Under His Hand

Who Loves Me?

Well. I thought Master did. Now I’m having second thoughts lol.

He ordered me this: Jaxxx Hammer Multi Function Rechargeable Sex Machine.

And at first I thought-and said- “Ooooh! You’re so NICE! You’re gone a lot and you really care about my sexual well-being. You are just. so. great!”

I was full of the grateful slave thankies.

Then I remembered-

He comes home next week.

He’s bringing his cock with him as he’s rather attached to it, so why oh why do we need a second cock ’round here anyway?



Oh, fuck me.



On Swallowing

I said once to someone that one of the hardest things about being a slave wasn’t swallowing a cock, it was swallowing my opinion.

Master and I are at opposite ends of the spectrum on a whole host of political and social issues. He’s a right-winger, I’m a left-winger (on most issues anyway).

He is not too keen on being challenged or argued with, either, at least not too often. He knows what my opinion is, he knows I think he’s dead wrong. He also doesn’t give a fuck. :)

We aren’t with each because of politics. We’re together because he wants to own a slave. Part of owning a slave, for him, is having the right to tell me to shut the fuck up, that my opinions are invalid.

It’s pretty rare these days that he’ll listen to my point of view but I have to hear his all the time. I don’t think he has any real objective to sway me to his side, he just wants to talk about his beliefs and I’m usually the nearest sounding board so I have to listen.

I don’t have to voice agreement, he doesn’t want me to lie. He doesn’t ask me if I agree anyway, he doesn’t ask me what I think, he doesn’t ask me anything. He’s not interested in what I might have to say. I am just supposed to be a warm ear, I guess.

While I don’t have to agree, I also can’t disagree. Even though I very often want to. Vehemently. I have disagreed, in the past. Engaged in argument. But then we have long, painful talks about whose opinion matters around here anyway. “All you need to know is how to make meatloaf, cunt.”

So he talks. And I… I swallow. Swallow my words and my opinions and my beliefs. Swallow… myself.

Opinions are for people. What goes on in the world isn’t my concern. I don’t have a voice and I don’t get a vote.

It’s becoming easier to believe that. To feel like I’m nothing. Comforting in a way, to have my world reduced. To know what I’m not for, so don’t worry about it, don’t think about, don’t waste energy there. And to know what I am for. I’m good for swallowing: cock, semen, piss… and my thoughts and opinions.

Insular. Isolated. The things I get to focus on get all of me. That can be a good thing.

But sometimes.


Sometimes he says something so SO dumb…. I roll my eyes so hard I’m in danger of losing them in the back of my head.

But I only do that when he isn’t looking.

Don’t tell. It’ll be our secret. ;)


Staying Connected

I have said before that I don’t feel like I’m in an LDR, and that’s true. I don’t. Probably because I’m not in an LDR. I have an Owner-slash-Husband who travels a lot for work. Just because one is a long distance away doesn’t automatically translate into it being an LDR.

The fact that we’ve been married for almost a decade, been M/s for a year longer than that, and that he’s always traveled for work to varying degrees of gone-ness has made this newest travel schedule fairly easy for me to handle.

Plus, it’s just life, you know? This is his career, it’s something he’s been doing for 25 years or so. This is how we pay bills, how we raised the kids, bought a house, cars, yada yada.

There’s truth behind “Absence makes the heart grow fonder”. We’ve really come to make the most of the time he’s home, knowing the suckfulness it can be when he’s gone.

But, we’re doing a pretty good job of making the suckfulness less suckful. Though I don’t feel like I’m in an LDR, distance is distance and we face the same struggles that LDR folks face. I thought I would share some of what we are doing because I get a lot of questions asking me how I do it, how I handle it, etc.

Handling is really just as simple as being an adult and being realistic about that life stuff I mentioned previously. I like having a roof over my head, I enjoy eating, and I truly appreciate having the means to help out our kids when they need it, as well as doing some extra nice things for them and the grandkids.

Because I don’t have a job, and haven’t had one for many years now ever since Master decided he wanted a full time slave, money is a little tighter. I’ll go into the dependency and how that’s deepened slavery another time, for now I’ll just say that when I have no income of my own yet I enjoy buying gifts for people, and being allowed to splurge sometimes on non-essentials, it’s difficult to complain about the manner in which those means are acquired and gifted to me.

