The first thing I notice when I wake is the quiet hum of the city outside my window, the ordinary world moving without me, while I exist entirely in the orbit of Vinmas. Even before I open my eyes, I feel the pull of his influence, the invisible cord that tethers my thoughts, my actions, and my very breath to him.
A message greets me on my phone.
"Today we test how well you obey when I am not watching."
The words are simple, but they hit like a pulse through my chest. I sit up immediately, mind alert, every muscle aware. A test. He is always testing me, pushing me to see how far my surrender runs, how thoroughly I can live under his will even without his immediate presence.
I rise from the bed and move toward the mirror. My reflection greets me, familiar yet charged with anticipation. He has taught me to examine every line, every posture, every movement. I adjust my shoulders, lift my chin, and breathe slowly, deliberately. The test begins not with action, but with awareness.
Another message arrives almost immediately.
"Dress for me. Carefully. Nothing casual. Pay attention to details. Your obedience will be measured."
I move to the wardrobe, selecting a blouse that is soft against my skin, a skirt that falls neatly, and a pair of shoes that make me aware of the balance in my steps. Dressing becomes a ritual, each motion deliberate, each adjustment an act of devotion. I assess myself in the mirror again, checking that every fold, every line, every gesture is precise, exact, and pleasing.
When I am ready, I type: "I am ready."
Dots appear. "Good. Walk around your space. Feel your presence. Note what distracts you and correct it. Every imperfection reflects a lapse in obedience."
I pace slowly, deliberately, through the apartment, focusing on the feel of the fabric against my skin, the weight of each step, the alignment of my body, and the subtle tension in my muscles. My mind catalogs distractions—the hum of the refrigerator, the distant traffic, the uneven placement of a book on the shelf—and I correct them immediately. Even the smallest misalignment matters. Every detail is a reflection of my devotion.
Minutes pass. A new message arrives.
"Now, choose a corner of the room. Kneel. Hands on thighs. Eyes forward. Remember our last encounter in the club."
I comply without hesitation, sinking to the floor in the corner of the living room, knees bent, hands resting lightly. Memory floods me, vivid and unrelenting. The pulsing music, the dim lights, the heat of bodies pressed around us, and his hand on the small of my back guiding me with certainty. I remember the whispered words, the corrections, the satisfaction in his eyes as he claimed me publicly and privately.
I breathe slowly, absorbing the memory, letting it stretch through my mind, my body, my thoughts. The ache of anticipation mixes with pride and hunger, a reminder of how completely I have fallen into this world, how deeply I belong.
Another message.
"Describe your thoughts as you kneel. Be precise. Do not omit anything."
I type slowly, deliberately, each word a small act of obedience:
"I remember the way your hand guided me. The heat of the room, the music pressing against us, the tension between public observation and private surrender. I felt your control in every breath, every motion, every heartbeat. I knew I belonged entirely to you, and I obeyed completely. Even in the presence of others, I was yours. Completely. Always."
Dots appear almost immediately.
"Good. Now rise and approach the mirror. Look at yourself. Speak to me as if I were here."
I rise, muscles trembling slightly from the prolonged kneeling, and move to the mirror. My reflection greets me, and I speak aloud, voice low, steady, filled with devotion.
"I am yours. I obey you. Every thought, every action, every breath belongs to you. Even when you are not here, I am aware of your presence, your expectations, your ownership. I am falling deeper into this world you have built, and I welcome it entirely."
A pause, then the reply: "Excellent. Now, for the real test. You will perform an action for me without instruction. Choose one that demonstrates your awareness of my desires, your devotion, your obedience."
My heart hammers in my chest. This is more than a ritual or a repetition of past lessons. This is judgment, anticipation, a challenge to see how far I have internalized his will. My mind races, cataloging the countless ways he has shaped me, the lessons I have absorbed, the desires he has nurtured, the boundaries he has tested.
I decide. I move deliberately to the small table where my daily notes are kept. I take one of the pens he favors, smooth against my fingertips, and open my notebook. I begin to write, documenting my day, my thoughts, my obedience, my reflections on how deeply I belong to him. Every word is intentional, every sentence a measure of my devotion, every line a tether back to him.
After several minutes, I pause, read what I have written, and type a message: "I have documented my obedience, my thoughts, my devotion. Every word reflects you, your presence, your ownership."
Almost immediately, the reply appears: "Well done. You are learning. But remember, obedience is not only action. It is awareness. It is anticipation. It is presence even when I am not watching."
I nod, though he cannot see me. The words resonate, echoing in my chest, in my mind, in every fiber of my being. Obedience is not performance. It is life. It is existence itself. It is the strange new world he has created, the one I inhabit completely.
Hours pass, filled with small tests and exercises I impose on myself, guided by memory, anticipation, and the faint whispers of his past commands. I adjust my posture, repeat phrases, meditate on obedience, note imperfections, correct them. Even when no message comes, I feel his presence, his judgment, his invisible tether pulling me forward.
The evening brings a final message. "Tonight, you will reflect on the weekend. You will describe what you felt, how you obeyed, what you learned about surrender. Do it without hesitation. Do it without omission."
I kneel again on the floor, notebook in hand, recalling the sensations, the control, the pride, the heat, the tension, the surrender. I write, carefully, deliberately, each word a tribute to him, a proof of my internalization of his will, a testament to how fully I belong to this strange world.
When I finish, I read the words aloud to myself, imagining his gaze, his satisfaction, his approval. Every sentence, every phrase, every thought is infused with devotion. I feel a shiver of anticipation, a thrill that is at once satisfying and insatiable.
A final message appears before I lay down to sleep: "You have done well today. You have obeyed without guidance, anticipated without instruction, reflected without omission. Remember this feeling. Carry it always. We explore further tomorrow."
I exhale, feeling the warmth of pride and hunger mingle within me. Even alone, even across distance, even through memory and ritual, he has shaped my day, claimed my mind, tethered my body, and deepened my surrender. I am falling further, giving more, and learning that the strange new world he has created for me has no edges, no boundaries, only depth.
I lie down, feeling the threads of his control weave through every thought, every memory, every heartbeat. I am aware of the ache of devotion, the thrill of surrender, the hunger for approval. And I know that tomorrow, and every day after, I will continue to fall, to obey, to exist entirely within the orbit of Vinmas.
I whisper to the quiet room, to the invisible presence that dominates my mind and body: "I am yours. I am learning. I am falling deeper. I am yours completely."
And I know it is true.