And we thought the carpet had tales to tell....

Lately my Master has been replacing some of his older (sorry, I mean more experienced) furniture, and a few times now he's given me the task of assembling it. That might sound strange to some, but its a fairly regular occurrence for him to give me household tasks to perform, and completely appropriate. Putting things together, particularly when it involves the use of a screwdriver and a slight struggle that I can overcome, is something I find relaxing and satisfying.

But anyway, I digress. Today's task, after I'd "cum enough to be useful", as he put it, was to dismantle his bed and replace it with the new one, being careful to remove and keep aside all the bondage-related attachments of course. He warned me not to forget any, which I found amusing: as if I would forget any! They might be important to him, but they are the whole point to me. His sleeping space could be nothing but a series of bondage attachments and I'd be perfectly happy - the bed is just an extra to hold them up. Oh, and to keep him more comfortable. I hope I don't regret saying that if he makes me sleep somewhere else later....hmm...

Anyway... (shit, I'm going off on tangents from my tangents today...) it didn't immediately occur to me what a significant task dismantling his bed would actually be. As soon as I began, something became very quickly apparent: this bed had a history - well beyond what the average bed would go through in its lifetime. And I'm not referring to my own knowledge and speculations, either - you could see it. Anyone looking at the shape this bed was in would know, completely ignorant of its owner, that it had been through some rough times.

I found myself marvelling at how much this bed had seen, the stories it might tell. Impossible for me to say how old it was - like some people with so many lines on their face that you don't know their age, only that their experience exceeds it. I wondered to myself, how many times had this bed seen sexual use? Over five thousand? Over ten thousand? And if the original manufacturer saw it now, would they be horrified or impressed?

I realised as I worked that this wasn't just a collection of wood and metal - a whole anthology of Master's life and love was contained within it. A great deal of his creativity and exertion had gone into the works that had formed this bed as it sat today - and I only know a tiny fragment of its story. Yet somehow here I was, responsible for its demise. I felt in awe of it all, and as I walked each piece (minus attachments) out of Master's bedroom, I felt sorrow for a past left behind and disposed of, and thought, that bed is a relic that deserves a place in some kind of museum of debauchery.

Funny the things that occupy my mind while I work hard at something.

The pleasure at finishing the assembly of the new bed was doubled - not just the satisfaction of completing the task, but the significance of replacing its predecessor. It was a fresh slate, and I put it there. How will that bed look in ten or fifteen years time? Whatever happens, I was there at the start of its story. Can't wait to see how it unfolds.