What I eat is as much a part of our dynamic now as it is personal preference (when I am allowed the special gift of being allowed to choose, usually on my birthday or some other occasion). It is the product of many things: Master’s whims, his concern for me getting certain amounts of nutrition, his desire to care for me on a basic level, and more.
Master is more than my husband. He is Master, owner, caregiver, sometimes takes on the role of “Daddy”, without the title. He is Lord.
Our house is a quaint mix of Hobbiton, and Roman Empire. Master seeing himself as something of a roman emporer (who lives in the Shire), so of course I do as well.
In ancient Rome, very lucky slaves were given their Master’s leftovers, and so it is with Master and me. Not every meal, and only when Master deems it is food he wants me to eat, and that there will be leftovers for. (For example, if he buys himself a steak and cheese, he won’t be giving any to me! He’d be lucky to have leftovers.)
Most recently, it’s bananas that he’s been feeding me his leftovers of. A half of a banana (approximately four inches) is a serving, and Master wraps his other half of a banana up for me, so that when he is gone at work I can eat them, and also he never has to eat a banana that’s been open and sitting out (even if wrapped tightly in foil).
There are a few things about this which I love:
- He thinks highly enough of me that I am worthy of his leftovers.
- When I see some of his leftovers wrapped up for me, it is obvious that I am supposed to eat them, and therefore, even when he is not home (and is too busy at work to call me) I know I am following his will.
- That he is reinforcing to me that I am unworthy of having “fresh” food. I really love it when he deems me as worthy only for whatever is left.
- It shows he was thinking about me.
While I do not always get the privilege of his leftover food, when he leaves it for me, it makes me feel special, and lowly, and unequal, and small.
All things which I adore feeling.