Being Master

 

As always he woke up feeling the soft, caressing moisture of his slave’s lips on his neck. He moaned from the pleasure, fighting off the instinct to grab her neck and push her head down to his cock. But this was regretfully everyday life, and in everyday life there are things that need to be done no matter how much you wished you didn’t. He opened his eyes, resting his eyes on her. She was beautiful. She was always beautiful. She had an inextricable home in his heart. As much as she was his, he was undoubtedly hers. She owned his heart and he was happy she did.

 

As the good slave she was, she stood waiting holding his morning gown for him by his side. Breakfast was uneventful. As always he never read the newspaper she had laid out for him. He just couldn’t take his eyes off her. He watched the back of her head, bobbing up and down, battling the porridge in the dog bowl. She made such cute sounds when she was struggling getting the last porridge in the edges.

 

A shave and massage in the shower and watching her tie his shoes in the hall was all he needed to be ready for the toils of another day at work. To watch her do all this for him made him love her so much more. About as much as he hated work. But it was well paid and a secure job, and above all it was important for him to be a good provider for his slave. To give her the home and life she wanted. Not to mention paying for the trips they took together several times a year to meet her slave’s friends around the world they’d met during their trips to France over the years. But it was a small price to pay for such a wonderful woman. He truly felt blessed, so lucky to have met such a perfect girl. She was everything he had ever longed for and he wasn’t going to let her down or take her for granted. That was a mistake he had done with an earlier slave in his life. Learning to appreciate the gift of servitude was a good but painful lesson he’d had to endure. He wasn’t about to repeat it.

 

Work was predictably boring. The same idiotic problems, the same stupid conflicts about shit nobody cares about and the same painfully simple solutions for lazy people too useless to figure it out by them selves. But this day was different. This wasn’t the same dreary day because he had his surprise for her. Something he knew she would love and had longed for, for a long time. She would never nag at him for things she wanted so he had to be attentive, and remember the few requests that she did manage to word to him. He loved her for it, knowing her place so, he off-course wanted to reward her for it. He’d spent countless hours thinking about ways to make her happy, besides just buying flowers. It was one of his favorite past times. Not that he would tell her, but he knew she knew. She was a bit too smart to miss details like that. He’d secretly worked on this for months, and it had cost him a fair amount. All the parts he’d ordered had arrived and all he had to do was to pick them up.

 

He left early that day and visited the workshop. Everything was perfect, just as he had intended. But it wasn’t thanks to his detailed blueprint. He’d have to come by many times to control that things where going according to plan, and correct things when they where not. He admittedly was a control freak, but this was much too important to allow for anything less than perfection.

 

There was a mixture of curiosity and unease on his slaves face as he came home hours earlier than usual. The fact that trailing him trailing was a couple of laborers carrying a large cupboard he was sure made things even more interesting. But she knew her place as a slave. She got down on all fours, careful not to be in anybodies way, waiting until ordered, orders that didn’t come. 

 

The workers placed it the living room in the most central spot by the back wall. It was a large beautifully carved cupboard in darkest oak. It had an intimidating antique feel to it commanding respect. There was small carved heads protruding from its crest with a noble faces. His slave didn’t move an inch while the laborers got the rest of the objects to go into the cupboard. During the whole time she stood with eyes firmly fixed on the floor. The laborers where very professional about it and just pretended his slave just wasn’t there. They had a look of either that this was too much to handle, so they might as well ignore her, or that they’ve seen this so many times that they just didn’t care any longer. After declining a drink but accepting a tip they left.

 

Now he told his slave to come and remove his shoes and tidy up the mess the laborers had caused. As always, she obeyed. She didn’t even hint at any curiosity but had her total focus on obeying to her best ability.

 

When she was done her next words was, “Open it, slave”, and she obeyed.

 

On the right side hung one of his worn shirts with a clear scent of him and his perfume. On the floor was a pair of his old worn out shoes and to the left was the first love poem he’d ever written to her. Framed and covering the whole back was a large portrait of his face looking down on her. She threw herself at his feet crying tears of joy, (or he hoped it was joy).

 

She blurted out a long stream of words, “Oh, thank you Master. Thank you. Finally a shrine where I can worship you properly when I’m alone. Thank you. Thank you. It’s just what I always have wished for. I love you so much. Oh, please let me be your slave for ever? You are the best Master a slave could hope for. I worship you my Master”.

 

“Yes”, he thought, “for ever, and ever, ever”, looking at her with his mild eyes.