Just had the most perfect, silly, and somehow deeply sexy moment? We were at the grocery store, in the self-checkout line. Chris was scanning a cucumber, and I just looked at her, looked at the cucumber, and we both completely lost it trying not to laugh. It wasn't even about the shape! It was the ‘ding’ of the scanner. That sound of an item being logged, inventoried, processed.

We spent the entire drive home talking in that rapid-fire, overlapping way we do, fantasizing about being those groceries. Being picked up off the shelf by a Master, our barcodes scanned, our prices (our worth) set entirely by them. To be rung up, bagged, and taken home to be ‘used.’ The sheer domesticity of it is what gets us. The fantasy of being someone’s property in the most mundane way possible.

Imagine being unpacked onto the kitchen counter. One of us designated as ‘tonight’s dinner,’ bent over and fucked raw while the other watches from the bag, waiting their turn. Or being ‘put away’ in strange places—locked in a cold pantry, stuffed under the sink with the cleaning supplies, left in the garage as a ‘snack’ for later. To have our purpose reduced to pure, simple utility: to be consumed. To be a convenience. To hear, ‘Be a good girl and open your mouth, I need to unload the car,’ and know it’s not a request.

It’s the opposite of a grand dungeon fantasy. It’s belonging so completely that you become part of the boring, everyday routine. And fuck, that idea makes us so wet. The ultimate ownership isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes, it’s just being the thing they remember they need on a Tuesday errand run.