelling them out. But I’m in the mood to type. This is likely to work out to a series of very short notes.
Every scenario has a zillion variations as my imagination yanks me this way and that (annoying how undisciplinable fantasies can be).
Like the morning greeting ritual.
Maybe my owner comes to me where I’ve been locked up for the night. Or to a certain spot in the house where I’m required to wait until my owner arises. Or I’m performing some assigned task.
Instantly I drop to my knees. Kiss each boot (foot, shoes) once. Lower my head to within an inch or two of the floor and beg my owner that I be permitted to serve another day as a slave.
And wait: for permission to rise, orders.
Sexual service, a degrading breakfast or assignment of chores may follow. The choice isn’t mine.
Comments
I love to fantasize long winded and specific scenarios.
None of which have ever borne out in real life to my imagined specifications.
Usually, the reality is better, as long as I don’t get it too built up in my head.
Still, the fantasies linger…
Posted by: Her | December 30, 2005 7:51 PM
All I can say is, thank goodness for my love of writing—I can bear out all my fantasies on paper. At least my characters get to play, even if I don’t always ;)
Posted by: Her | December 30, 2005 8:05 PM
How fortunate you are that you can do this, Richard. In the house where i live, the Mistress does not accept her divinity, and while she frequently castigates me for stupid things i do, it’s all done in the vanilla whine rather than the dominant’s decisive declaration. Just one of the way i am made to suffer, i guess.
But i do hop out of bed first thing almost every morning, run around to her side and kneel, like Prince Charming at the side of Sleeping Beauty, and kiss her fervently. To myself, i silently whisper how much i love her, and wish i could be her slave openly. Once in a while, she asks for help with her shoes, and i kneel to tie them — and try to steal a kiss if i can.
i’m sure she knows, but she will not allow herself to acknowledge my secret and silent devotion.
Posted by: wannabe | May 23, 2011 3:37 PM