The first rule of chastity is that we do not speak about chastity.
This seems to be the first rule anyway. It is not hard and fast. Of course there are discussions surrounding the subject, about the fantasists and wannabes and those who have such extreme fantasies that in reality would be illegal and which if they ever had the chance to experience them would be so divorced from their imaginings as to be unrecognisable. Of course there are discussions.
But my chastity? The fact that I am locked? Oh no, not to be discussed.
I actually happen to think that is right and proper. If a male accepts submission to a female outwith the confines of a personal partner relationship, then really what business is it of any other?
But also, what discussion does it need? A choice has been made, a mutual choice. If Mistress chooses to accept my submission to her, am I to question it? Of course not. It has been freely offered and, it would seem, freely accepted. I hope so anyway.
But then something strange begins to happen.
There is an amalgamisation. There is a mixing of things which were entirely unforeseen. The facts of the matter seem to slide into insignificance. The beatings become rarer, the submission more subtle.
Oh do not mistake me, it is still there. But it is almost covert, as if it has entered the world of normality and what may previously have been seen as unusual becomes not commonplace, but accepted.
A tiny example. I have caught myself on a number of occasions recently echoing the tone Mistress adopts in certain circumstances. It is entirely subconscious. Yet, in retrospect and with hindsight, I can see it. I have said something the way Mistress would have said it. I am following her example. I am learning from her. And just this evening, as I sat thinking of things and, at times, exclaiming out loud, I realise I had said what I said in a different accent. It wasn’t any attempt at replication or anything like that. It was just the way I spoke out loud. I realised it was not my own accent.
But Mistress has not just an accent but a “tone”. She has many, in fact. Each and every one can be adapted to each and every situation in its own individual way. And she has an absolutely amazing voice.
And then think, these are just sounds. There is a whole world of mannerisms and gestures and expressions and poise.
I just notice things, that is all. And in those magical moments when one’s concentration is taken up with the marvel that is a single individual, it is inevitable that one’s focus will be in a certain direction.
This weekend has been such a weekend. I try to tell her how amazing she is. I am almost sure she does not listen, or does not hear, or does not believe. But I know it is true.
And so, in this strange world that is this submission, reality changes.
It takes some getting used to, I can tell you.