Feel the consequences now, HERE!
Episode I — The threshold
The chamber always fell silent before the Mistress arrived.
Three slaves knelt along the velvet edge of the room, hands folded flat against their thighs, eyes lowered to the dark stone floor. They did not speak. They listened. Boots on marble were forbidden to be anticipated. The sound had to arrive unannounced.
When the Mistress entered, the shift in the atmosphere was immediate. She crossed the threshold without ceremony, black leather boots gliding across the floor in unhurried steps. Her coat whispered softly behind Her, perfectly measured. In Her hand rested the riding crop (not raised, not pointed), simply present, like an accent in a sentence that needed no emphasis.
She seated Herself in the green velvet chair at the center of the chamber.
The slaves lowered their heads further, feeling the unseen pull of Her gaze settle on them.
“Form,” She said calmly.
At once, they adjusted posture: knees aligned, backs straighter, chins lowered precisely to the correct angle. The Mistress observed with quiet scrutiny. Her leather boots remained perfectly still, crossed at the ankle, deliberately within their lowered field of vision.
A flick of the riding crop tapped once against Her palm. Not a reprimand, but a cue.
“Begin stillness!”
The silence tightened.
Time stretched in uncomfortable increments. Muscles strained under the unmoving discipline, breath slowed, and discipline became a conscious act rather than a reflex.
The leather Mistress leaned forward slightly.
“Slave one.”
“Yes, Mistress,” the kneeling figure answered softly.
“Your shoulders rise under tension. Control the breath!”
The correction was gentle, but absolute. The slave immediately stilled deeper into posture. The Mistress nodded once.
Her boots remained unwavering, the physical anchor of Her presence, the focal symbol of order that governed everything within the chamber.
Episode II — The protocol of motion
Movement under the Leather Protocol was permitted only by command.
The Mistress stood at last, the sound of Her boots upon stone sending electric stillness through the room. She began to walk slowly before the kneeling line, not to inspect, but to test psychological endurance.
No slave dared lift their eyes.
Her pause lingered before the second kneeling figure.
“Look,” She commanded.
Eyes rose carefully, stopping precisely at the height of Her boots. No higher.
The Mistress studied the expression she found there: nervous focus, devotion threaded with restraint.
“Eyes remain on leather,” She instructed. “Nothing else.”
She took one slow step back.
The slave maintained fixation, breath unsteady but obedient. A trial of discipline: temptation to look higher versus fear of crossing unseen lines. The Mistress allowed the tension to throb for several seconds before stepping forward again.
“That is discipline,” She said quietly.
Another paced circuit around the chamber followed, Her boots always visible, always symbolic of the structure that governed them. No touches were required. The power operated entirely through distance and expectation.
When She returned to Her chair, the air itself seemed to loosen.
“Kneel deeper!”
The slaves obeyed, lowering their centers of gravity as surrender deepened into emotional vulnerability.
She observed in silence.
Episode III — Verification
Each slave was summoned individually.
Before the Mistress’s boots, they knelt one by one for verbal confirmation of self-discipline, the verbal counterpart to physical stillness.
“Speak your condition,” She commanded to the first.
“Focused, Mistress.”
“And your purpose?”
“To obey structure, Mistress.”
“Accepted.”
The Mistress dismissed them with a slight flick of the crop.
The second slave faltered when asked the same question, voice trembling faintly in vulnerability.
The Mistress did not reprimand.
“Stillness does not mean absence of emotion,” She stated, voice measured. “It means mastery over it.”
Her leather boots shifted subtly, proximity increasing just enough to push pressure into the room.
“Breathe,” She instructed.
The slave obeyed.
“Breathe again, slave!”
Once more, the breath steadied.
“Your discipline reasserts itself. You remain.”
Not punishment, but education. The slaves did not serve through fear, but through the earned tension of emotional containment.
This was the Leather Protocol: control not through force, but through enforced awareness.
Episode IV — The trial of proximity
For the closing ritual, the Mistress stood before them without command for several heartbeats.
Uncertainty crawled through the submissive line.
She placed the riding crop lightly across the tops of Her boots.
“Kneeling advances are permitted,” She said quietly.
The slaves moved forward on their knees the minimum distance allowed, stopping precisely at the invisible boundary separating approach from trespass.
They stopped entirely on their own.
No command followed.
The Mistress assessed the restraint heavy in the air.
“Obedience does not rush intimacy,” She reminded them. “It respects distance.”
Her eyes softened only slightly, a rare reward of acknowledgment.
“You have honored the boundary.”
Each slave bowed deeply, not from command, but understanding.
Episode V — The seal
As the chamber prepared for closure, the Mistress returned to Her velvet chair.
The slaves knelt in symmetrical formation before Her, silent, grounded, disciplined.
She rested the riding crop across the armrest and regarded them in quiet confirmation.
“You maintained protocol,” She said. “Stillness. Distance. Control.”
A pause followed.
“Tonight’s discipline is complete.”
Relief settled warmly into obedience, not release, but fulfillment. The work remained psychological, emotional, deeply human beneath its formality.
The Mistress rose.
Her boots echoed as She walked past the kneeling line once more. None dared look, not because they were forbidden, but because discipline had become internalized.
When the door closed behind Her, silence returned to the chamber, lingering with structure rather than emptiness.
The slaves remained kneeling, holding the stillness She taught.
The Leather Protocol continued, living not in acts, but in the discipline of restraint.
Shiny hugs and love,
Diana
