If you have been following along with my story, you are aware of the fact that muse and I parted ways shortly before Christmas. To say that the breakup devastated me would be an understatement, but it seemed futile to try to continue given the amount of stress, anxiety and helplessness we felt.
Long story short; after five weeks or so of almost complete silence, we’ve been speaking again. We’ve been communicating more clearly and directly than we had been in a while and have decided to try to carefully put things back together, with some guidelines put into place in the hopes of being able to protect all parties involved and nurture the relationship in a more positive way.
As has been stated before, muse is trans, 36 and a former fighter. She has alters that have appeared during play. She is a brilliant artist, an extremely heavy masochist with no real limits that have been found as of yet and she is a manic depressive. In other words, there are a lot of ingredients in this particular composition and her mind is rarely ever quiet. She is hungry for knowledge, activity, stimulation. Where the majority of us are able to unplug and relax and simply “be”, she is rarely afforded that opportunity.
In the past the thought of a Master/slave structured relationship was repulsive to her as she was taught never to bend a knee to anyone. However, in exploring this style with me and having the majority of decisions taken away from her when within my presence, for the first time in her life she actually found peace. Her head was quiet. She found the structure and atmosphere we’d created comforting and safe.
The whole idea confused and terrified her, and combined with everything else going on outside of the relationship between she and I things imploded in a magnificent way.
She’s stated she misses her chains, her tethers, her captivity closet, her cage. Not making decisions. She feels like one who ran away from her owner and was recaptured and knows she will pay sorely for the infraction when she comes home but she needs to do so to feel whole again. Without me in her life, she lost all balance and found herself spiraling. In all honesty; I felt the same. Things have been out of sort for quite some time and in order for peace to be restored and for us to move forward, balance must be restored. Which brings me to the topic of this blog entry: Homecoming.
For her arrival and initial discipline I have requested the presence of my long time best friend, AKA Foxtrot. Not that I don’t trust myself or muse but I haven’t seen her since Thanksgiving week, our beasts are both starving and the energy level is incredibly high, and muse has also stated that she has responded with rage whenever she has been hit recently. In addition to it just being a good idea to have someone who is not involved in the scenario to oversee and make sure things do not get out of hand, there is also something deliciously humiliating about having a loving witness who cares about both parties the way Foxtrot does.
In visualizing what the homecoming looks like to me, I see her arriving here and using her code to let herself in. She is not to be carrying anything in with her and has been instructed she is not to look at me or speak to myself or others without being instructed to do so.
I’ll be standing as she comes in the door, dressed in fetish gear. Black corset, very short flared leather skirt that barely covers my ass. Thong panties, fishnet stockings and high heeled platform boots. She will come to me and kneel at my feet as I will slowly and silently walk around her for a bit, with the only sounds she hears being the sounds of my heels on the tile and the blood rushing through her veins. I know my girl, her heart will be pounding loudly in her chest and her mouth will be bone dry as she awaits her fate.
“Stand.” She brings herself to her full height, careful to avoid my eyes. I’ll slip her shirt above her head and toss it aside. I’ll do the same with her bra and then slip her skirt down her long legs. I’ll brush my hand across the head of her erect cock as I slowly slide her panties down and kick the small pile out of the way. I already know that she’s neglected her grooming since we’ve been apart so her body hair has grown in. In spite of the fact we’re now communicating and she’s feeling better, I’ve instructed her to leave it be until she gets here so I can deal with it personally.
The homecoming has not happened. This is an illustration of how I expect it will play out.
“Not only do you run away, but you’ve been quite neglectful in maintaining my property I see. I shall deal with that later as there are more pressing matters at hand.”
She stands silently, head bowed.
“Currently you have lost everything, including your name. You are not my girlfriend, you are a prospect. You are starting from nothing, a ghost. In the past this was ‘our’ home. I have reclaimed it as my home. All of the pretty clothes hanging in the closet and tucked away in the drawers that were yours? They have been locked away. While in my home this weekend you will be naked the entire time, and tethered constantly as a reminder that you ran away. The heavy chain will be locked on your ankle and will remain there until it is time for you to leave. You will be on eye and speech restriction. You will not be allowed on my furniture. You will eat out of your dog bowl. If company comes over the same rules remain intact. You will not be using my shower, I will tether you to the whipping post I’ve just installed outside and I will hose you down with the water hose.
Your name is now 36. The number represents a time of new beginning, an opportunity to start anew. You shall refer to me as Boss, Ma’am or Warden. I do not want to hear Daddy, Darlin’, Babe or Bella come out of your mouth as we are no longer there. Consider yourself my captive and you are subject to whatever punishment I see fit; however harsh. Perhaps in time you can earn status, your name, privileges and your things back but for now this is how it is.”
All the time I’ve been softly speaking to her I’ve been slowly circling her. Watching her body tremble causes the rush of electricity in my own to surge that much stronger. The air is heavy with anticipation as Foxtrot sits and quietly observes the scene unfolding in front of her. I walk over to Foxtrot and hold out my hand and she gives me something I hold in front of me as I continue to speak with my back facing 36.
“We were just a few days short of our one year anniversary when you ran, girl. You were supposed to be spending that weekend with me and I had something very special planned for you. I was going to take you to see Syn so we could get you your next piercing, the PA we’d discussed. I had also picked up this pretty little sterling silver pendant to hang from it and was going to have the bezel engraved with “Daddy’s Girl” for you.” (One of her alters is a little and she calls me Daddy for those that don’t know.)
I walk over to her and hold it under her eyes so that she can see it. I have it on a delicate red ribbon and the weight feels comfortable in my hand.
“Perhaps you can earn this back but for now, it’s gone. I do want to make sure you have a lasting reminder of what you’ve lost though.”
She is still standing in position with her hands behind her back and I suddenly produce a medical stapler and staple the ribbon to her breast with no warning. She stumbles and cries out and earns a quick hard smack across the jaw for doing so. She shakes her head as she regains her footing and I see a flash of anger momentarily cross her face. As she won’t be allowed to look at me I’m going to make sure that she sees that particular memento bouncing within her view with each blow I land on her.
I grab her by the chin and tell her to look at me. For the first time since our parting she is looking directly into my hazel eyes and she sees not only amusement there; but an even darker, colder and more malicious hunger than she’s ever seen before. Hiss is fully present and her period of hibernation has come to an end. She is ravenous and won’t stop until she is satiated.
I let go of her chin and reach down between her legs, almost purring as I gently stroke her. For a moment she forgets that there is a serious ass whipping about to happen and she closes her eyes and focuses on my hand softly touching her.
“Look at me.” I instruct. Her eyes flash open. “You’ve heard my rules, and the current expectations. The choice now is yours. You can either gather up your things and walk out of this door and we sever this once and for all, or you take whatever is coming to you now and in the foreseeable future for us to get back on track. For this moment, you may say whatever you wish without any additional retribution.”
With no hesitation and that familiar cocky grin she looks at me and says “Do your worst, Cupcake…”
“And so I shall.” I quickly clamp down tightly on her balls, bringing her to her knees. I push her all the way down until her cheek is pushed into the tile and the sole of my boot is pushed down firmly across the back of her neck.
“You’ve chosen your fate, you’ll accept the consequences. The balance calls for your blood and tonight she will get her fill as it shall be.”
She is suddenly dragged roughly across the tile floor towards my art room and catches a glimpse of the new wooden platform that I’ve recently installed. Her eyes grow wide as she takes in the scene of the compressor and the roll of netting and then realizes that the eight foot by four foot wide piece combined with the other items will function as a spider web, basically rendering her completely immobile as I take my time doing whatever I wish to her.
The next few hours are a blur…