This was the post I wrote last night for this morning... so on with the show.
I am not sure if it is a good excuse, but it is a bitch to get anything done around here. After a lazy day of naps and walks and dumb TV… (I didn’t even have to cook because I made a vat sized pot of vegetable beef soup yesterday) …I finally took on the task of putting the dishes into the dishwasher and turning it on.
I know, I know… that does not sound like a good service slave. And the fantasy slave in my day dreams would rather have her limbs amputated rather than leave a fork unwashed even for a moment. Hell the fantasy slave would experience spontaneous orgasms while washing and polishing said fork… from the sheer joy at doing this thing for the fantasy Master. But then again, the fantasy Master does not live here either.
The fantasy Master would care about such minutia as how many minutes a fork may go unwashed. But in reality, the only expectation here is there be “a” clean fork in the drawer when he opens it and reaches in. And this not stupid slave has made sure we have a butt ton of forks, spoons, knives, plates, bowls and other things like that. The sink would be literally overflowing before we ran out of clean anything.
In reality, the Master around here is not very particular about clean floors or cobwebs or piles of stuff here and there. And the fantasy slave that lives in my head kind of wishes he did, at least a little bit more. It would make doing it all that much better… not orgasmic… but better.
So anyway back to reality… I made myself get up off the couch and wandered into the kitchen. And as usual, the sleeping predator lifted his head, instantly alert… the prey was on the move again. It wasn’t many minutes before he was behind me… my hands deep in warm soapy water, and my pants around my ankles.
Amidst the myriad of blows raining down upon my ass, between squawks, I asked, “Are you spanking me because I am being a good girl and doing some work? Or are you spanking me because I have such an awesome ass that you could not leave it alone?”
He laughed and answered, “Well it started out for the first reason and keeps going because of the second.” And as I shuffled back and forth from the sink to the dishwasher, hobbled by my lowered knickers, blinking and trying not to duck and weave, I mutter, “No wonder I don’t get much done around here.”