I’ve blogged the image before, so this is more a comment on the words. I dig it. Sometimes, Sir talks to me like this… but weekend instructions are few and far between for us recently. Things are rough.
However, I believe the proper answer here is, “Yes, Master. Of course, Master.” Or, perhaps. “Whatever you will, Master.”
Instructions for the weekend.
To start with, when you arrive back, you’ll let me kiss you first -no other distractions, no fussing around or grumpy nonsense, just put your stuff straight down and let me give you a big kiss. You shall kneel and kiss my feet , and then worship my cock -you should seek to train yourself in the attitude of awe and adoration, not just physical sucking; and no hands unless I give you permission.For the whole weekend, if you address Me, you shall call me Master (unless W or D is listening) -this is a meant to be a reminder, so don’t let it become merely a formality. I shall learn to call you slave constantly, until it feels natural and easy.
When in the bedroom, you will wear your collar, with or without the leash is up to me. When on the leash, you will kneel obediently waiting for My instructions or crawl on hands and knees -HANDS and knees, head down, no more haughty half-arsed obedience, and you shall learn to walk to heel.
When I break you in, don’t complain or resist or wriggle away, because I will know by that that you are not yet broken in enough to get into the real mood of submission, meaning that you need more conditioning through punishment and do not yet deserve My cock.
You should look to enjoy being subservient to My Cock. Your continuous habit of trying to top from the bottom is tedious and frustrating. I do indeed deserve half the blame for that for being too soft on you up till now.
Now I have more convenient restraints, you will not escape the punishment you deserve if you fail to show the proper attitude of submission and subservience and awe-filled humble service to my cock.
If you demand again I hasten whatever I am enjoying doing to you or using you for, I shall ignore your demands and, from now on (after last weekend’s performance), I will punish your insolence and make you go back to the command I gave you. If you wish to be rewarded with your Master’s cock, you must earn My cock by being obedient and serving my cock exactly as I command, or humbly beg for it with an appropriately subservient attitude and tone of voice.
You will take good care of yourself, you will relax and learn to let go of the week’s accumulated tensions, you will not make truly unimportant things into obstructions to Love, or else you will receive My loving wrath.
And Thou Shalt eat more mangoes and less bread. This is an order from your benevolent Sadist too. ;-)
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The interplay of dominance and submission is a two way street. The uninitiated may mistake Masters in D/s as possessing the majority of the power in the relationship. Based on the various conversations, erotic writings, photography and pornography that pervades the culture, it seems like a…
Agree totally.
I’m Sorry…
I’m sorry for not caring when I should have. I’m sorry for leaving my dirty clothes in the middle of the floor. I’m sorry for calling you a bitch. I’m sorry for being stern and unyielding at times. I’m sorry for not knowing what to buy on Valentine’s Day. I’m sorry for being so wrapped up in work. I’m sorry for not digging the chick flicks. I’m sorry for the long nights away from home, not being next to you. I’m sorry for being irritable and cranky. I’m sorry for not washing the dishes more often. I’m sorry for not washing your car more often.
And you think I took the easy way out? Well let me tell you something, Missy. Divorce is not the goddamned easy way out. That shit HURTS! The nights of feeling numb, letting emotion overcome logic. Letting the comfort overcome the fact that I was a square peg and you were a round hole. Having to let go of half my fucking life wasted trying to let you grow, breathe, mature, be safe, build a foundation, build a life. All because you couldn’t grow the fuck up and stand in my shoes for five fucking minutes!
You didn’t want marriage. You wanted a fucking wedding. You didn’t want me. You wanted what I provided so that you didn’t need to provide it for yourself. And I’m sorry it took me to fucking long to see it. I’m sorry I ignored every fucking sign, signal, and indication, all in the name of “being the better person.”
In other words, I’m sorry that in the end, I turned into you. Motherfuck you.
Goddamnit, I need my Cat. Right now. RIGHT FUCKING NOW!