He’s done a fine job—no, he’s done a better than fine job— of providing for us. It would feel incredibly disrespectful and ungrateful to bitch about his chosen career when our kids, grandkids and I have benefited so well from his hard work and generosity.

Of course I wish he was here every day. I deeply, deeply miss the small acts of service I perform when he’s gone. I miss serving coffee. I miss giving him massages. I miss sucking his dick, making his dinner, putting the toothpaste on his toothbrush, washing him in the shower. I miss hearing the ring of the SEX bell (a silly bell I bought him for Christmas that says “ring for sex”, and he keeps it on his desk and he likes it so much he rings it every time he wants sex and I’m already getting ‘trained’ to the sound).

I miss the hundred things he asks of me and expects from me on a daily basis. “Get me this”, “hand me that”, “find me…”, “Go do..”, “make me a…”, “did you do…”

I even miss piss play. PISS. I miss piss.


Wait for it..

I miss asking if I can go to the bathroom.

Mhm. No lie.

Oh, I have it bad, y’all. So bad.

Having all of those things taken away from me for awhile, and then getting to do them when he is home… it’s like subfrenzy + birthday party + newly adopted puppy + christmas morning all wrapped up in one. I am delighted to follow rules (ALL THE RULES!). I am ecstatic to beg for the bathroom.

I am a horny, hovering, eager cocksucker. “You want your dick sucked? Hm? Do ya? Can I? No? How about now? Now? Oh, later? Ok.”

~one thousand and one, one thousand and two…~

“How about now? Want your dick sucked? Want to fuck me in the ass? Do ya? Huh? Not yet? Ok.”

~one thousand and one…~


So, you know, absence has its bennies. ;-)

But before the joys of homecoming is the long stretch of distance. *boo hiss*

He’s away for 30 days at a time. That’s a long time. A lot can go on in a month’s time. The way I’ve come to figure it, though, it can be a lot of good things, or it can be a lot of bad things. Either way, the time will pass just the same.

Might as well make the most of it, right?

Someone, somewhere, said it takes 30 days to make or break a habit. That’s probably not true, but from experience I can tell you this: In 30 days, I can “unlearn” a whole lot of habits. Take, for instance, his rule that I bring him a glass of ice water at bedtime every night. I used to consistently ‘unlearn’ this habit every time he had to travel somewhere. Then he’d come home, we’d go to bed, and I’d have no glass of ice water. He’d be irritated because “11 years, cunt. Eleven-fucking-years and you still forget the water.”

It just made no sense to me to continue “serving him” ice water when he wasn’t even here to drink it. But over and over I’d have to relearn that habit when he was home because I’d unlearned it while he was gone. Wash rinse repeat.

These days, I take water to bed with me every. single. night. If, for some odd ball reason I forget, I make myself get up- I don’t care if I’ve been in bed for 20 minutes and I’m almost asleep- I do exactly what he would make me do if he were home (minus the ouching and the lecturing and the icky-fail stuff) and I go allll the way downstairs for ice water.

I don’t even drink water once I’m in bed. I pee enough through the night as it is, tyvm.

But keeping myself mindful is just as valid an act of service as the actual serving of the water is. I do the same thing with any other ‘habit’ he’s previously instilled in me that I don’t want to lose in the 30 days I wouldn’t be using it.

Another positive way to use these 30 days alone is to do the things he doesn’t want to do, or doesn’t want to share my time and energy with. Small decorating projects that he gives me permission to do, rearranging rooms, outdoor landscaping projects. Those things not only help to fill my time, they also give me something new to show him when he comes home.

Teaching myself a new act of service (or improving upon one I don’t feel very confident about) is a very useful way to spend time. Assuming, of course, that I’ve checked with him and he’s even interested in that act. It’s not very useful to learn how to cook Thai food if he hates Thai food. ;) But the internet puts almost everything right there at my fingertips. From massage techniques to making a perfect pot of coffee to deep throat advice to, well, to how to cook Thai food.

Another way I ‘serve’ him while he’s gone is by remaining capable and useful– and keeping my shit together. It’s easy to melt down and sink into woe-is-me thinking when I’m here alone. I know it’s easy because I have to work not to do it. Pity parties for one are easy to throw, my friends. But, they aren’t useful. They won’t change the time frame and make him come home any sooner, all it does is make him feel like he’s got to give me pep talks and cheer me up.

