The city feels different when I move through it with him in my thoughts. The streets, the people, the traffic—they are ordinary, indifferent, yet I am entirely conscious of how I exist within their gaze and, simultaneously, within his. Even miles away, Vinmas's presence is a weight and a guide, shaping every motion, every posture, every glance.
I step out into the sunlight, aware of the skirt that falls neatly above my knees, the blouse soft against my skin, the way my hair frames my face exactly as he would like. Each movement is deliberate. Each breath is measured. Even walking to the small café across the street becomes a ritual, a performance for him alone. I do not need anyone to watch. I do not need anyone to approve. My awareness of him is enough.
A message appears on my phone as I wait at the crosswalk:
"Notice the people around you. Observe without distraction. Remember your position. You belong to me, not them."
I nod, though no one sees me. I slow my pace, scanning the café, the pedestrians, the delivery trucks passing by. Everyone moves with their own purpose, their own obliviousness, and yet I exist apart, tethered to his invisible leash, accountable for every thought. The tension is exhilarating. My chest tightens, my mind sharpens, and a warmth spreads through me that is equal parts longing and pride.
I enter the café, the door chiming softly behind me. My eyes adjust to the dimmer light inside. Patrons sit with their laptops, phones, and conversations, unaware that my attention is divided. Part of me exists in the ordinary, mundane world, but the larger part of me is suspended in anticipation, memory, and obedience.
A voice note arrives on my phone. I tap it, and Vinmas's familiar cadence fills my ears. His words are calm, precise, and deliberate, just enough to pull me inward.
"You are here. You are moving among strangers. Every motion is observed by my mind. You feel me even if no one else does. Remember to carry your posture, your awareness, your obedience."
I shiver slightly, adjusting my shoulders, lifting my chin, and smoothing the fabric of my blouse. Each subtle movement becomes a reflection of his presence, a meditation, a reminder of the control he maintains even at a distance. The café feels alive yet strangely hollow, a stage on which only I perform, only I exist.
I order coffee, speaking softly, deliberately, my voice steady even as anticipation courses through me. Each word is chosen with care, each pause measured, because he can reach me at any moment. Even the barista's distracted glance, the clatter of cups, the low murmur of conversation—it all reminds me of how fully aware I must be, how entirely I must exist within his expectations.
Another message arrives as I wait:
"Fold your hands. Straighten your spine. Feel the floor beneath you. Observe without judging. Record what you notice mentally."
I follow his instructions instinctively, folding my hands on my lap, shoulders back, spine erect, heels grounded. I observe. I catalog every detail—the sound of the coffee machine, the scent of roasted beans, the rhythm of people moving past. I do not judge. I simply notice, as he has taught me. Every observation, every awareness, is a subtle act of obedience, a proof of how completely I belong to his world.
The drink arrives. I take it slowly, deliberately, each sip a reminder of ritual, of presence, of anticipation. My eyes wander to a couple laughing nearby, their familiarity and ease strange in contrast to my heightened awareness, my deliberate movements, my tethered thoughts. Even in the ordinary, I exist differently. I exist under his eyes, in his mind, in his control.
A notification buzzes again. "Close your eyes for one minute. Remember the last time you obeyed me completely in public. Recreate it mentally. Feel it."
I inhale deeply and close my eyes. Memory comes unbidden, vivid, relentless. The last club, the weekend in Alberton, the whispered commands, the guidance, the ownership, the subtle heat of bodies moving around us, the way he claimed me silently, thoroughly, invisibly. I feel the ache, the tension, the thrill, the pride. I imagine the invisible threads wrapping around me, pulling me closer to him even as I sit alone in the café.
When I open my eyes, the world seems sharper, louder, yet strangely filtered through him. Every glance, every movement, every sound is a reminder of my obedience, my devotion, my surrender. I type:
"I am aware. I observe. I belong to you even here."
Almost immediately, the reply appears: "Good. Your awareness is your obedience. Your observation is your devotion. Carry it always."
I nod subtly, even though no one notices, even though the world continues in its indifferent rhythm. The invisible presence of Vinmas is enough. It is all I need.
I finish my coffee slowly, savoring the taste, the texture, the ritual of drinking it under his guidance. Every movement, every posture, every breath is a meditation in obedience, a practice in surrender, a reaffirmation of belonging. The ordinary world outside continues unaware, but I move through it with a heightened sense of self, entirely owned, entirely present, entirely his.
Before leaving, I send a final message:
"I am ready to return home. I carry you with me."
Dots appear almost immediately. "Good. Always remember, the world does not own you. I do. And when I am not here, you remain aware, you remain obedient, you remain mine."
I stand, shoulders back, chin high, and walk to the door. The city continues around me, oblivious, and yet I move through it differently. Each step, each gesture, each motion is a reflection of his control, a meditation in surrender, a living practice of devotion.
On the street, the sun dips lower. Shadows stretch across the pavement, long and reaching. I feel them in my bones, a subtle reminder of the strange new world I inhabit, the world he has created for me, the world in which I fall deeper every day.
By the time I return to my apartment, I am exhausted and exhilarated. The invisible tension, the awareness, the constant obedience, the self-imposed rituals—they have drained me and filled me at once. I know he would be proud. I know I have carried him with me, have lived in his world even amidst strangers, have obeyed without supervision, have surrendered without hesitation.
I kneel by the window, hands resting lightly on my thighs, and whisper to myself, to the empty room, to him across the distance:
"I am yours. I am present. I am aware. I am always yours."
The city hums below, indifferent and alive, yet I am in my own orbit, tethered to Vinmas, aware of every breath, every posture, every thought. The strange new world he has created stretches beyond the walls of my apartment, beyond the reach of others, and I inhabit it completely.
A final message arrives as night falls:
"Today was excellent. You maintained awareness, carried me with you, obeyed without oversight. Rest now, for tomorrow, we will deepen your surrender further."
I close my eyes and let the words sink in. Sleep does not come easily, for anticipation and obedience mingle, but I do not resist it. I do not question it. I exist entirely within the strange new world he has built, entirely within his control, entirely within his ownership.
And I am happy. I am free. I am consumed. I am his.