sleeping – Contemplating the divine

Getting your unjust deserts

Or desserts, even, if you’re into messy food play (or toilet play, for that matter).

I’ve never disappointed a woman in bed. Sexually, I mean. I spend my life disappointing women in other ways, in other places, obviously.

Why would anyone look closely? Horrible male bottoms… we don’t pay dommes enough for thrashing away at them.

I’d hate to try hypnotherapy, as I have this deep-seated feeling of terror at the thought of losing control. I suppose that might sound odd – in the lifestyle I live with my SO, have I not already lost control, you might ask? Yes, I have, and I spend my life feeling terror – thank you for asking.

The two options are (1) handing them cash and fucking off or (2) handing them cash and not fucking off just yet, in case they need more cash, basically. Of course, they’re not *your* options.

Let’s hope she switches the light off, or you’re in for a sleepless night, I’m afraid. I don’t suppose you could reach the…? No, no I suppose not.

*** **WORDPRESS READER WARNING** ***
Our fact-checkers have red-flagged this claim as ‘Unsupported by evidence. Probable misinformation’. And they reckon the rest of the blog’s a load of old wank, too.

(The real thing: Mistress Eleise de Lacey)

No special Valentine’s Day theme today, you might ask? Well, you see, when you’re in a long-term relationship as I am, you don’t need a special day to show your love. Valentine’s Day is just another day as I see it, or rather, every day is Valentine’s Day.

That’s my take on it.

Unfortunately, my SO took a different view and expected a present. So we discussed it in our usual way and once we reached the part of the discussion where she takes the gag out of my mouth and reduces the tempo of whipping so that I can gasp out coherent words, I explained how for me, every day was Valentine’s Day. So now she expects a present every day. She says she’ll be giving me something every day too, to remember this conversation by. So that’s nice.

They do say love has no boundaries or limits and I’ve certainly discovered that to be the case, today and every day.

Not now, darling

I don’t see what’s odd about it. My SO loves the sound of me being hard at work: sometimes she’ll set me to a particularly backbreaking, pointless activity, just to help her get off to sleep. It’s much better than taking pills.

Her choices, that is. You already made your choice.

Ah, dommes and their ‘first meeting’ directions. It’s a good thing I have a fetish for being criticised for failing at pointlessly complicated tasks… it’s like a bonus 5 minutes on the session.

That’s good… many types of slave food are actually quite high-calorie. Cockroaches, for instance, especially plump ones that are still fresh and wriggling.

Bets view of the dancing, that is. Your view of the actual ball-busting part of the show might be a bit less clear, through the tears and red mist of agony. But the dance is great: it builds up, you see, starting slow but circling in towards you, high-kicking more and more vigorously as they get closer, before the grand finale.

I’m sure his boss knows what she’s doing.

A few bad men

Let’s hope she learns from this little conundrum. An espresso machine prepared and ready to go just within button-pressing reach of a pilloried hand and she can have her aching, tearful, regretful husband and a freshly brewed cup, both at the same time.

Most of the choices I face are no-brainers, which all the women who have ever known me would probably agree is just as well.

Princess Kali, there – lovely and an accomplished author too.

She could even theme your confession with the outfit by putting the lasso of truth around you. That would be a nice, gentle start to what is about to happen.

Let’s hope the greeting ritual she chooses is number 17. I’m particularly good at that one.

Come on… you’ve got this. Two pawns down is nothing – you started with ten of them, right? Something like that. Try moving one of the little horsey ones.

Her opinion matters

It does – like many other men, I discovered early on in married life how much pain can be caused by not listening carefully enough to my partner’s concerns.

Hmm. It’s hardly surprising they don’t send her the best boys they have, if she keeps on breaking them. But I don’t want to be the one to tell her that.

Unnecessary rudeness can leave such a nasty taste in the mouth.

Mistress wants her slave to put his clothes back on – quietly now! – tiptoe off to the dungeon door and silently fuck off. There’s a good boy.

It’s good they’re all labelled because the faces usually get a bit messed up and hard to recognise, particularly those who were married when they arrived.

Try not to judge her too harshly. He is very annoying.