Innocence and contracts

I take pleasure in such small, innocent things. *happy sigh* On Sunday the weather was glorious again, and myself and Guineapig and the dog went to the Malvern Hills and meandered about up there, enjoying the sun, the breeze and each other’s company. It really is gorgeous; the view is fantastic. An idyllic place to be on a fine weekend in May.

Next week it will be one year since we met, and I’ll be giving him his contract. The metal ankle cuffs that I ordered have arrived in the post, too. (They may be one size too small though – the shop advised me to try them, and they will replace them if he needs the next size up.)

I’ve sensed for a couple of months now that he’s become ready for a contract, and I did send him the draft last week to make sure that he’s happy with what he’s letting himself in for. It definitely feels like the right time to make that move, but of course the imminence of it is making me think. Not think again, just think.

I believe my slave to be a slave through and through – that is to say, as part of who he is, not something he role-plays or something he enjoys doing from time to time. I know that he believes it too (and has felt that way for 20 years, although admittedly I am his first owner, and feelings can change under the strong influence of reality). He wants his slavery to be acknowledged as part of his identity, and to be part of his lifestyle. I believe he is ready for this; ready to move deeper into slavery.

Yesterday night he asked me (by text) whether he could stop using the third person in emails and texts. Well, using the third person was something initiated by him, not something I have often asked for (I requested it once, for a week, as a ‘one-off’ discipline to focus his mind). It makes no difference to me, except that I think it’s nice to read in ‘signing-offs’ (‘your lowlife slut loves you’ and language of that nature), so I told him as much, reminded him that he initiated it, and said it would be fine not to use it.

I also asked him why he’d requested permission to drop it, and, interestingly, had to ask twice before getting an answer. The reason was that he felt we weren’t being natural, and that he needed to feel my love and felt third person was stopping that. I was surprised, because *I* wasn’t routinely addressing *him* in the third person (I occasionally say things like ‘hope my slave is okay’ or ‘how is my slut today?’, but they are the exception rather than the rule). But I can see where he is coming from; it limits his free expression to me, which is not something I want to do.

Had a mop chop today; nice and short! Wedding dress fitting tonight. Rolling eyes to heaven as I hate trying on clothes; it always makes me feel deformed.