i imagine (2)

The last passenger is a man.    An older man, but he is jogging effortlessly, and almost bounds up the steps, small suitcase in hand.  Not bad looking, just a bit scruffy, intense eyes, kind of the type i like.  Not that it matters, for all i know, he’s submissive.

Jamie waits til the new guy gets settled before he starts the engine, begins to move as he does his “welcome” speech.  i’ve heard it too many times to pay much attention, but i know it’s time to don the blindfold.  The new ones have elastic, but mine is the old kind, i have to tie it on.

The tinted windows keep outsiders from seeing us – four women and a man, all wearing blindfolds.  The van stops at the exit from the parking lot, turns left tonight.  It doesn’t always take the same route, and i don’t know if the Center is really about a couple of hours away, or if some of that time is spent disguising the route.  It doesn’t matter.  i feel myself relaxing for the first time in – well, maybe since the last time i took this trip, a couple of weeks ago.

****************************

i awake when the van stops.  A bit disoriented, it takes me a minute to remember – oh, mask, van, Center – and as i take the mask off, am surprised that it’s still light outside.  i hang my blindfold on its hook, collect my backpack and purse.  i am the last one off.

We gather on the porch, someone has already knocked, but they know we are here, we could have just stood there and the door would still open when they’re ready to let us in.  i am behind the man and i notice that he doesn’t have submissive energy.  i expect him to knock again when the door opens instead.

Through the door is always a bit of a shock.  The foyer is dim, cool and welcoming, a light scent lingers there –  i’ve never smelled it anywhere else – maybe vanilla and lavender but with something sharper beneath it.   i breathe for a moment.

David greets us.  He is wearing jeans, barefoot and no shirt, which is not unusual for the assistants.  He greets us with a slight bow and one of our common greetings, “Namaste.”  A couple of the women look baffled, but one of the other women, the new guy, and i return the greeting.

David explains, “I’m going to do the orientation welcome for the new submissives, Olivia,  you’re in room 5, Crystal, you’re in 3, if you two want to go on back and start your entry.”  i nod, and as i turn to head down the hall, i hear him say to the new guy, “Sir Martin, you are welcome to stay for the first part of this if you like, or you can go on into the study.”  But i don’t wait to see what he does.

Room 5 is just like all the other entry rooms.  Seven of them stretch along the front part of the building, you enter from the foyer, and exit through the other side into the main part of the house.   Between each room is a primitive bathroom and shower – 1 and 2 share one, as do 3 and 4, 5and 6.  Seven, the last room, has its own bath and is generally reserved for male submissives, although it is just about the last bit of special privilege they have.

The room is maybe 8′ by 10′.  On the left is a desk top that drops down, rather like the seat tray on an airplane, only it’s wood.  There’s a recessed area behind it, and as i pull down the top of mine, i see the consent form that i need to sign each time i come, tucked into a cubby as always.

But there is an order to these things, and reading the consent is not actually first.  First, i undress.  Slip off my blouse and skirt, bra and underwear, folding them neatly.  The shower is  next, and it is not my favorite part of entry.  But it’s required.

Shower shoes are supplied – flip-flops that i’ve left here for this very purpose are in the shower stall waiting for me.  i wrap my hair in a turban, also supplied.

The water is tepid, and it’s on a timer.  It runs for 90 seconds, just enough time to get wet all over, then it stops.  Another 90 seconds to lather up before the water starts again, and then you better rinse fast, cause two minutes later, it’s done.  If you’re still soapy, there’s a bell you can ring, and ask for more, but any water they give you at that point is cold.   And there will be a punishment later – you might have to write an essay about water conservation, or obedience, or time management, and read it aloud at dinner.

The shower is a small ritual of humiliation, washing the grime of outside from your body, cleansing yourself for what it to come.  i am glad when i’m finished, and, as always, i feel better.

i use my damp towel to cover the seat of the chair as i settle myself, still naked, to read the consent form.  There’s a note on the front – it says, “Jon emailed – he says you need to remember that you can’t actually save the world all by yourself.  We have some ways to help with that if you agree it would be helpful.  Your focus word will be “acceptance.””

i have to laugh – Jon’s right, as he often is.  The rest of the consent form is the usual, agreeing to obey, to serve, to let my body be used as they deem appropriate.  i sign quickly, and put it in a basket, along with my neatly folded clothes.  When i’m ready, i’ll pass the basket through a window next to the door on the inside wall – i open it on my side, place the basket there and close it so someone can retrieve it from the other side.

The next step, for me, is to write down the things i’m leaving behind as i enter tonight.  There are slips of paper, and a lovely pen, designed for this task.  i just need to write a few words that will be clear to me, although i may be asked about them later.

Sighing, i write on the first one:

The client with the broken arm 

Then on another:

The client with the broken heart

The next one reads:

Anxiety about Jon

And finally:

Wanting more, always wanting more.

Finished at last, i put the slips in the basket, open the little door to place my basket where it will be picked up.  Then i position myself, still naked, on my knees.  Head pressed to the floor, ass raised.  i turn so i am facing away from the inner door – the one they will open when they come for me.  They won’t see my outstretched arms, my head and back first, but my pussy and ass, open and exposed.  Another small humiliation.  i wonder what they have planned for me this visit.

And then i settle in, letting myself focus on my word, “Acceptance.”  Acceptance.  i breathe a bit deeper.  Acceptance… and i wait.

7 thoughts on “i imagine (2)

  1. “The clients with the broken heart.” What a heavy, heavy thing to lay down. You know i was reading about the shower and wondering how in the hell anyone would shave like that. i’m obsessed with being soft and silky all the time. Evidently, i’d be shaving in cold water.

    Liked by 1 person

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