By @bdsmsubrex
Three months ago, I surrendered myself to Master S, binding my will to his as his submissive. That moment reshaped my existence, filling every corner of my life with purpose, desire, and a profound sense of belonging. But the lockdown, that unyielding global force, ripped us apart. Master S was forced to leave my country, stranded across borders, and I was left with an aching void where his presence once anchored me.
He instructed me to continue my rituals, daily acts of devotion to keep me tethered to him, and to document every detail with photos or videos. I obeyed, meticulously recording each task, but the act felt hollow, a pale imitation of true submission. How do you serve a Master when his eyes cannot see you, when his voice cannot guide you in the flesh? The videos I sent were offerings, but they lacked the weight of his approval, and my heart yearned for the command that only his physical presence could deliver.
This morning, my phone buzzed with a text from Master S, its sharp brevity cutting through the monotony of my day. Be at a specific address by six o’clock this evening. Plugged. Locked in my chastity cage. Collared. My pulse surged, a heady mix of nerves and excitement igniting my senses. Lockdown restrictions still suffocated the city, limiting movement to essential purposes, but Master S had anticipated this. He had enlisted a friend, a man with influence, who owned a company classified as essential. Through this connection, Master S secured an exemption letter, a document granting me freedom to travel without scrutiny. I texted back, my fingers trembling with anticipation, asking if there was anything else I needed to prepare.