Something happened today, something too good not to post about.  But it was so rich, so full of food for thought, that I am not sure which bit to focus on; there was that much stuff going on in the exchange.  So I guess I’ll just ramble on about it and see what comes out.

So, warning, rambling thoughts a-comin’.

It started, as it often does, in my head during my devotion; a time spent focusing on the value of my Master’s ownership.  Now, this time can bring me to many different places in my head.  Sometimes I am reminded of many things for which I am grateful. Other times I find my thinking is realigned, bringing me to a better, more grounded place as his slave.  But once in awhile, the tears come as I think about the hard stuff of being his slave.  And believe me, there is some very hard stuff I deal with on a day to day basis here.

I don’t intend to feel sorry for myself, but sometimes I ache for my Master, and wonder how good this all really is for me.  Master often speaks of me ‘thriving’ in this relationship, and has said that the only condition whereby he could ever envision releasing me would be my not thriving.  During today’s devotion, I seemed to focus on that.  And it bothered me.

Here is why.

I got to thinking (which seems to almost always be a dangerous thing) that that clause, or condition for my release is something within my control.  If all it takes is for Master to deem that I’m no longer thriving, how easy would it be for me to convince him that I’m not thriving?

I texted Master.

“You know how you said that the only way you’d ever release me is if I were no longer thriving?”

“Yes?”

“Well, would you consider removing that condition?”

“No.”

“But I want you to.  I need you to.”

“No.”

Master came online.

“What are you talking about?”

I told him, “That clause is like putting me in control; and I don’t want to be.”

“Ahh”

“How easy would it be for me to convince you that I was not thriving?”

“You think that you can just will yourself into a non-thriving state, and thereby engineer your release?”

“Absolutely.  I believe I could.”

“Any luck with that so far?”

“Well, no… not so far.  But I haven’t tried.”

“Any hint in two years that your manipulative skills exceed my ownership skills? … any at all?

“Well, … no.”

“So… any reason at all to believe that I would not see an intentional failure for what it is?”

“Being the ever-confident, ever not-so-humble-dareIsay-arrogant cunt that I know myself to be, perhaps… perhaps I could pull a fast one on you if I had to.”

With a laugh Master says, “Well… here’s the thing…”

“I’m just sayin’… that feels like an ‘Out’ clause… and I don’t want an out.”

“… that window closes by the day.  The more time goes by, the more I know that you will always thrive under my ownership.  Ergo… the more spectacularly cunning and devious your ploy would have to be. ~~~ Besides all that… that sliver of release potential has always been the teeniest of things, and as I say, grows teensier all the time.”

“It still seems like something I could control.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here now.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Remember how stubborn I am?

Well, I persisted along this vein just a wee bit longer until…

Master changed the subject.  He began asking if I had any errands to do today.  I mentioned a couple of things I could possibly go out and get; you know, if I had to.

I really had no intention of going out at all today, being as it’s stupidly freezing cold and windy outside and I really hate winter.  Why subject myself to it?  This, I wisely kept from speaking aloud to Master.

He nodded at the few errands I mentioned… “Anything else?”

“lol, you want me gone all day.”

“No.  I want my slave to answer the question posed to her.”

“I can’t think of anything else.”

“Okay… I am going to send you on those two errands… wearing a short skirt…  your thigh-highs… heels… t-shirt… no bra or panties… and your coat, but not closed up.”

Me, always the quipster, “T-shirt? I’ll freeze.”

“I swear on my mother’s grave that freezing will not be at the top of your list of feelings.”

Right.  So, I peer over the list of clothing, absorbing this all, pondering my fate…

“And one more thing… take your phone… and ask a stranger to take a picture of you in a parking lot or in a store and send that to me.”

Sheer panic sets in.

“Oh god Master, why?  Like that?  Why?”

“Because it is what I want.”

Effectively silenced for a full minute, I try to think of an ‘Out’ clause…

“What if I can’t?”

“You can.   You will.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with thriving, lol”

“It doesn’t.  It is something I want done.”

And as a last ditch effort…

“T-shirt don’t go with heels.”

