Six Near Misses (In 24/7 High Protocol)

1

I open the front door.

The second I do, I’m stopped from stepping outside by the sound of loud, fast footsteps upstairs. Mistress appears, peering at me from the landing. “What are you doing?” she calls down. Her tone holds a mix of incredulity and something like indignation.

“Um.” I hold up the large plastic bag I’m holding. “Taking out the trash, Mistress?”

She relaxes. “Right. Not running away.”

“Not running away,” I confirm, amused that she thinks my plan, if I suddenly wanted to run away for some reason, would be to… simply stroll out the front door in broad daylight, holding a trash bag.

The Rule(s): [Hannah needs Kate’s permission for] leaving the house for any reason other than getting the mail or going for a short walk.

Hannah will notify Kate when she is leaving the house, and notify Kate when she is returning, if she has been gone longer than twenty minutes. She will generally keep Kate informed of her plans. She will allow Kate to track her location and Health data via her Apple Watch.

I’m not leaving the house (perhaps understood better as the premises), not prompting the need for notification or permission. Taking out the trash is one of the only reasons I open the front door without at least notifying her, or someone audibly knocking or ringing the bell. (Yardwork usually takes me into the backyard first, and then out the side gate.) And today—probably at a moment when she didn’t have her normal headphones on—hearing the door opening without warning was startling.

“Right,” she says again. “You may go.”

So I give the requisite curtsy, as well as I can while holding a trash bag, and leave.

2

We’re at a friend’s queer oriented munch.

I’m returning to the table after ordering at the counter for both of us, so Mistress can just give her order to me instead of bothering with it. The boba place we’re at is busy. It often is, which I know because the writing group I’m one of the organizers of also meets here, because one of my fellow organizers happens to work here. Sometimes this munch and my (vanilla) writing group (whom I tell I’m a homemaker) even meet here at the same time, leaving me sliding between groups like I’m in a Hannah Montana episode. Noting the familiarly busy vanilla venue, including several children nearby, I’ve slid back into the space between the table and the bench and have already made the slightest bend towards sitting when Mistress quickly gives me the permission to sit hand signal, and I sit.

At the time, I think the hand signal might be unnecessary. In my mind, I’m pretty sure I have permission to sit on the furniture, because there are vanilla people around. Still, out of habit and caution, I didn’t quite sit without it; nor did I hover next to the table conspicuously like I would in a proper kink setting, being rather quick about finishing sitting once the signal comes.

It’s not until the next night that I hear about her alarm. Apparently, in her mind (which is what matters), we were at a munch, which was a kink environment, and therefore I did not have permission to use the furniture. She’d used the inconspicuous hand signal instead of loudly granting me permission, and certainly instead of having me kneel on the floor or stand in the aisleway, but she still didn’t view the vanilla company exception as being in place.

The Rule(s): When [not in vanilla company and] in Kate’s presence and not standing, Hannah will assume her General Kneeling Position next to Kate. She will ask Kate’s permission before changing position on the floor. She will not sit on the furniture or ask Kate’s permission to, unless directed by Kate. This does not apply to the bed. She will wait behind her chair in Waiting Position before meals.

Note: while not codified, Kate uses variations of several hand signals such as Permission To Speak (opening fist with palm up) and Sit/Kneel (pointing at spot with index finger and moving finger down). These may be treated the same as a verbal signal within reasonable interpretation.

With the only exception in kink company being the bed (ironic, since I don’t sleep in it—I sleep leashed and nude on the floor at the foot of it), I almost got myself into a lot of trouble. But, thankfully, she did give the hand signal right before I actually sat down.

3

We’re just chatting, at home.

I’m kneeling in front of her, which I’ve been doing for a while now; my legs are getting kind of tingly and give the occasional little twitch.

All of a sudden, Mistress looks at me with alarm.

“What?” I ask, even glancing over my shoulder to see if an answer presents itself, which it doesn’t.

She sighs in what sounds almost like relief, understanding. “I thought you were going to move out of position for a second there,” she says, “and I was like, ‘What are you doing?’ And then you didn’t.”

The Rule(s): [See 2, and] General Kneeling Position: kneeling where directed, knees apart, big toes crossed in back (right over left), hands folded at small of back (right over left, right thumb over left thumb) unless in use, back straight. Ideal transition to kneeling: place hands in position, lower slowly to both knees at once, keeping the back straight, without wobbling, then spread knees/shift to position. Ideal transition back to standing: close knees, kneel up, stand one leg at a time, keeping the back straight and hands in position, without wobbling. (Permission must be obtained before shifting out of this position on floor.)

“Of course not,” I assure her. “But now that you mention it…”

She rolls her eyes a little. “You may stretch.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” And, grateful, I do.

4

Mistress arrives home from her private martial arts lesson at the house of a kinky friend, and I go downstairs to greet her.

She’s usually eager to demonstrate what she’s learned. The lessons have changed things ranging from how she punches me to how she wields the discipline wand we use in our morning maintenance discipline ritual.

