This seems such a paltry thing, and yet it’s been the most prominent reminder of my place in Master’s home. I have a spent a total of six nights in my piggy bed in Master’s closet thus far, starting just over a week ago. We began with me alternating nights in the closet with nights in Master’s bed, but I’ve since spent the past three nights entirely in the closet.
The floorspace of the closet is 150cm in length and 50cm in depth. I can’t extend my legs fully, but they’re not drawn in too tight either. I sleep on a duvet folded four times on itself so it’s quite padded, but of course I can still feel the base of the closet beneath it. It’s nothing like a proper mattress. I have my pillow and a fleece blanket to keep warm.
I can’t say I sleep very comfortably, but that’s the whole point. Master likes me suffering so I remember that I’m his slave, not his wife. A lot of our protocols and rituals are designed to remove any entitlements I might harbour of being his wife. I guess sleeping in the same bed is quite a big entitlement, thus he has taken it upon himself to kick me out of his bed.
Last night, Master took things up a level but shutting the doors to the closet and locking them from the outside after tucking me to bed. (We’ve checked and there is ample airflow since this is an old closet and the doors don’t align tightly at the sides.) It was quite an experience being locked in the closet last night, I’ll admit. I like being confined in small and tight spaces, but once the lights in the bedroom were turned off, it was pitch black in the closet. I could see nothing, no shadows, no shapes, nothing.
The difference in headspace that this small act put me in was tremendous. Suddenly, I was not just his slave sleeping in a pet bed, I was something inhuman that he stored away when not in use… Akin to a piece of property, kept under lock and key. I remember testing the boundaries of the locked closet space, feeling the lack of give of the doors against my hands. I remember the helplessness of knowing I was stuck inside till Master awoke and let me out. If I needed the toilet, I was fucked. (Reminder to self to make sure not to drink too much water close to bedtime and to empty my bladder beforehand!)
A lot of the things we do are hatched in my perverse brain and picked up and expanded on by Master. This particular one… I can’t really remember who seeded it. It might have been me, it might have been Master. But I was definitely the one who was overenthusiastic and cleared out the closet so I could try spending a night in it. Well, this might be one of my biggest regrets because Master loves it so much it looks like I’ll only be allowed to sleep in his bed very occasionally. He says he sleeps much better now, and I guess I can’t argue with that.
Today, I asked him where I would sleep in our new place. We haven’t bought one yet but we intend to get our own place by year end. He replied that he doesn’t know yet, but definitely someplace very demeaning, like perhaps in the laundry room. The cogs of my depraved brain immediately starting turning, imagining a future where I am no longer a resident of Master’s bedroom, where my clothes and personal possessions are stored elsewhere (in the laundry room or store room or wherever), and Master’s room is solely his.
Of course, Master likes the idea so I guess this is the future that awaits me. I found some pictures of loft beds in laundry rooms where the bed is suspended above the washing machine and dryer, but Master replied to say it was too comfortable for me. So I found other pictures of giant dog cages built into furniture and he liked what he saw. We’ll probably still get a proper long bdsm cage for the bedroom, but it’ll be solely for when I’ve been good (and hot cuckqueaning scenes). All other times, I will sleep in my slave quarters, outside of Master’s room.