Fantasies are hot.
I have a bunch.
Confused? Start at Part 1.
The pen scratched silently on the paper as you signed on the dotted line, the sound of your new life beginning.
It’s funny that a few a strokes of a pen are enough to sign your entire life over.
“It’s signed, Sir.”
He picks up the contract, looks it over to make sure everything is properly initialized, dated & signed.
He is careful to make sure His legal restraints are properly set on you,
He doesn’t want you to escape his bondage anytime soon.
“It all seems to be in order. Tomorrow it will truly begin. We will meet in the morning and you shall begin the process of handing everything to me. You will show me all your bank accounts, every line of credit you have open, all of your medical history. We will then clean up your, I mean my, house and throw out all the things you own and that you will no longer have time to use. We will clear it out and I’ll have you move into the Manor. I will then put it and your lousy car up for sale and pocket everything. How lovely does that sound?”
Your head is spinning, your heart is pumping in your chest, your palms are wet but luckily you’re sitting down or else you’d just crumple to the floor.
It’s just all going so fast that you aren’t quite sure what to make of things so far.
You’re having a lot of trouble processing what exactly you just agreed to.
You knew He meant serious business, that He’s a Master that doesn’t play games but you didn’t expect to be going down the rabbit hole this deep.
You’re eventually able to blurt something out: “Sir, I… I think I need a minute to think…”.
How does He do this to you?
How is He able to get inside your head and shake what you thought was stable into a chaotic mess?
You were so eloquent at work, so capable of rising to meet the greatest problems that would arise and yet this young man just turns you into mush.
Any time you think you’re beginning to get a handle of things, He just shakes things up again.
“Breathe you silly old fool, you’re getting so flustered someone might begin to think you’re choking on your food. Take a sip of some of that fine wine you’ve bought Me tonight, listen to the background music playing, and just breathe.”
He says it in that annoying tone of voice of His, the one that lets you know that He thinks He knows more than you and well, He does.
That voice just makes you feel like a fool, and as you should!
You just signed away your life without even blinking to a man less than half your age!
How did you let yourself go through with this?
How did a simple fetish, an hour-long session turn into this?
Why are you enjoying it so fucking much?
Your head is a beehive: each of these little questions (and more) are the bees.
And in this metaphor, he would be the queen bee, that which lie at the center of this chaos.
The cause and the end of it all,
The mere thought of it, that He was no longer just your master but your owner, made you shudder with pleasure.
You belonged, finally, somewhere.
You’d found your place in this world and it brought to you a strange feeling of bliss you hadn’t felt since your best childhood Christmas.
It reminded you of your best days in past relationships when you still thought you would find happiness in the kind of life everyone else lived.
Those days when you dreamed of your own house and finding someone to fill it with would be enough to satisfy you.
Those days when you were still innocent to your own nature, to the perversion, the insatiable lust, and the eagerness to please others that lie at the heart of your very being.
You knew back then what you were.
You just didn’t want to truly admit it to yourself.
You believed that by denying your submissiveness it would disappear with time.
You thought you could successfully kill this part of you, that you would overcome your own natural impulses.
He was so right to laugh at you, to be smiling that devilish grin of His as He watched your internal struggle.
Did He know what you were thinking?
He couldn’t possibly but that damned grin made you think otherwise.
You’ve made him wait long enough, time to cobble something coherent together before He starts thinking you’re having a stroke:
“I’m happy we’re officially starting tomorrow. I don’t think I’m going to be able to do much more tonight than breathe and maybe manage a bite or two.”
He looks at you, that delighted smirk still drawn on his beautiful face, as though he were looking at a small tired child.
“I understand you perfectly. You’ve gone through a lot tonight, much more than you’ve ever been through with anyone else, I’m sure. I’m actually surprised you didn’t get a nosebleed from how much blood must be flowing through that skull of yours. I think I made the mistake of underestimating just how severely I affect you and for that I must apologize. I don’t want to be breaking my new toy this early after receiving it.”
That’s what he thinks of you.
You’re an object for him to use, a plaything for him to amuse himself with.
He’s so selfish it astounds you, and yet here you are, loving every damn second of it.
You’re happy you’re his like no other thing had made you happy before.
The fact that he thinks nothing of you somehow makes it all the better as if you still have to earn his affection, you still have to prove yourself to him.
You love that, having to surmount a real challenge for the first time in a very long time.
He’s given you a goal and you will you meet and exceed it and any other He will have for you.
You will suffer with a big smile on your face because you will be suffering for Him, for Patriarch Connor.
And it will be bliss, whatever he decides to make you go through.
This is what you want, what you’ve been wanting your entire life and now you that you know it, you won’t ever let go.
The rest of the dinner passes over rather casually.
Your new owner decides to lighten things for you, and the two of you talk of movies you could watch over and over again, of things on your bucket lists, of the dilemma that is why liquid glue doesn’t stick to the inside of the bottle.
His ability to talk about anything and everything comforts you and squashes any doubts forming in your mind.
Whether he’s manipulating you or being genuinely recomforting is beyond you and that’s one of the reasons you love this Master.
“So… Toy? Yes, I quite like the sound of that… Toy, we will see each other tomorrow at 9 o’clock sharp. I want you to wear clothes you can ruin, we will be working tomorrow” he says at the end of the meal after the bill has been paid for, by you.
“Yes, Sir. I will see you tomorrow morning!”
“Your new life begins tomorrow, so enjoy the last of your freedom for as long as you can. You won’t be regaining any for a very long time.”
Photo by Valeriia Bugaiova on Unsplash
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