Company sent packing

First before we return to the drama at hand, it is questions month and Aisha did ask:

So - are you saying that you all literally only have sex in the shower?

And the answer to that question is... No, that would be silly.  Sometimes the hot water runs out.  In all honesty, while the sex does always start in the shower, lots of the time it ends up somewhere else... after the hot water runs out.



Now we return to the drama at hand... where were we??? Oh yes...

INTERMISSION… INTRUSSION… MASTER NOTICED MY EXPRESSION… INSTINCTIVELY SENSING MY VENTURE INTO SELF DISGUST… AND DEMANDED MY ATTENTION IMMEDIATELY… after an extended period of attitude adjustment I am allowed to finally return to this… hopefully in a somewhat better emotional space.

“What are you writing?”

I froze and stared fixedly at the screen of  my computer, blinking back tears and guilt.  I know I am wallowing… I know I am on some level exaggerating and perhaps even luxuriating in my misery.

“Um… my journal.”  My voice is soft and neutral in direct contrast to my flushed face, wet eyes and pouting lips.

He laughs at my evasive answer.

“M’ere” 

Master speak for ‘come here now’.  Generally this is an invitation and a command to climb into his lap and face him nose to nose.  It’s a place where evasiveness cannot work.  He knows it.  I know it.  But it can be a place of refuge as well and as I settle into his lap, I lean forward and hide my face into the crook of his neck.

His voice vibrates up and through me… “What are you writing in your journal?”

I press my face even more firmly into his neck and say nothing.  But he does not relent.  He just sits there waiting… and waiting… and waiting.  And finally I mumble something vaguely incoherent about yesterday and the conversation in the shower.  I finally touch upon the “smell” comment and about how when he says things like this it makes me feel dirty and makes me worry that something is wrong with me.

And I get up from his lap and get my computer and read from my journal the last passage I had written, where I confess that I have gotten obsessive about washing and wiping myself to the point of self injury.  I have trouble getting the words out and choke…

And he says it again…

“M’ere.”

And this time as I climb into his lap, he grips the front of my robe and shakes me with each word…

“I. DO. NOT. THINK. YOU. ARE. DISGUSTING. OR. DIRTY. OR. GROSS… I. LOVE. YOU.” 

Then he goes onto explain that asses are for shitting and cannot help but start to smell of shit… apparently no matter how obsessively the washing and wiping of said ass is. 

I stare back at him, listening, translating… my eyes narrowed and lips sealed.  Okayyyy… so Master thinks everybody in the world is disgusting, dirty and gross.  Somehow I do not find much solace in this fact.  I never smell shit when I am around people unless there is shit there.  (I know what shit smells like… remember I help toilet incontinent people at work on a regular basis.)  But I do know I don’t have a very sensitive sense of smell…perhaps from said toileting or perhaps just because the universe has some sense of pity. 

But none of this gives me any relief from the disturbing suspicion that I am disgusting, dirty and gross…

I mutter at him… “You don’t ever smell like shit.”  And I should know… I make a regular habit of shoving my face into his crotch. 

He laughs and answers me… “Maybe because I wipe until I bleed too.”  And for a moment we both dissolve in a fit of giggles at how bizarre this conversation is.

Part of me wonders… which of us is more crazy?  Master who smells shit that is not there or me that does not smell shit that is.

Master comments at the expression on my face and says that the crazy lady is very much in evidence… and I counter that we have not gone for a walk in over a week and it has been months since any kind of real spanking session or bondage or kink.  He argues that hasn’t been that long. 

But we did end up going for a nice long walk at the mall this morning before all the stores opened.  Master made a real point of forcing me to walk (more accurately practically run) up and down all the stairs over and over and over until I was puffing and warm and sweaty.

And the spanking and subsequent kinky forced masturbation session this afternoon was very, very good for my attitude.  But I think we will need more before the crazy lady crawls back into her cage.

Therapy…

I have been getting the ‘m’ere’ command nearly every time I stand up and walk by him.  He is monitoring my progress very carefully.  He definitely did not enjoy his little visit with the crazy lady.  She definitely ain’t no princess.

She even has a strange growly voice.  Master says he might need to perform an exorcism before my head spins around and I puke green stuff on him. 

I have been checked up upon regularly… stalked practically.  The “what are you doing” query filtering through the house each time I am out of sight. 

“Laundry, cleaning kitchen, bathroom…”  Any increasingly, rather than be asked I am volunteering, “Going down to do laundry…”  “Next I was going to do some stuff in kitchen.”  Proactively keeping him informed of my itinerary through the house, a few “If that would be okays or with your permissions” thrown in here or there. 

The leash is definitely shorter…