An unusual blog post today.
The blogger has to create a post of at least one thousand words, and not
one of them can have the letter that comes between ‘h’ and ‘j’. All other letters are acceptable, but that
one letter cannot be used. Not today.
Why such a rule, you ask? Well, a Lady known to the blogger – a
pro-domme that he sees when lucky enough to do so – has recently become aware
he produces the ‘CTD’ blog. And two days ago, for reasons
too dull to recount, the author was late when due to meet the Lady concerned,
and she was not at all happy about that matter.
The scene began almost a quarter of an hour late, and the fault rests
solely on the present author.
So, as a penance for such bad conduct, she commanded that
the blog post you read today must be at least one thousand words long, and not
one of those words can employ that letter. You
understand, of course, that the rule acts as a penance, because to create text
that way must always be much harder – and slower.
The blogger expresses deep sorrow to any readers of the blog
who hoped to read some more enjoyable prose here today. However, you should be aware that, however
dull today’s post can be for you to read, for the author to construct such an
essay was utterly dreary. He feels
resentment about the task he has been handed, and he undoubtedly feels shame,
as well. That he – a grown man – should
have to spend hours on a sunny Saturday afternoon, on such a humdrum task! Probably, for her, the order to me was just a small and casual thought, produced as part
of the femdom ‘scene’ that was acted out at her chambers. For her, part of the job. She does not, most probably, really feel much
sexual or other pleasure from such casual use of power over me. Yet for me, her
use – and abuse – of power meets a need: for abasement, for control and even
for shame.
And so, here the author must be, some days later. He types carefully, and has to stop
frequently, to create a word that meets
the sense he wants to convey, that does not enclose the letter that she has not
allowed. The word count slowly goes up,
as sentences slowly appear. Frequently,
the author needs to return, to correct matters when – through a lack of
competence on the author’s part – a word was thoughtlessly typed that had the
banned letter.
But the thought occurs: the rule that she has demanded has a
purpose, other than penance. Just as a
recap: the letter the author cannot use comes after ‘h’ and before ‘j’. One vowel as any other: perfectly usual. Yet that letter has an uncommon role. The letter – usually presented upper-case –
acts as a word to mean ‘the person who speaks’, or ‘the person here’ and so
on. But slaves should have no need of
such a part of speech. Commonly, those
followers of the bdsm scene who act as slaves refer to themselves only as ‘the
slave’ or ‘her object’ and terms of such self-abuse. They are de-personed, rendered no longer as
people, by an act of abasement that must be renewed each and every day, whenever
they are called upon to speak. Surely,
then, no penance could be more well crafted, to stress to a slave the lowly
place that he possesses, than a command that that letter – and that letter
alone – must never be employed? How
clever and astute my Lady shows herself to be, through the atonement she has
forced her lowly sub to undergo!
The word count feature tells me that many more words are
needed, to meet my Lady’s command. As
yet, we are not three-quarters of the way to the target length, and of course
there can be no attempt at short measures or any thought that one could cheat!
My Lady knows how to use a word count just as well as anyone else, so the task must be completed, no matter how dull that task becomes, no matter how much the author
would prefer to watch TV, or play a computer game. The way he spends today has
been pronounced already, and he has no sway over the matter.
No doubt the Lady herself has much better ways to spend her
hours than to read dull prose on absurd femdom blogs, and can therefore safely
be assumed no longer to be one of the readers.
The author can therefore say whatever he wants about her*, and about what
she has commanded. Yet through the
anger, through the resentment at a wasted afternoon, and the shame of deference
to such casual commands, the author has only one thought. He adores her.
He adores her beauty, her power, her pose. The way she gazes upon her slave when we are
together at her chambers, me secured to a cross and she casually, elegantly
seated on her throne. She draws on the
tobacco and blows the smoke away, whether towards me or perhaps towards any
other object before her – why should she care?
Her contempt: whether amused contempt, a sweet taunt or a savage
rebuke. The way she looks, casually
dressed, before the scene starts. She
has no need of leather, of PVC, of sharply-heeled boots laced from top to toe,
yet when she wears them before me my heart nearly stops.
She acts as my angel, who takes me to my personal heaven as
well as my hell. She commands me, she
exalts me: through a soft word she causes me to ascend, by a harsh one she
casts me down once more.
Her laugh. Above all,
her laugh.
My task has been completed: more than a thousand words
produced, and not one use of the letter between ‘h’ and ‘j’. So now, the penance done and the rule no
longer extant, that letter can once more be used. Yet now the author understands how rare and
valuable that letter can be – so let the letter be used just once, as part of a word of great power, to conclude
the essay.
Thank you.
Thank you, Mistress.
* (but he knows he cannot use her name here, at her request)