He’s working. He’s making the money we need to support ourselves. He’s focused on his job, his safety, his co-workers, dealing with his own difficulties that come along with travel. He doesn’t have time to hold me up, nor should he have to.

Does he want to know that I miss him? Sure! He loves knowing that I’m pining away for him here at home. Does he want to have to DEAL with that, though? Not even a little bit.

He also doesn’t have to worry about the bills getting paid on time, or the car breaking down, or the water leak behind the washer, or or or… He needs to KNOW about them, of course, and then he needs to hear how I’ve got it taken care of.

In short, I do my best to make sure that I am a blessing and not a burden, so that all he has to worry about at work is work. Obviously, things happen and emergencies come up and I have to talk with him and get direction and be told what to do if I don’t already know, but once I’ve got the directions, I have to follow them.

In the past, I haven’t always been so mindful of this, of being capable. Nor has he always fostered it. But then he wasn’t usually gone for such long stretches or at such far distances to where it seemed so necessary. Now it is and I enjoy being a valuable asset.

I also don’t vie for his attention in a negative manner (rule breaking, etc.) 1) It’s not the kind of attention I want anyway. 2) It’s passive aggressive behavior and there’s nothing attractive about being passive aggressive. 3) It, again, forces him into interacting with me when he has other things to do.

I’ve found that by staying positive and pleasant, by being a joy to talk with, and by him feeling 99% confident that he’s not going to have to get angry with me, he’s far MORE likely to shower me with attention and give me almost every spare second he has.

Which isn’t the same as saying we never have negative interactions because we do. I fuck up sometimes because I’m human and he’s strict as fuuuuuuck. I just don’t go out of my way to create them, and I certainly actively try to make that NOT happen.

So those are some of the things I do on my end to make the distance easier to deal with.

On his part, he’s present. He’s actively present. Me, the rules, his expectations- we’re not an afterthought and he doesn’t make me feel like I am. I know that I am added work no matter how much I try not to be because owning someone takes work. But the only time he makes me feel like a chore is when I neglect the stuff I mentioned above and become one.

He’s present. He checks on me. He wants to see what I’m doing, he gives feedback, praise or criticism, whichever is earned, but it’s feedback and feedback means he’s present.

He makes me as much of a priority as he can when he’s 14 hours ahead of me and on a completely different time schedule while also working 12 hours a day in a foreign country. I mean, honestly, I have to keep my expectations in line with the reality, and in not expecting more than is reasonable, I feel like I get more than is reasonable.

He facilitated the means to make communication easy, fast and convenient. He got us smart phones. lol. I know y’all have had them for years but this is my first one and I just got it a few months ago so it’s all new to me. But because we have these phones and mine is never more than inch away from me, he can talk to me at any time he has a free second. And he does. It might be a single text or a tagged facebook video (romance, heh) but it makes me feel like he’s as mindful of me as I am of him.

We communicate often. We skype twice, sometimes three times a day. Once, like I said in the previous post, in the morning (my morning, his bedtime), again at my 4pm, which is when he’s getting up in the morning, and more often than not, he’ll give me a quick call on his lunch break, which is my 10pm. So 7am, 4pm, 10pm: When I get up, middle of the day, and right before I go to bed. It’s just about as perfect as I could hope for, next to him just being home.

Seeing him and hearing his voice, his facial expressions, tone, etc., has cut down a lot on our mixed signals and miscommunication. And there’s not much that springs up on me that I can’t ask him about when I have 3 evenly spaced intervals to talk to him.

And because he freely gives me so much, when a day or two happens that he can’t, I don’t pout or complain or feel neglected. I’ve already gotten SO MUCH, I am overstocked on attention and I can handle some time without him.

I am also required to send him a nightly email before I go to bed. In this email, I’m to tell him what chores I did, how many steps I got (it’s the cuntrol board in email form lol), what my daily weight was, how meditation made me feel, what exercise I did, a masturbation report if I have one**, or anything else he needs to know. The purpose of this is two-fold: 1) it keeps our face time conversations from being taken over by the mundane details that he still wants to know but doesn’t want to hear during convos, and 2) if I mention anything in the email that he wants to talk to me about, or have any questions for him, he’ll bring it up during skype time so we can discuss it. He will sometimes reply to the emails, sometimes not. He might tell me I am doing good and to keep it up, he might tell me I need to step it up. I don’t (yet) have any huge desire for feedback from the emails because they are pretty mundane and if I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing, what’s there to give feedback about? I don’t always want a pat on the head for doing what’s expected.