She quickly notices that I’m wearing a bathrobe (allowed) rather than my uniform, and that my hair is wet. “Did you shower?” she asks, with that same incredulous/indignant alarm.

“Yes? Mistress?”

Then: “I suppose that’s allowed.”

The Rule: [Hannah needs Kate’s permission for] showering, when Kate is home/present.

Except, she wasn’t home, so I didn’t ask, merely fulfilled the showering at least every other day that’s specified elsewhere in the contract. The not asking is pretty rare, since she doesn’t really leave the house without me all that much. It’s also not the once a week time where I’m required to shave and have her inspect my job of doing it (which adds a third inspection to the day), meaning that if I’d already gotten dressed in my uniform as usual and my hair was a little drier, she might not have noticed I showered at all.

This clearly strikes her as a weird thought, and, it kind of is.

5

I’m cleaning the master bathroom in the afternoon.

I hear footsteps and I think maybe I hear Mistress’ voice, though not what she’s saying, and she could be talking to herself or the cats or on the phone, so I spend an extra second just listening, but nothing else comes.

Then the footsteps approach, and the bathroom door flies the rest of the way open. She gives the little understanding dawning sigh.

The Rule: [Hannah needs Kate’s permission for] using the bathroom anytime before Evening Inspection, when Kate is home/present and awake. (If in vanilla company, she will use the Bathroom Request Hand Signal. Kate will answer subtly/nonverbally.)

I also understand this time, and I cross my wrists in front of me, fists closed (Speech Request Hand Signal, for when I want to speak without having been spoken to first).

“Speak,” she says, but also gives me the permission to speak hand signal, out of habit, maybe.

“I’m just cleaning,” I assure her, stating the potentially now obvious.

She confirms that she’d gone looking for me, and then saw the light on in the bathroom, and thought, of course, that I was using it—and, this being a surprise to her, that meant doing so without permission.

“Sometimes I worry when I flush the toilet for cleaning,” I admit. “That you’ll hear it, and.” And jump to the same conclusion. But when she’s not looking for me, she does have headphones on a lot—blocking out sounds like me opening the door or flushing a toilet.

She laughs.

“But now that you mention it…” But she makes me ask the question in the proper format this time, even though she knows what it is. “May I go potty, please, Mistress?”

“Show me your vagina.” While not technically part of the protocol, this is her most frequent demand when I ask for this permission in person, so much so that before she finishes the sentence, I’m already shifting my clothes, thinking little of it. Every once in a while she mixes it up (generally, wanting to see my boobs instead, creating a kind of adult Simon Says game), and she generally doesn’t make the demand when I ask first thing in the morning after the daily beating.

Right now, she approves without any further requests. “You may.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” I give the required answer with real relief.

(5.5—this has also played out with her realizing that she left the bathroom light on, and finding me elsewhere entirely. There was also a time that I had asked permission to go to the bathroom via a message, and she said I could, and I thanked her, and then, very quickly, went to the bathroom. Later, I told her that as soon as she gave me the permission, my body had insisted I do so immediately—I had a stomach bug and a UTI—and she quickly confirmed, “But, like… after, right? No beatings for you?”)

6

I’m making dinner.

Mondays and Thursdays mean sex at 4 PM, and today is one of those days, so I have to speed up making dinner a little.

At 5:59 PM, the food is ready on the table. I open up the Walkie Talkie app on my uniform’s Apple Watch (which has replaced our old pager system) and, as always, alert Mistress that dinner is ready, just like I do for breakfast at 9:40 AM, then get into Waiting Position behind the chair that she usually has me sit in.

She comes downstairs, checks the position, and gives me permission to sit as usual. But she adds, “You always manage to amaze me.”

This confuses me for a moment. “How so?”

She tells me that she’d looked at the time after sex was done, and been sure that I was going to have to be late with dinner. Sometimes it happens—there just isn’t enough time in between tasks to cook, and then I ask for permission to be late, and she kindly says yes. But I hadn’t asked permission, and she’d kind of accepted she’d have to beat me for it, only for her own Apple Watch to light up at 5:59.

The Rule: [Hannah will] serve dinner at 6 PM, table and food to Kate’s preferences.

I laugh a little, and explain what happened. My original dinner entree plan was to make a baked barbecue pork tenderloin, which would leave leftovers for later. As the clock ticked down, I thought that perhaps I’d cut the tenderloin in half to speed up the cook time, no leftovers. As the clock kept ticking, I changed my plan to cubing half the pork tenderloin to stir fry, instead of waiting on the oven. Finally, losing the time to cube the pork, I had sliced pork chops out of it to pan fry instead, and gone with quick side dishes.

I’ve never actually been late for dinner without permission (nor have I ever broken any of the rules featured in this piece), but serving “Dinner Plan #4” is relatively common.

“Well,” she says simply, “hurray for pork chops.”