ruff ❤️

Imagine you were in a sub/domme relationship with someone whose face you’ve never seen properly. Maybe you met online, or maybe she just started stalking you and you let it happen. Now you’re the property of someone who enjoys how little you know about her.

You know she follows you around sometimes, maybe she’s only a step behind you in a crowd, but you wouldn’t be able to recognise her even if you looked. You know she’s followed you home, because she’s broken in enough times- although she quickly stole a spare key, so is it really ‘breaking’ in? You know she takes your phone because she added herself to your contacts and occasionally renames her number as ‘mistress’ or ‘owner’ or ‘guardian angel’.

And you know she wants your body, because sometimes when you think you’re alone she pushes you face-first into a wall or a couch and fucks you from behind. Sometimes you wake up blindfolded with her fingers already pushing over and over into you wet cunt. Sometimes she texts you in the middle of the day saying she saw you in the dress she chose for you today, and you look like just as much of a slut as she hoped.

Like you've been kidnapped, and you have tried everything to escape but it soon becomes clear that this is impossible. So you just become angry instead, fighting your captor at every turn. You scream. You kick and hit. You try to break things. You throw your food.

And every single time, your captor just picks you up and places you in the same damn corner, neutral face, neutral voice, and says "five minutes."

Of course, you don't stay in one place. You run only to be picked up and placed back in the corner, the timer restarting, "five minutes." And again and again and again. Until you've exhausted yourself. Meanwhile, your captor has not shown an inkling of anger or impatience. They could do this all day.

You're a wreck, sitting slumped in the corner, face red and blotchy, hardly keeping your eyes open, and they haven't even done anything to you.

You almost want them to finally lose their patience, to shout at you, to hurt you, so that you can be proved correct. So that you can tell yourself they really are cruel and terrible and you were right to fight them all along. It does not make sense to you that someone would keep you hostage to take care of you. This gentleness is foreign to you. It has to be fake.

Finally, you've stayed in the corner for the full five minutes. They walk over to you, and kneel down.

"Do you know why I had to put you in the corner?" They ask.

You do not respond, but they don't mind.

"I had to put you in the corner because you kicked me. We must use gentle hands in this house. Do you understand?"

You nod faintly.

"I would like you to say sorry now."

"S'rry." You mumble, but it's enough.

"Good girl! Thank you, sweetheart. Let's go and have our lunch now, hm?"

A caregiver who understands you're only little and you will need time to adjust, of course. You're only misbehaving because you are lost and confused. You've been lacking structure and guidance for so long. They can see the little one underneath all the bravado, the one begging to be loved.

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