Another thing he does is to stay imaginative. Doing kink to myself kind of sucks but when he makes it fun and not routine, and then shows such kid-in-a-candy-store glee over the pictures and videos, it’s a little less suck. Sometimes we feed off each other. He’ll say “I want you to do x today” and I’ll come back with “What if I do x but I use y and w while I do it?” and he replies with “Fuck yes you filthy cunt, and then add z and three m’s.” and then.. well then I stop because he can always ramp things up a million times higher than I can deliver lol.

And then there are things like the morning meditation, which could easily feel silly or juvenile if he wasn’t so invested in the process. Or like when he found that picture of the positions, sent me a link out of the blue and said “You will have these memorized before I come home.” Or when random items of pervertedness show up in the mail. Or when he sets a task for me that he knows I can’t do (like stick a giant dildo up my ass) but says “just try for me. Try.” and I will. Until I can’t try anymore. and then I’ll cry about it.

The rules and expectations don’t change just because he’s away. I need that. I need that continuity, that security. I need to know that he’s just as strict from there as he is here because I draw strength from that when I’m feeling low. Not just in kinky fun times, but in everything. We don’t only talk about fucking lol. So maintaining the status quo goes a long way in keeping everything even keeled.

My long distance relationship hasn’t felt like an LDR for a single day. We both work to make sure it doesn’t. Funny how it doesn’t feel like work when there’s so much pleasure involved, though. :)

(**I am restricted to being allowed to masturbate only twice a week, and if I do I must have something in my ass and clamps on my nipples. So the masturbation report has to include what I stuck up my butt, which clamps I used (and they can’t be the same ones I used the last time because that’s boring apparently and because I would probably always pick the lightest clamps and the smallest butt toy given my druthers), and what I was thinking about when I came. Reading the masturbation report is pure wank fodder for him because he’s a filthy perv. ;-) )


Morning Routine

My day starts at 7am, which is our standing Skype date time. That’s about his 9pm, so he’s going to sleep as I’m getting up. We Skype on our phones, I’m not even out of bed when he calls, I’m just waking up and I’m all bed-heady and sleepy-eyed, which is one of his favorites looks (weirdo) and I love love love that my day starts with being able to see him and hear him. We talk about his day, it gives me a chance to ask about doing anything out of the norm that I might be wanting to do that day, and it’s just really nice. We don’t talk long, maybe 15 or 20 minutes.

When he says goodbye, I can get up and pee, and then I have to practice the positions. I have to hold each one for 60 seconds. (He never did let me out of that tippy-toe bullshit, either. Dammit.) I do the same routine before bed, with the positions. Every now and then he’ll have me on Skype and watch me go through them. The last time he watched, he noticed I was doing one of them wrong. My hands were supposed to be palm up, not palm down. Ooops.

When I’ve finished the positions, I start morning meditation.

This is my ‘meditation station’ as I’ve come to call it.

Meditation Station

The picture is a bit of an optical illusion. When I’m on my knees on that pad, that piece of paper is right at eye level.

The paper is my slave mantra. It says:

He is my Master. I am his slave. He is my owner. I am his property.

I exist for his use. I exist for his pleasure. I exist to make him proud of me. I exist to honor him.

I will be pleasing. I will be dutiful. I will be humble. I will be respectful. I will be truthful. I will be appreciative. I will be attentive.

I will listen. I will submit. I will serve. I will obey.

I am his whore. I am his slut. I am his toy. I am his hole. I am his object.

I am a cunt. I am owned. I am His.

I belong to him. He can use me as he wishes, how, when and where he wants. He will take what he wants. He will change me, mold me, and shape me. I will be compliant.

I will serve him with honor and grace, pleasantly and promptly. I will be mindful of him in all things. I will speak respectfully. I am a reflection of him and will show that in my actions and my words. I will strive to please him. I will be grateful for corrections so that I may remain worthy of his ownership.

I am nobody without my Master. I am nothing without my Owner. He is my God, my sun and my moon. Everything I am, everything I have is his gift to me. I am bound to him, mind, body and spirit.

