The Loneliness of the Long Distance Dommer

As the philosopher continues to arise from his mid-winter meltdown and resumes in full glory his mantle of being my master, he is returning with enthusiasm to the job of controlling me and my life.

He didn't tuck me in last night, as his weekend is plump with tasks of his own. But he sent me these strict instructions at 12:31 am, having already promised that he would be keeping me busy.

Subject: Ritual

Saturday

You will call and leave a message at 11:59 am, 2:03 pm, 6:30 pm and 8:00. . . SHARP. . .pm

In addition, you will do your normal chores: clean off the table, laundry, go to the gym, practice santouri for 15 minutes or so.

Then, at some point during the day, or evening, you will perform the following ritual:

"The Branding"

You will gather the following objects: candles with holders, matches, plate, paper (the size of a post it note), a black magic marker, rubber band, chain collar, a glass of water, digital camera.

You will strip naked, and put on the chain collar. This is how you would be dressed for the real thing; bare, vulnerable, chained. . . OWNED.

Put a rubber band around your thigh.

You will turn off the lights of whatever room you are in (this should ideally take place in the dungeon, but privacy will dicate where you are able to do it.)

Kneeling on the floor you will light the candles, as many as you need for illumination.

With the magic marker and the paper, you will design a brand: my initials, simple and readable, yet aesthetically interesting. Do a good job. . .this is the mark that will be BURNED into your flesh. How do you want it to look?

Take a picture of your design, to be sent to me later.

Then, with a match, burn the paper on the plate (BE CAREFUL. I don't want you burning down the house. Have some water ready to extinguish the flames if they get too high). Watch as the paper burns. . .and is consumed. Imagine how much a brand will hurt. Snap yourself with the rubber band 3 times.

When it's all burnt, take the ashes and write "Good kitten" across your belly. Take a picture.

Send me the pictures, kitten. . . and check your e-mail tomorrow morning for the next ritual.

There are a couple of other tasks I have to do which are time-limited, such as returning my now unused digital cable equipment to Comcast now that I have freed myself from their incompetence. And the health club (from which I have now returned) closes at 4 pm on weekends. Plus I had a decidedly lazy morning in bed with Marko, and (having forgotten the philosopher's threat of a weekend full of chances to demonstrate my obedience) didn't check for mail from him until almost a quarter of 11. I've attempted to scurry since then, but Saturdays tend to be my day of rest so it has taken some effort to overcome sloth and now I will have to scramble. On top of all that, I've just been invited to an evening beer tasting at a nearby friend's (despite my not being able to drink much in the way of alcohol; I'm ignoring the issue of yeast and Passover...)

So I won't babble on now about the assignment, except to reiterate that I love having to leave phone messages at specific times throughout the day. And his rituals always have tremendous power.

Thank you, master.

And yes, I AM naked as I write these words. And yes, Marko is lying beside me beside the bed, knowing instinctively that he must protect me from any stray perverts that might wander by. Such a good kitten.

As am I...