Protocol…or the Lack Thereof
Well, okay. You won’t see me at any state or diplomatic ceremonies any time soon, but that’s the definition that most closely fits protocol in kink. And my, but didn’t we have a lot of it back in the day. We meaning M and me. Lots of other people still do.
It started simple. Every night before bed, I was required to kneel beside the bed and ask permission to get on it. There was to be no sitting on the bed waiting for him to come in the room. No leaning on the bed when my legs and knees got tired and my feet went numb. I was to just sit there and wait until he said I could go to bed.
Then he added the requirement of a goodnight kiss. It sounds funny, but goodnight kisses have never been something I did. At some point in my childhood, I stopped even saying goodnight to my parents. I’d just roll over and go to sleep when I was with my ex. And who kisses one-night stands goodnight? So when Master expressed his dismay at my lack of goodnight kisses, I was caught completely off guard.
When he made it a requirement, I was a little nonplussed. Why would you want to force something like a goodnight kiss? And if it’s just not something the person does, why would you feel bad about it? He explained that I had, in fact, kissed him goodnight most nights since we met, and the fact that I wasn’t kissing him goodnight seemed like an indication that something was wrong.
Those we still do, almost 11 years later.
We picked up a couple other protocols through my need to feel my slavery. And most of them have fallen by the wayside for one reason or another. Like, there’s no reason for me to meet him at the door naked and kneeling when he doesn’t go anywhere without me.
For example, we used to practice the Gorean tradition of a slave kneeling to serve food and drink to a free person (or in this case, me to Master). Because I’m not a virgin, I was to kneel with my thighs parted, put my head down, and hold the vessel within his reach until he took it, and then stay there until he released me. Then he got to working after hours so often that there would be times I’d be sitting there holding a cold plate before he took it from me.
There’s this line where it crosses over from being uber sexy and kinky and slavy to just plain annoying. That was definitely it.
Not that I had (have) the right to feel that way, mind. But it gets difficult to remember your place when the person you submit to doesn’t seem to notice you’re in it. Which also doesn’t…you know what? From now on, if I say something that contradicts what you know about our agreement (which basically says, “Master’s the boss of me”), just assume there’s a “but that doesn’t give me the right” after it, okay?
To be honest, I miss it. So much, in fact, that I served him his drink the Gorean way tonight without being asked. I remembered that the other day he’d ordered me to, and said it made his balls tingle. Making my guy’s balls tingle is definitely a good thing.
He’s not kidding. These floors are going to ruin my knees. How hot is that?