Under the paper is a string of eleven clothespins. I start by putting one clothespin on a nipple. Then I recite, outloud, the mantra. At the end, I put a clothespin on the other nipple. Then I recite it again. The other clothespins get lined up down my labia, four on each side, with reciting the mantra between each pin.

After the final read-10 times-, the last clothespin, the gold one that says Silence on it (get it? silence is golden. ha.) goes on my tongue and I bow my head and contemplate how I will conduct myself that day.


It takes roughly 12 minutes to read through it all 10 times and put on the clips, and since I’m supposed to meditate for 15 minutes, I sit in silence for about another 3. I can then take the pins off in the same order I put them on, saying “Thank you Master” after each one.

The paper has been sprayed with his cologne so I am getting olfactory stimulation that is directly related to him. The clothespins are just enough to be uncomfortable but not excruciating so I get some physical pain stimulation that I’m associating with him but I’m still able to keep focused and mindful of the mantra. The auditory stimuli of my own voice and what I’m saying, making sure I pronunciate, that I’m not just rushing through it, reciting by rote but that I remain cognizant of the words; the ritualistic feel of stopping and reaching for and applying each clamp, the immediate small burst of pain that settles into a dull throb somewhere in the middle of the mantra…

And if you think repeating that mantra to myself 10 times in a row isn’t having some woo-woo affects on my thought process, then obviously you are a woo-woo skeptic and I don’t know what to say. ;-)

When I’m finished with that, I can clean up my station, and leave the room and make coffee and tend to the pets and I’m a little tingly and sore on the clamped bits for awhile and I feel calm and relaxed and happy in my place and my role and wildly in love with my Owner.




Chore List

Here’s a copy of my chore list, as requested. There’s a few minor changes from the old one, but not too much.

Make bed
Wipe sinks and toilets
Sweep- whole house
General pick up
Scoop cat box
Keep kitchen table and counters clean, dishes done

Every 2 to 3 days: Mow the lawn, front and back, pick up any trash and dog waste, use edge trimmer as needed.


Monday: Living room- Dust, clean windows, vacuum rugs and de-fur the furniture, mop all of main floor.

Tuesday: Master bedroom and bathroom- change sheets, dust, clean windows, straighten closet and drawers if necessary, mop floor. Scrub bathroom.

Wednesday: Scrub upstairs bathroom, mop hallway and stairs, dust and straighten spare bedroom and exercise room.

Thursday: Kitchen: Wipe cabinets and appliances, clean out fridge, and oven if needed, do the windows, wipe table and chair legs, mop all of main floor.

Friday: Scrub downstairs bathroom, do laundry and put away, straighten and dust laundry and pantry area.

Saturday: Clean and wash vehicles as needed, vacuum, wipe seats, clean windows and mirrors, remove trash.

It really doesn’t take me long to complete it. Especially with just him and I here (or even just me, as the month may be), the bulk of my cleaning is pet hair.

So. He says I have no excuse for not getting my exercise requirements completed either. I’m still required to get 10,000 steps on the fitbit. Half the time I forget to put it on but he’s about fed up with that excuse. If I don’t get 10,000 the difference is added to the next day’s requirement. If I only get 8000 today, then tomorrow I have to get 12000. So I can have a slow, lazy day if I want to be a stubborn mule but the next day I’m going to pay for it. I’ve figured out it’s really not worth it.

I have to do an exercise dvd on the days I don’t mow. Mowing qualifies as exercise because Texas is as hot as a jalapeno’s balls, plus reel mower.

I am losing weight though, so all of his restrictions on my food and exercise requirements are paying off. It’s slow, but it’s working. I get frustrated sometimes at how slow it’s going, and I’m pretty convinced that I have whatever physiological syndrome makes it harder for some people to lose weight than others- which might just be age, but whatevs. I has it.

I was instructed to lose 10 pounds while he’s gone, with a long list of awful consequences if I don’t. I’ve lost 6 so far and I have 2 weeks to drop the last 4. I’m feeling pretty confident about it. He’s generally pretty realistic about weight loss goals, and he understands plateaus and muscle replacing fat and knows to take measurements into consideration, too. So I don’t get too awfully stressed when he sets me these small goals to strive for. I know he’ll be reasonable as long as I’m showing consistent loss on either the scale or the measuring tape, and as long as he can see how and what I’m eating and whether or not I’m exercising. He looks at the big picture, which is awesome compared to some, but every now and then a tough goal to reach is motivating.