“Oh… and no arguing.”

~~~~~~~~~~

So, with sweaty palms and Master joking that I looked like an eggplant (huge, unsupported boobs in a purple t-shirt), off I went.

I wore a cute, but short blue-jean skirt, black hose and black shoes with heels; not spiky heels, but nonetheless, heels, NO bra and NO panties, and eggplantish-looking top, complete with two large eggplants beneath.  Mind you, I am a middle-aged woman.  Now how is that for a visual?

My winter coat is long, but Master said to keep it open.  I always wear a scarf, and considered my good fortune at having neglected to mention that as being part of the outfit.  Easy enough to cover up those huge eggplants.  But, being the good slave that I am, I figured that would be unpleasing to Master.

Not that I was especially eager to please at this point.  Frankly, I was mad.  In fact, I told him before leaving,

“My palms are sweaty you…”

Only that bit that I cut off but was thinking in my head was “Bastard!”  It doesn’t matter.  Master knew.  He knew I was mad at him.

So I drove… thinking, “I’m a seasoned slave.. this is no biggie.  I’ve done humiliation before.  I can act.  I just have to psych myself into this.  It won’t be so bad.”

And that’s what I did.  I made the best of it.  I knew what I had to do.  Now, mind you, I am NOT very good at putting my Master’s wants/needs ahead of my own;  I’m just NOT.  I know how to please him, so I knew that by obeying I was pleasing him, but I was having a hard time getting into it.

I got to the store, leaving my coat open with the wind whipping mercilessly, no doubt hardening my nipples, and entered the store, pushing my scarf away exposing myself in all my droopy, eggplant glory.

I tried to walk tall, keep my head up, and whenever I caught someone’s attention, look them straight in the eye and smile.  I caught a lot of men smiling back at me.

The first guy I asked to take my picture was in the meat department.  He said, “May I help you?”  I asked if he would take my picture.  I told him I was an owned slave (thus completing rule #7, since today begins the new week)  and this was an assignment that I had.  He said sorry, but no.  He was afraid he might get in trouble.  I was only slightly mortified.   Damn!  I had to find someone ELSE to ask now.  Shit.

My heels seemed unusually loud as I went a-clacking down each aisle.  Or maybe it was all in my head?  The store had just opened though, so it wasn’t too crowded.  I made my way to the other side of the store and another kind employee asked if I needed help finding something.  So I asked where to find Turbo-Tax and if he would mind taking my picture for a friend of mine.  This one easily agreed and with a *snap*, the hardest part of my task was completed.  I quickly emailed that to Master, feeling rather proud of myself.

I swept up the tax software and headed straight for the check-outs.

Once home, Master chatted online with me for a few moments.

“My stockings are falling down.”

“You seem to be home in near-record time.”

“You know what?”

“What?”

“It’s cooollldddd out there!”

“I bet that’s right.”

“I got so flustered, I forgot the spaghetti… You know what else?”

“What else?”

“I was mad at you for making me do that.”  (gotta love transparency)

“I know.”

“I stayed mad at you until I was driving home.”

“And then?”

“And then… I remembered what you said about wanting to find more ways for me to serve you when I’m not with you… and so I thought… this was a good one.  And I hope you got something out of it.  Something that you wanted.”

“And you know what else what else?”

“What else else?”

“You forgot the spaghetti.”

“Lol.  I couldn’t remember anything.”

“No… I am saying:  you forgot the spaghetti.”

Horrified realization dawns on slave…

“Oh Master,”

“*kiss*  See you in a few minutes.”

“Yes Sir.”

~~~~~~~~~~

I wondered how many times I would be going to the store today as I grabbed my purse and coat.

This trip was going to be quick:  spaghetti and, oh, I need garbage bags.

I skipped taking a cart this time, found the items and headed for check-outs.  The express lanes were full, so I wandered down, looking for an empty lane.  Finding none, I wandered back to the least busy lane and waited my turn.

The guy in front of me was doing some fairly big shopping and he was alone.  I caught his eyes and smiled.  He smiled back at me.  Then I paid for my items and headed for the exit.

Another man with a small boy engaged me in a conversation from the doors all the way to my car.

(“He probably could smell you”, Master said.)

“Aren’t your legs cold?”

“Yes, they are.”

“Why don’t you wear pants now, and save the skirt for spring when it’s warmer?  It looks nice though!”

“Because I have someone who likes me in a skirt.”

“Come to work with me, you can wear pants!  Do you wear a skirt to work?”

“No, actually.  I’m a nurse and I wear pants to work.”

“Tell your husband it’s too cold for a skirt.  Come with me, I’ll treat you right.  You can wear whatever you like.”

(“Telling you, ‘You can wear whatever you want’ is probably the worst way to get a girl like you to come to him.”)

“It’s not my husband.”

“Why don’t you come with me?  I’ll treat you right.”

“I do what I’m told.”

“Well, you look real nice.  Have a great day!”

I went into my car in shock at what had just taken place.  This guy tried to pick me up.  I don’t think he was looking at my eggplants, but rather my legs.  I admit, I have nice legs.  The whole scene was mind-boggling.

I told Master about it when I got home.  He let me masturbate to orgasm, so I could ‘finish what he started.’  That was awesome.  Because I must admit, I was wet; and horny as hell.

As I lay there looking at myself on the web cam masturbating I said, “You do own a nice set of legs Master.”

Sighs…

I started to go off again about the source of my discontent a bit later, but Master was all over me.

“You probably don’t want to wander too far down that mental road… I’m sure there are other errands that could need doing.”