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Fantasy: It’s not about sex, it’s about submission

June 23, 2007

“Don’t go anywhere,” you tell me, and then the hotel room door closes behind you.

No problem there, I think, looking down at the chains I am wearing. One connecting the cuffs at my ankles, another the cuffs at my wrists. Both of them connected to a longer chain and the collar around my neck. And then there’s the matter of the leash, which is attached to the headboard.

The chains are long enough that I can walk and move, to the limits of the leash, anyway. I can get up on the bed, or stay on the floor. I’ve got a big bottle of water if I get thirsty. And a journal to write in.

I spend the next two hours thinking about you, thinking about my submission to you. As new realizations occur to me, I jot them down in my journal. Mostly I just meditate on and feel my submission as strongly as I can. It’s not hard, with the physical reminder of those chains clinking lightly with my every movement.

When I hear you at the door, I quickly move to the proper position – on my knees, chin down, eyes on the floor. You come to me, lift my chin so I can look at you, then keep lifting so that I am standing in front of you. When you kiss me, I feel as if I might burst, so strong is my love and devotion to you.

You unhook my leash and walk me down to the bathroom (two hours and a big bottle of water, after all), attaching my leash to the curtain rod and leaving me alone to take care of things. Then you lead me back to the room, and allow me to curl up at your feet, my head leaning against your leg. You order room service, feed me bits with your fingers, and let me lick the delicious sauce from a plate on the floor.

Always, my leash is either in your hands or attached to something else. My love and my submission bind me to you spiritually and emotionally, but now I see those bonds as something physical, and they become even deeper and stronger.

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