Besides, consequences are hot. (punishment fetish, anyone?)

Anyway. Morning meditation. I know, I said I would. I’m still going to try and do that. But then Master went and said yesterday that he’s thinking of altering it some so I’m not posting until he gets back to me about it. I don’t want to post it and then change it the next day. :)



Master spent a few days going over rules and expectations, evaluating what is working, what isn’t, what needed tweaked.

When it comes to what *isn’t* working, the main factor of course is whether or not it’s working for him regardless of whether or not it’s working for me lol. If it is 100% working for him, my opinion, while heard, is generally disregarded. If he’s got any wiggle room on it himself, though, he’ll take me and my thoughts into consideration.

For being relatively low protocol, he’s surprisingly set on things that create and maintain headspace. He is adamant that he-and everything about him/this/his wants/being his slave-remain my main focus. Part of that means that he has his sticky little fingers involved in gives input and direction on everything I do, even the most basic, menial tasks.

We started with the cuntrol board, which I felt was outdated and I’ve admittedly been pretty lackadaisical toward lately. It was a schedule made up, or so I believed, when his schedule was different, before he was traveling like this, so that my schedule matched his. I mean, if he’s not even here, who cares when I clean the living room, right?

Wrong. He cares, apparently.

The cleaning schedule wasn’t made because I lack motivation for having a clean home. I’m plenty tidy enough on my own, I was before I met him, too. It was the way I was going about it that he doesn’t like.

My cleaning style matches my mother’s. It’s how I was raised, how she did it; which is to say that she (and I) did the basic stuff daily (dishes, etc.) but one day a week- every Saturday, in fact, for my entire growing up years- was Housecleaning Day. Everyone helped, the house was scrubbed from top to bottom every Saturday and we did nothing else that day until it was done.

That has pretty much been my method all of my life. Maybe not on Saturdays necessarily, but one or two random days of the week I’d get my cleaning button tripped and focus all of my time and energy on doing a complete house cleaning.

So it wasn’t that his house wasn’t being kept clean enough. But one of the reasons that I know Master disliked my method is because of how I acted while I was cleaning. On those days, I’d get very focused and almost manic about it, to the exclusion of anything else going on. I was only barely able to hold my tongue when he’d interrupt me for service, sex…food, lol. I would have maybe just spent 8 hours cleaning like a madwoman, and maybe just finished cleaning the kitchen, top to bottom, and he’d tell me to make him bacon and eggs.

Seriously. Sometimes the most basic shit will trip me up. I’d do it, obvs, make the bacon and eggs, but be grumbly about it the whole time.

Or he’d want a blow job while I was flitting around with my Pledge and dustrag DUSTING ALL THE THINGS, feeling the least sexy EVAR and I’d huff and make faces and be all “Really? I mean, really? Right this second I have to suck your dick? Can’t it suck itself? Jesus.”

I know. I’m probably right on the cusp of winning Slave of the Year. :D

And then… at the end of that day, after I’d worn myself out by being Cinderella, I’d be exhausted and sweaty and dirty and I’d just want to shower and go to bed.

He’s tried different methods of handling it, I know. He has, at times, been reluctant to ‘interrupt’ me because I am just cleaning, not doing anything *wrong*, per se. Doing slavey stuff at the core — but not with a slave demeanor. And not for him.

My way. My schedule. Sometimes I would get in trouble for the attitude I’d cop, but too, at least before we moved, he was so busy and so stressed at this old job that he’d given up trying to solve the problem and just treated the symptoms.

Then we moved and he made this cleaning schedule. It is really a quite easy and manageable housecleaning schedule. We have a fairly small home. Each day I have the normal basic chores- make the bed, sweep the floors, keep the kitchen clean, etc. The rest of the schedule is simply dividing up what I’d do on Cleaning Day into a Mon-Fri, top of the house to the bottom, deep clean. Dividing it up this way, essentially one room a day, means I don’t get too focused or too tired, and… I don’t cop a ‘tude.

I have plenty of energy left to make sammiches and suck cock. :)

There was an adjustment period with it, at first. I struggled a bit with having days where I wasn’t in the mood to clean the bathroom, for instance. I had some moments of “wtf do you CARE when I do it or how, as long as I do it. Gawd.” I still had a few ‘tudes copped.

