What Became of Me

At that moment, of course, I was far from “boldly following my own path”; instead, I was trudging along behind Petra, who, as always, was striding quickly toward the next destination. I was still thinking about how the morning’s events fit in with my submissive nature and my new role as a toy when we turned into an underground parking garage. Of course, I was shuffled into the back seat again, just like the bag of shoes next to me. I had a hunch where we were headed when we turned onto the main street, and sure enough, about half an hour later, I was back in Petra’s living room.

Petra placed the box – which I already recognized – on the low table in front of me.

“Take off your jacket, shoes, and socks! – That’s good. Stand over there!”

The spot Petra was pointing to – across from the sofa and facing the small charcoal drawing – was also familiar to me. The second cage between the armchairs, on the other hand, was new to me.

While Petra took the box to the other room, I stood there awkwardly, staring at the unyielding metal bars of the cages.

Petra sat down on the sofa, crossed her legs, and looked at me for what felt like an uncomfortably long time without saying a word.

“You’re standing there like a spare part,” she said finally, wrinkling her nose. “You have to understand that from now on, you’ll never do “nothing.” You’ll never just “wait”.”

Petra lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

“Waiting is a state of emptiness. Those who wait wonder when something will finally happen. They start looking around, shift their weight, and lose themselves in thought. A person who waits is preoccupied with themselves. A person who waits belongs to themselves. But you belong to me. Understand?”

“Not really”, I probably would have said, if I’d been allowed to say anything. My nod was correspondingly hesitant.

“Let me explain. First. Find a stance that you can hold calmly for a long time. – No, not like that. Your feet should be slightly apart at most. Keep your knees relaxed, not locked. Lengthen your spine and push your chest forward, but only enough so that your upper body radiates openness, never strain.”

I felt like I was back in elementary school gym class, when the teacher was trying to explain a complicated sequence of movements that I could never replicate.

“Second. Bring your hands together in front of your body. One hand encircles the wrist of the other. Not too tightly. Not too loosely. Your hands are at rest because they have nothing to do right now – and because they could spring into action at any moment. Your gaze is not lowered. You are my toy. My property. You have no reason to apologize for being here or anywhere else. Your gaze is fixed on a single point. It seeks nothing. Now breathe calmly.”

Petra came around the table to look at me in profile.

“And now: be still. No rocking. No shifting your weight. No fidgeting with your fingers. No adjusting your clothes. No unnecessary movement. Not because movement is forbidden, but because every unnecessary movement reveals that your mind is resisting stillness.”

Anyone who has ever tried to stand still knows how hard it is. Especially for a restless soul like me, whose inner tension often manifested itself in involuntary movements. “What nonsense”, I thought, “I don’t have to learn to wait. Or not to wait.” Was that my mind resisting stillness?

“Your posture should always convey two things at once: readiness and being a pleasure to look at”, Petra continued. “Readiness means that you could spring into action at a single word. Your attention is focused outward. There is no moment of gathering momentum. No inertia. No internal delay. There is only the readiness for immediate obedience if required.”

Petra blew a ring of cigarette smoke. She was clearly enjoying this process of teaching and shaping a new object in her hands.

“Being a pleasure to look at might be something you don’t expect. You’re not putting yourself on display. You’re not posing. You’re not trying to seem interesting. You take your place as a matter of course. Like a well-designed piece of furniture or a sculpture, your body isn’t supposed to attract attention through intrusiveness. Despite this restraint, a well-designed object like your body doesn’t just stand around. It has its place. It serves its purpose. From now on, so will you.”

I tried to focus on Petra’s words and the casual objectification of “well-designed object”, “its place”, and “its purpose” buzzed through my head and my pussy. However, I also felt a strong resistance arise within me that irritated me. What Petra was asking of me was exactly what I had always wanted: a D/s relationship that went beyond the bedroom, transcended the sexual and determined my entire life. I had mostly come to terms with the explosion of my privacy. I welcomed suffering and humiliation. What on earth was it about Petra’s last words that so disturbed me that I wanted to run away?