Yes, I'm back.
Happy, hot, and tired, and facing a mountain of dirty laundry. Nothing all that sexy about dirty laundry unless one's Master is standing there with flogger in hand, supervising his pet as she runs one load after another wearing nothing but the tracks of her arousal as it drips down the insides of her thighs.
No such luck. The only supervision I'm receiving is from a pair of cautious cats, who took their revenge on me for my absence by pretending they didn't know me when I returned.
The sadist, meanwhile, sent a short message, in which he addressed me as angel and said he has plans for me.
I'll submit to anything when he calls me angel.
I'll submit to anything in any case.
Eventually - and we all know this - I will submit to whatever he wants.
The thing is, though... as I wrote the previous sentence, I suddenly realized that part 0f my Master's cleverness, and part of his grand plan, is to not require my submission until he knows that he will get it. This avoids the embarrassment of having his pet rise up in rebellion while reinforcing my submission by never giving me the experience of refusal. That doesn't guarantee that I won't have a bad reaction, which I have occasionally been known to do. But since the sundering of our relationship last December (thankfully, a situation that lasted only a bit more than a month), the sadist has been very serious about making adjustments to his plans in order to insure my continued compliance. This is not at all a sign of weakness, but rather a tribute to his manipulative skills. Every adjustment he makes pulls the chain tighter around my neck and wedges it more deeply into my cunt.
I have no idea what his plans are, but just knowing that he has them is enough to make me feel very small and very submissive and very, very owned.
And for that alone, it's good to be back.