He nipped that in the bud fairly quickly. It is much much easier to clean when you are not in pain. Ask me how I know. :D

All in all, it was working really quite well. The white board (the cuntrol board) was where he removed the ‘work’ of it for him.

For me, anytime he is going to make a rule, if there isn’t follow through- meaning if he doesn’t care enough to know if it’s being followed- don’t make it. Sometimes that means it’s a little more work for him, too.

But, there is indeed a dichotomy there. Shouldn’t it be that he just says this is how it shall be and I just follow obediently along? Maybe. Probably.

But nah, bro. That ain’t me. :D

Maybe it’s a flaw in my slavehood but if I pick up on him not really giving a fuck about a rule he’s made, I tend to not give a fuck, either.

Say what you mean, mean what you say.

So if he says “On Monday, you are going to clean the bathroom.” and Monday comes and I forget or get busy doing something else and the bathroom doesn’t get cleaned and he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care… well, I probably won’t clean the bathroom next Monday either. I might clean it Sunday. Or Tuesday. Because I like a clean bathroom, too, yo. But if he is only interested in the clean bathroom as well, and not interested enough to follow through on the when, neither am I.

Maybe that all comes across as excuses, or trying to justify not being obedient, and probably to slaves who don’t tick the way I do, it is. But how I operate, and how things become successful to me, is simply how it is. I’d not be a good match for a dominant who also didn’t want to be bothered with follow-through.

Luckily Master isn’t too bothered by follow-through. However, he’s also not going to follow me around the house or check my work like a parent inspecting a child’s bedroom before s/he can go out and play. Thus, the board idea was born.

It is my responsibility to check things off in green as I’ve completed them. So he’s got to do nothing more than glance at the board to see how things are going. If it’s not all green by the end of the day, we will have a talk. I have one chance at providing a reasonable explanation of why something didn’t get done. After that, our ‘talk’ contains not so much words if you know what I mean. O.O

So that had been going pretty well. But then there was the Great Lesson of 2014. I was pretty unwilling to stick to the schedule then. If I did, it was because, dammit, it really does make my life easier. And then he started this traveling stuff and we both went through a bit of ‘well, if he’s/I’m not there, then it doesn’t matter what schedule I/she keeps for housecleaning.’

Valid as that thought is, what happened is… headspace. I had reverted back to my old ways of cleaning and when he came home, I had to go through that adjustment all over again. We both did, honestly. He either had to get hard assed for awhile and enforce it all over again, or let me keep on with my cleaning sprees and deal with my ‘tude when he wanted a sandwich.

I am a flawed and imperfect being. Le sigh.

Anyway, this long winded post is ending with the fact that he’s gone over the schedule, tweaked a few chores, added a few (the yard is to be mowed minimum every 3 days, rain allowing, and he added keeping the cars vacuumed and windows cleaned because I frequently take the dog to the dog park so the seat gets dirty and the windows get nose prints, which he hates) and went over with me-again- the reasons behind the chore list, yada yada.

There are still no chores listed for weekends, other than the daily chores, so that opens my time up to tackle any other projects he throws my way. I have very little leeway on altering the schedule. At most, if I’m supposed to be doing outside work like the lawn and it’s a rainy day, I can pick up the chores from the next day to clear extra time for mowing then. If I have a migraine, which I do get occasionally, I don’t need prior permission to skip cleaning and just go to bed, but it is expected that I’ll make up what I skipped when it’s gone.

It is interesting, from a sort of clinical perspective, the effect it has on my headspace to be dictated to like this. You wouldn’t think that something as benign as housework, something that has to be done anyway, could feel so ‘slavey’. That’s something I hear often, on fet in particular, that most slaves don’t get anything slavey out of doing what has to be done anyway.

But doing it this way, I really do. It’s not the chores themselves- I mean cleaning a toilet is cleaning a toilet- but when it starts with getting up at 7am because he says I have to, and then doing what he says I have to do all day long, and ends with going to bed when he says I have to, feeling controlled all day… Yeah. Feels pretty slavey.

Not to mention that every. single. time I clean a toilet specifically, I can flashback to at some point having had my head or face or mouth in it, and every single time I think to myself “Laws, yes, I need to clean this toilet. Super clean. Suuuuuuuuuuuuuper clean.”

