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This story is intended for adults only.
"Complete submission," said Master Hardwood. "Your will is no longer
your own. You must worship your master as you would worship God. That is
the only way in which a slave can receive peace in his heart."
I rolled my eyes and turned my attention to the schedule on my lap, showing the workshop choices for the final hour of day two of the Master/slave Conference. "Life Contracts." "Should Masters and slaves Marry?" "The L Word: Love in an M/s Relationship." I rolled my eyes again and circled "Bondage on a Budget" with my pen. If I'd ever had any doubts in the matter, it was becoming increasingly clear that I wasn't master material.
"Never question your master's orders," said Master Hardwood, looking solemnly around the hotel conference room at the slaves staring at him with puppy-dog eyes. "Your master knows better than you do what is best for you. If you surrender your will to his, then you can achieve psychological and spiritual heights that ordinary humans can only dream of. This is your calling – this is the manner in which you can achieve true perfection."
I sighed and glanced at Master Hardwood's slaves. They were kneeling on the floor nearby; I gathered that they, having achieved true perfection, were never allowed to use chairs. They were all staring at their master with expressions of respect on their faces. I wondered whether Master Hardwood had had them mind-wiped.
Our workshop presenter was gabbling on now about slaves being taken to a high spiritual plane every time they abnegated their egos. Rather than roll my eyes again, I glanced over to see how Randy was taking all of this. He was perched on the edge of his seat, his eyes wide, his mouth agape. He looked very much like he had on the day that I'd told him I'd let him be my boy.
I sighed again and turned my gaze toward the doorway. Standing there, resplendent in a state trooper's outfit that he'd gotten off the rack somewhere, Kevin was fully focused on the speaker too. From the expression on his face, I gathered that only good manners were preventing him from using Master Hardwood as a doormat. Reassured that there was at least one other sane person in this room, I relaxed against the back of my hard plastic seat and began to idly count how many times Master Hardwood used the word "egoless."
Master Hardwood paused to sip a glass of water. One of his slaves, with a smooth motion I admired, rose and came forward to refill his glass. Master Hardwood took no notice of him; he was tapping a Hardwood Hotels pen against the notepad in his hand.
They say that those of us who entered the leather world after AIDS demolished the Old Guard don't have any desire for the grandly mysterious leathersex of the old days. Maybe so; all I can say is that I've never been able to grow accustomed to discussing kink in hotel conference rooms filled with water pitchers and whiteboards and logoed stationery. Discussing kink in a hotel owned by a leather slave-master is surreal.
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