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As her head slammed at near terminal velocity into the grey walkway, as her skull flattened, snapped, crushed to dust and brain began to pulp, there was a single moment, a single unit of Planck time, in which every surviving neuron up until that point worked dilligently, desperately, to communicate to Rebecca, to form the thought in her mind “I’m dying. My head is exploding like a melon onto the sidewalk,” and every nerve that still functioned threw a single wave of pain through her body. Every atom, every proton, neutron, and quark had their wavefunction collapse into the exactly correct position to enable a single, quantifiable moment of time in which Rebecca was fully aware that she would not exist in the next proceeding moment. That she was in her last remaining moment of her life; of her violent, gruesome death that she had chosen for herself. If, as some speculate, time is an illusion, a simple way for human minds to understand one great tapestry that is the static. And she has told me, in very direct language, that she thinks I ruin subs by spoiling them.”“But why did you want her to train me?”“Because I’m convinced that you are truly a sub, down to your bones. And I think that you will eventually find your home in this world. Plus, I think Mistress Amy is right, at least in part. I am a very lenient dom. If you only learned from me, you’d be poorly prepared for doms like Mistress Amy.”“I don’t think I’d like to be a sub to anyone like her. Besides, I’m with you, remember?”“Yes, but we will spend some time in the wider world of my BDSM friends. You’ll need to learn how a sub is expected to behave.”“Okay. I guess. But, well, can you give me an example?”“Sure. Last night, you wore my collar and leash. That is a traditional way of marking a sub who is owned, who has a master. The leash, however, was short, and I left it loose most of the night. It was more symbolic. Traditionally, I would have led you on the leash. If I had let go of the leash at.
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