Same thought when I’m cleaning around or under the desk. Dust bunnies sucked up through the nose are unpleasant.

And(!) pretty much the same thought when I’m cleaning a corner of any room. Or the floor anywhere. Seems like I spend a fair amount of time with my face in places where dust tends to gather.

Also seems like he has a knack for finding the places where dust tends to gather. Hmmph.

It is easier to clean everything with a washrag than with my tongue. Ask me how I know THAT.

Hm. This post was supposed to include other things he’d switched up and talked about but I rambled on for an hour about house work instead. Ha! *Most Exciting Blog Post EVAR!*

Tomorrow I’ll write about morning meditation. That’s been interesting. :)


Sharp as a Tack


Turns out clover clamps do NOT make the tack bra more comfortable. Soooo… I begrudgingly agree that the tack bra is not THAT bad and will henceforth be happy to wear the tack bra all by itself. Thank you Master for showing me the error of my ways. You are a kind and benevolent dick.

I mean, dictator!

Silly auto-correct. :)


The Princess and the Frog

It’s hot.

The frog told me to go back into the a/c.


Master made me do the yardwork anyway. For 3 hours.

He says there’ve been one too many references to being a princess.

Probably real princesses don’t have sweat dripping from their elbows. Hmmph.


Pumped, Plugged, Pegged, and Positioned.

Master’s been changing some things, adding a few rules, adjusting other things that aren’t working with him being gone. He’s still in the Decision Making Phase so I’ll wait until I have the final orders handed down before I share them.

One thing he was set on though was that I’d start practicing and learning these positions on this poster he found. I have it printed out and hung up in the bedroom. I’m to do them twice a day.

(I don’t know who to credit this photo to. If you do, please let me know. Thanks!)

Anything that involves sitting on my feet is difficult as I can hold that for approx 60 seconds before my feet start to go numb. I know some time ago someone, a fellow slave, had written up a tutorial on training your body to be able to sit like that but I can’t remember where I read it. I know it involved using rolled up towels or yoga blocks to slowly stretch things out enough that you weren’t cutting off blood flow in that position. Maybe I’ll just add that to the roster of things to teach my body to do.

Losing weight will help with that, too, I’m sure. I’m not doing terrible but I’m not kicking ass, either. I gained a few pounds on vacation and I’ve since lost that but I’m tired of doing the yo-yo thing. I’m starting to think Master is enjoying my frustration since he plays such an instrumental part in me re-gaining what I’d already lost. Fucker.

Speaking of being a fucker, he had me do this the other day:

That was before I was allowed to shave, obvs.

If you pump it up hard enough and leave it there long enough, the skin will split. And it did.

While it’s not a big split, it still hurt lol. And it’s been such a pleasant healing process right there, too.

That’s a total lie. It’s not pleasant at all. It itches, actually. Itchy clits are no fun, I swear.

Then I had to vibrate to orgasm after, which was also oddly unpleasantly-pleasant. But I came so there you have it. :)

Njoy status is in. Day 4. I am not sure when it’s coming out. Or if. Which is messing with my head a little bit – in a good way.

And by that I mean good for him.

I don’t think I’m putting the njoy day counter back up because since we got home from vacation, it’s been in, it’s been out, sometimes for just a few hours, sometimes a day or two. I think he got bored with 24/7, in part because I’d gotten pretty numb to it. I guess that’s not very fun for him. (Suited me just fine, actually. :D ) But this business of not knowing when it’s going in or when it’s coming out is… unsettling. I am not a fan of random. I am, however, a fan of him doing this. Go figure.

I’m supposed to be organizing all the toys as one of my tasks while he’s gone. I’m still working on that. We have so many things that we forget what we have and they never get used. He wants them where he can see almost everything at a glance. I bought a peg board to hang in the walk-in closet so it’s just a matter of getting that hung up.

And then hoping nobody but us ever has to go into the closet. :D


Cover your eyes!

I warned you. Now you need eye bleach. ;-)


Side by side comparison, groomed vs not groomed.

In other news, I have blisters on my palms from mowing the yard with my spiffy new, slave-powered, hard-as-fuck, Texas-is-hot, you’re-so-mean-to-me lawn mower.


That was all. I just wanted to whine. :)

Oh! And in case you didn’t know- It’s Masturbation Monday. Enjoy it. I sure did! ;)