I was on the road.
Beside me on the passenger seat was a folder with travel directions and the hotel reservation (2 beds, no smoking) and all my Master's instructions and the piece I wrote and memorized to incite his desire. Or, as was more likely, further inflame it. On the floor was the soft-sided blue cooler with the cheap champagne and bottles of spring water, all purchased with money from the stash of $20 bills he had inserted into my demure white cotton panties and unremarkable white racer-back bra as I knelt before him just one week before.
In the CD player was a compilation of 5 songs my Master had made for me very early on as part of my education on what was meaningful to him. I played them over and over all the way out.
Already, I was in that place. I was aware enough to be safe on the road, but I was surrounded by his ownership. Each thought, each breath, each cell was focused on the reality of my existence as his property. His pet. His angel. His whore. The only world that existed was the one my Master had created for me.
And then the phone rang.
I had finally left the spreading outskirts of the city and was racing along at 70 miles an hour, not quite the fastest creature on the road. I was most definitely not going to answer the phone. But I did manage to glance over and see who had called.
My parents don't normally call me. They complain about not hearing from me, but wait for my Sunday call without thinking to pick up the phone and call me themselves. They are plus-or-minus 90, with health issues, but delay telling me when something goes wrong so as not to worry me. Grrr...
I am always expecting The Call.
I pulled off at the next exit. I was convinced something serious had happened and I would have to turn around, head back to town, and then drive 6 hours north to deal with a major crisis. This was not one of the emergencies my Master and I had foreseen.
I listened to the message and called home. My mom didn't sound great but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. She's been having fainting spells, had another one, passed out, hit her head, and spent a couple of nights in the hospital AT THE BEGINNING OF THE WEEK. And now was ready to tell me about it. This is one of many reasons why I have a family of choice. When my friends have health issues, an e-mail goes out to the whole gang with all the details, and then there are follow-up e-mails afterwards. You can't expect people to feel close to you if you shut them out.
End of diatribe.
Call over, I took advantage of the stop to dash into the gas station and pee, and then was back on the road, trying to return to that same state of calm and focus that I had had before.
There is magic in my Master.
There is power.
There is comfort.
I may miss him, especially if a week goes by without a visit, as is likely to happen this week because I haven't been well. I may fret and worry if a day goes by without a message, as may happen if he is busy (more than usual) or having computer problems. I may not so subtly fish for reassurance that I haven't done something wrong. But I always feel the power of the connection, of his control, of his knowledge of who I am and what he wants me to be and what I need to keep me on the path he has built for me.
I do not wear a collar, or a ring, or a tattoo, or bits of metal through my nipples or labia. I don't need these things to remind me that I am his. But I feel his chain around my neck, I feel the other end in his hand, I feel it running deep into the delicate tissues of my dripping cunt, and I breathe the air that he has mixed for me in proportions that always leave me slightly dreamy and slightly hypnotized and very happy.
So very soon I was back in that place and I sped along the road and resisted the temptation to pull off at scenic rest stops and didn't let myself pee again and listened to those same 5 songs over and over and recited to myself the piece I had written and then I saw signs for the town and then I took the exit and then I made the turn and then I saw the hotel and I drove around until I found a parking place and I pulled into the spot and I turned off the engine.
And I just sat there.
I had arrived.
The next stage had begun.