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For now, my mail is being forwarded to a PO Box Master gave me permission to rent for a year at the local post office. I can wait to redo my driver’s license, to decide which address to use. I think I’m going to want to go public, but I’m glad I have a little more time to decide.

Master still hadn’t said anything, which meant he thought there was more for me to tell him. I didn’t think there was, so I told him, “I’m going to miss you when you go back on tour, but I’ll miss you a little less being around your things, Master. I’m glad you want me in your house while you’re gone.”

Master pulled me into a hug and just held me. Our breathing synced, and I swear our heartbeats did, too.

“I love you, Davy. I’m glad you’ve had time in this place as well, so you could stand on your own two feet and prove to yourself you can do it. You came to me as a man, not a child, and that’s important.” He kissed the top of my head. “Do one last walk-through to make sure you have everything. Open drawers and closets, cabinets, whatever.”

My eyes went big. “My blankets!” I walked to the built-in sofa, pulled the seat up, and said, “I need another box, Master.”

* * * *

Will

I was secretly glad we didn’t have to find a place for Davy’s dishes and glasses, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. If he’d wanted to keep them, we’d have put them in the kitchen and used them, but it made it simpler that he wasn’t attached to them. He had two nice throw blankets, a lightweight one and a huge fluffy down blanket for when it’s seriously cold outside, and I was more than happy to fold them and put them with the rest of my throw blankets.

His towels were cheap, and I didn’t think I did anything to clue him in when I rubbed the top one, but he said, “I know, Master, they aren’t anywhere close to as soft as yours. I’ll take them to work and use them as rags.”

“If you’re attached to them, they come home with us.”

“They’re just towels, Master. If I’d known the difference in these and the good ones…” He shrugged. “I guess I can’t say for sure I’d have bought the good ones because I don’t know how much they cost, but if they aren’t staggeringly expensive, I’d have paid more for the super-thick and super-soft ones.”

I looked through my memory banks and had to admit, “I have no idea how much they cost. Other people bought them with my money.” I didn’t even know if the interior designer had purchased them, or if my house manager had.

But the last thing I did before we left was to roll the rug in his living area up and put it in the back of the truck. Davy had told me about finding it in a thrift store, and how it’d had made his place feel homier. I’d sent a picture of it to Dana a few days earlier, and she’d told me where to put it — in our mancave, under the coffee table. The colors worked, so that’s what we were doing. Davy didn’t have any doodads or trinkets, nothing he could put in my house to make it a little bit his, too. I hoped the rug could do that at least a little.

When we reached home I unlocked his closet and had him fold and hang his clothes while I watched, and ordered him to toss a few items I couldn’t see myself ever handing him to wear. I’ve been buying him clothes since the day after I met him. He didn’t need to bring any from home, but I wasn’t of a mind to make him toss all of them. About half had to go, though. Cheap blue jeans and substandard cotton shirts? Outside of his work clothes he wasn’t going to be dressed that often, but I wanted him in fashionable clothing when he was.

He put the shirts on a different stack and told me, “I can use the shirts as rags, and the jeans should go in my work closet downstairs instead of throwing them away, Master.”

I shook my head, wanting to argue I’d buy him work jeans, but changed my mind. Davy is his own person at work. I don’t get a say in that part of his life. “Okay. They go downstairs.”

And then it was time to explain boot camp to him. We were already in my bedroom, so I sat on the bench and pointed for him to kneel in front of me, which he did immediately because he’s a good boy.

“Normally, my boot camps are from seven to ten days long. We’ll do three days before I go, and then probably four to seven days when I return, depending on what I think you need. You’re a good boy, so it’s possible you’ll only need another three days, but I don’t want to create a mess by cutting it short.”

It seemed best to jump straight into what a day was going to look like, roughly speaking. “You’ll be spanked first thing in the morning, every day. Whether it’s hard and fast and behind us quickly, or whether I spank you to tears and keep going, you won’t know ahead of time. You’ll be given various writing assignments, and you can expect some long stints standing in the corner. I’ll also send you to the playroom or bedroom to get into a spanking position randomly throughout the day, and you won’t know how long you’ll have to wait for me to show up and deliver the spanking or caning or belting or whatever it ends up being. You’re good at addressing me appropriately, but for the duration of boot camp, consider yourself to be under formal speech rules.”

I looked at him a few moments. He didn’t seem upset by anything I’d said so far, but he wasn’t going to like this next one.

“You’ll spend some time in the jail cell. It’s likely where you’ll write the essays I assign, and you’ll go into it when I have some guests over tomorrow evening.”

I didn’t trust these guys enough to know about Davy’s existence, much less the fact we have a power exchange relationship, but in this case, Davy didn’t need to know why I wasn’t letting him socialize with me, only that I wasn’t. Boot camp is about being in-your-face about the power imbalance. It’s about getting the submissive in the habit of submitting and being subservient.

His face went blank, which means he didn’t like that he was going to be stowed away while I entertained, but he was trying to keep me from knowing it bothered him.

And that’s the line he and I will have to figure out as we move forward. He’s my slaveandthe man I love. The former doesn’t get to have much of an opinion, but I want to know everything the latter is thinking. How to keep the rules and station of the slave while giving our relationship the communication necessary to stay together? I wasn’t certain, but I also knew it was important I stand firm on this and not stop to explain my reasoning. Davy absolutely needs his slave identity, and no way was I going to undermine that so soon in our relationship.

“Your exercise schedule will increase, and there’ll be a lot more chores than normal — some deep cleaning the staff only does twice a year. No time like the present to start, so your first chore is to deep clean all seven bathrooms. All the shower curtains and floor mats go through the washing machine, but it’s going to take a couple of loads since you’ll want some towels in with them, to make sure the shower curtains get clean. The shower curtains don’t go in the dryer, but everything else does.

“While the washing machine does its thing, you’ll be cleaning the grout and all around the tubs and showers with a toothbrush and old-fashioned Comet cleanser. Make a paste with it and get to it.” I motioned for him to get up and leave. “Off you go. I expect you in bed by one in the morning, though I might call for you if I need to get off.”

* * * *

Davy

My arm and shoulder were sore when Master woke me the following morning.

“Up you go, slave. Go to the playroom, use the toilet if necessary, and get your ass on the fucking station.”