His Slave: A Free-Form Writing Piece

She rises from her bed and the first thing she feels is the winter morning.

Her nipples harden at the winter’s kiss so cool that her raven hair, strewn across her chest like a Disney princess she ponders, can hide from the warmth.

Her feet hit the floor, becoming stuck in ice.

She gropes for her phone, rubs the sleep from her eyes, makes sure her breasts – large, uneven, lopsided she thinks – are not hidden from the camera.

She practices her smile, raises the camera high to her left – her best angle – and snaps.

She views it. Frowns. She doesn’t like it, she doesn’t like her tired eyes or the way her breasts sit, but she relents. Digresses. She brings up Master’s chat window. She finds the picture, a long line in a list of images, some requested, some part of her daily ritual, some she took feeling good one evening.

She hits send.

With that, she climbs out of bed and into the arctic.

In the shower she masturbates. She thinks on many things – Master’s cock from a world away, a world she’ll see again on the weekend. She thinks of him asking to watch her and though she feels she wants to join him, she relents. Digresses. He always taught her of equality but she wants to see him smile.

When she comes, it’s at the point in her fantasy where their eyes interlock just as she climaxes. She can feel him now, those dark eyes. She can’t quite unlock them. They do not betray what he’s thinking.

On the chair in the corner of her bedroom sits her outfit of the day. She laments her work uniform, that there is not much choice, but Master wants them anyway. He likes it that way. He still picks her bra and panties every day. Today’s being black and elegant but with a fun g-string she bought – black and white strip pattern with a black lacy edges and a cute bow at the front.

When she sees this, she giggles to herself, and a warmth, despite the frozen world around her, rushes through her, fills her with delight.

She gets dressed, but takes her time, feeling the fabric against her skin, knowing Master picked it out makes it all the more exciting.

In her underwear she glances in the mirror. She doesn’t like what she sees, it is true. Where Master sees curves and beauty, she sees fat. The thought darkens her mind. She can feel herself and frown and tries to lift her face away from it.

They’re working on it, she thinks, straightening out the twist in her panties.

Deep down she knows she doesn’t need this, or him, to feel positive. But, she says out loud, the support means everything.

Fully dressed, she pulls her phone off charge. She opens a note saves on her phone – her mantra. She recites her inner strength, her ownership, her goals, her heart. Her reminders. This makes her smile, the warmth pulsating within her.

Before she can put the phone in her pocket, her phone buzzes. Her Master sends his good mornings, reminds her of her importance, not to him but the world around her.

They would talk from the moment she left home, during the train ride into the city, and on the approach to her work.

Him, her Master, and her, His Slave.

10 thoughts on “His Slave: A Free-Form Writing Piece

  1. I’m captivated by the lady in the picture accompanying your writing. Having come from an era where full figured women were the norm, not only do the words strike a chord, but the beauty of the lady makes them resonate.

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  2. You captured her insecurities accurately. She knows her Master sees her beauty, but she can’t for the life of her see it. Sometimes she wished she could see herself through her Master’s eyes, then maybe she could actually believe His words. She is use to verbally harming herself. That is the everyday woman. We seem poised, strong, sweet and happy. Yet we ache for once to just be… No harsh words at ourselves. No looking in the mirror and grimacing. No pulling our shirt down more. No sucking in our stomach while passing an attractive man. No looking down at the ground, afraid to look up in others eyes and see disgust.
    We just want to be….

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    1. This Slave came to me one evening, fully formed, and perfect and willing and sweet and vulnerable and I knew I had to drop what I was doing and capture her.

      It sounds like this struck a chord with you somewhere within your dreams. I’m grateful, touched, but hoping you’re feeling empowered and less harsh on your own self, if this relates to you.

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      1. Unfortunately it did. While I greatly appreciate your words, they definitely seemed to describe me. I am a work in progress constantly. I don’t know if I am less harsh, but I do make the effort to empower myself. So I thank you. It’s a good reminder to be kind to myself.

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