Under His command

Part 1

The room is quiet. Soft flicks of candles lick in faux flames against the shadows of the wall. Across the room my heels click on the hard tile. Memories of my knees hitting them brush against my thoughts but the day was hard and so am I.

Nothing in my stance is submissive. The recent weeks past in an unending blur of rebuffs and irritations until even the soft beauty of the surrounding room disappears into my being as chard possibilities.

I sense him before I see him. His scent curls up around me like a warm blanket around my body and an iron fist around my throat. In my path, he's been strangely silent as of late and his appearance makes me nervous but I am strong. Even here I refuse to show my vulnerability and weakness. With confidence I continue into the room. Each click echoes off the walls and punctuates the step.

"Good evening, pet." His voice is deep and smooth, running over my frayed nerves in a manner that soothes the savageness running through my veins.

"Good evening." I can't bring myself to say more. There are no honorifics to add anymore than one dominant would speak to another.

"Long day?"

I nod, then realize I am still standing behind him. My movements unseen. Tension surrounds the room. Like a brewing storm, it pushes and pulls against the air, the changes subtle but noticeable. "Yes," I reply. The force of my breath pushes the words past my lips.

"Come. Sit with me."

I am hesitant. In me something shifts and I fight to hold my ground. Internally I reel, but externally I lift my chin, take a deep breath, push my shoulders back and move forward.

"If it takes that much effort to hold that space pet, you've been in it too long."

My head snaps around. He has not moved and yet, even in the silence he knows. Anger boils up in me. How could he be presumptuous in his knowledge of me? I move forward to battle, without knowing why I want to fight.

"It is my fault. Let me start by apologizing."

The look on my face is smug. I believe I have the upper hand and my recent situations make me hungry to take quick advantage of his perceived weakness.

"I am sorry I have not taken you in hand. You've felt abandoned and grown fierce in the face of a world you felt you held alone. Know that you did not. You chose not to reach out or accept the things I offered. I allowed you to fall and crawl through the mud pit of despair. You did not need me to coddle you or take away your pain for you've always been good at handling the world alone. What you needed was a strong hand to teach you how to handle it gracefully. To give you a tangible way to release and process things without flailing at others in a vicious and ugly manner. In that way, I failed you."

My mind races at his words. They are spoken in a soft easy tone but there is nothing soft or easy about them. A shiver races up my spine. I force my feet forward in a quiet demand not to give in. Where was he when I needed him? Where was he when my world was falling apart around me? He abandoned me. Left me in my darkest hour. Now he rides back into my world once the calm sits at its edge. My mind screams at me to hold my own. With waning confidence, I move forward and face him.

"In the same way, you also failed yourself. You gave your word you would reach out, expand yourself and ask for help when the world became to burdensome. Our interactions are based on trust. You trust me to pay attention to your needs and I trust you to pay attention to mine. This shift of focus allows us to not dwell on ourselves in a selfish internal fashion but rather push to be open to another person- No matter how frustrating, hard or painful the world can be alone... it is always easier when you let someone else help carry the load."

His words hit me like a slap in the face. Painful on a deeper level than the casual way he mentions making things tangible. I feel myself shift, the deflation of my ego already in process, ready to hand him all he asks but nothing in life should come so easily. I lift my chin, a haughty expression masks my face in a challenge I need to make, no matter how futile. My lips remain in a tight thin line. If I speak, all the conflict I feel will betray me.

"Stoic as ever, my pet. Beautiful in that stern, you've got the world by the balls, sort of way."

With grace he rises from the chair. With over four inches on me, when I'm in heels, his presence surrounds me. The air is thick. My lungs demand the hard pull on it while my pulse pounds its increasing rhythm against the vein in my neck. I do not look up to his face. In it I would see a mixture of disappointment, pride and worst of all my impending downfall. I will myself to hold on in a futile attempt to salvage the ego even I know must fall.

His breath passes over my ear. "Time to fine your place again, pet."

I try to control my breath but it comes in erratic time. A tornado of butterflies ravage my stomach. Everything in me reaches for balance while the deepest part of my needs reach up out of the darkness and demand my fall. The quiet in the room is punctuated with my breath as I wait.