Tidy Whitey Update

So we argued a bit. I insisted that using an apron while cooking would be cheating. Sir insisted that an apron was designed to be worn while cooking so as to keep clothing clean. Naturally, he won.  I still felt like a bit of a cheat so I suggested that rather than wearing white, I could only wear the apron while cooking. He grinned, liking this idea, but chose the apron for me. It fully covered my breats and hung to mid thigh, covering all the dainty bits. He insisted that my most delicate parts be protected from random grease splatter. See that I was still uncomfortable, he signed and finally agreed that I would be held responsible for any spot or splatter that was NOT on the apron. I smiled and agreed. Last week, I begged him to help me become less clumsy in Tidy Whitey. I’m down to only one or two spots on my clothing a day – a HUGE improvement! I don’t want to slip back into my old slovenly ways. My house is neater, my clother is cleaner, and I feel better about myself now. Sir even suggested that we do away with the daily caning for each spot on me, transfering it to a weekly one. I thought about it, but asked him – respectfully – to delay weekly accounts for a while more. Being held to my mistakes on a daily basis was working for me. Sir, bless him, agreed. Last night he delivered only 2 stripes with the cane. So far today, I’m excempt! One of the may things I love about Sir is his willingness to listen to me and meet my needs (so long as they are reasonable!) He helps me set and meet goals which ultimately make me a more confident, happy person.

Seeing a lack of mess on my body and white dress, he’s given me a tast today. What reward should I be given if I make it through a whole day without mess? Hmmmmmm. So many possibilities. I’m going to have to think about this for a while.tumblr_nb4pa2nuhp1risr9ko1_r1_540

Office Surprise

I went to visit Sir today. He has been working hard on a paper and stuck in his office doing research of all kinds.  The current topic he’s working on is how the Japanese art of Shibari has added to the mainstreaming of certain aspects of BDSM. Sir, you

see, speaks and writes fluent Japanese. He doesn’t drink alcohol, so instead I prepared a picnic basket of tea (even a pretty pot and cups), some sushi, and shojin gomadoufu. Sir sometimes forgets to eat and it’s my job to help him keep up his strength. He’s pleased to see me, but also displeased. He’s nto fond of surprises, and would have rather I called ahead. I arrange the tea on a side tablel for him then kneel before him and ask his forgiviness for this intrusion. He smiles down at me, pleased by my humble attitude. Then he tells me I’ve been naughty by not letting him know I was coming and for giving him a hard on when he has work to do. I flush with pride. I absolutely love that Sir gets a hard on every time he sees me. He tells me I deserve punishment and I agree. He pulls me to my feet and plops me onDFpRMW1XoAAylaRto his desk. I at least knew better than to wear anything between my legs – no pants or undies. I’m wearing a black dress and stockings beneath my boots. Sir asks if I want to be fucked in my pussy or ass. I look at him, see his stern, magical eyes, and tell him that the choice is his. I will gratefully accept whatever pleases him because having his cock inside of me, in any place, is all I desire. This answer pleases him and he bends down to lick me, lapping up my dripping honey. I come quickly and he chuckles a bit. He gathers my wetness on his fingers and eases them into my anus. I tense, and know that he’s made his choice. Once I’m loose enough, he eases his cock into my bottom. How can something be so uncomfortably big and yet so erotically perfect? He plays with my clit and I come again, crying out his name, begging for more. He gives it to me and pounds into me without mercy or gentleness. He pinches my clit with one hand and reaches beneath my dress to twist a nipple with the other hand. I explode, shatter into a million shards of light. He too comes inside of me, gracing me with his essense.

Once we are both calm, I pour the tea for him and serve him his meal. Htied vaginae eats and chats while I sit quietly at his feet, content and happy. When he finishes, he tells me to stand and lift my dress. He’s going to use some of what he’s learned while doing research. He takes a red rope from his desk and proceeds to tie it around my body, harnessing me with his rope, his knots, and his will. He asks if I am comfortable and I shake my head. He asks if I am in pain, and I shake my head again. He asks if I will think of him until he can return home to me. I smile and say “Yes, Sir.”

Tidy Whitey

I’m a clutz. If I can get from 7:00 a.m. to 8:00 a.m. without a coffee stain on me somewhere, it’s a good day. The problem is that I get so distracted by shiny things that I forget what I’m doing and spill shit. I’ve asked Milord to help with this and he haDBNqoSrWAAABdOis happily agreed. Per his orders, I must wear nothing but white for the next 10 days. (Ten days seems to be the magic time frame of breaking habits.)  By wearing white, I will not be able to hide any stains or spills. If, somehow, I do manage to keep myself clean but spill something on a counter, perhaps, I’m put a mark on my clothing. At the end of the day, Milord will inspect my clothes, count each mark or stain and administer an equal number of marks with a cane. I HATE the cane! Milord has a quick had with it so that it stings like the dickens, raises a welt that I’ll feel for a day or two, but never breaks my skin or delivers more than I can take.  Today was my first day and, sure enough, I dribbled coffee down myself first thing. By the end of the day, I had to put two marks on my shirt and 3 other stains had joined the party. When Milord got home, he glanced at my shirt, but said nothing. During dinner, a wine drop was added to my shirt. By he time we were ready for bed, I had wracked up 8 stains. I stripped (I’m never allowed to wear clothing during a discipline session) handed Milord the evidence he needed, and bent over the spankcane marking table. I held on to the wooden edges and waited. Milord counted out each stain, correctly guessing what each one was. Coffee, wine, mustard, make-up, and so on. He laughed a bit, told me that he was sure I’d improve tomorrow, lay one had gently on the small of my back and quickly administered all 8 stripes.  After, he held me as I sobbed and thanked him. I could feel his cock, hard and splendid. I asked if he would please make love to me. He laughed, kissed me, and said, “That is one of the reasons I love you. You’re always eager and never hold grudges. Yes, my love, of course I will.” Because of the tenderness of my bottom, he let me get on top and set the pace. Slow, gentle, loving. Nonetheless, you can be sure I’ll be more careful tomorrow. My goal is no more than 4 spills. Think I can do it?

The Nymph’s Reply

The Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd

If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every Shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.
Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When Rivers rage and Rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb,
The rest complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields,
To wayward winter reckoning yields,
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of Roses, couple at sunset
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten:
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and Ivy buds,
The Coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.
But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.
As much as I loved “A Passionate Shepherd”, I think I love this one more. She obviously wants a permanent relationship based on truth, respect, and love rather than a fleeting fancy.

The Passionate Shepherd

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
tumblr_oqjiz3PzV31qzddoio1_1280And we will sit upon the Rocks,
Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow Rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing Madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of Roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle;
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw and Ivy buds,
With Coral clasps and Amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
The Shepherds’ Swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.
I’ve always loved this poem, but since I’ve become a BDSM writer and practioneer, I see it in a whole new light.

Walking CANE

 

51a46aab1d5902a6ee77828380efebdbA walking cane was not necessary, but it was. I had not been behaving well lately, and so my Lion decided that I needed more attention, which was true. Life has been busy and I had indeed been feeling overwhelmed with work and other responsibilities as well as somewhat neglected by Him. This week, though, would be a time of renewal and relaxation. We both took some well deserved time off work. My Lion started the week with a reminder of my expectations, which he recited to me, one by one, and had me repeat. Naturally, this was not a regular recitation. He first bound me to our bedroom door, St. Andrew Cross fashion. Then, after each repeated expectation, he landed a stripe with an implement I could not see but sure as all that’s ho

ly felt across my bottom. The sting, he said, would reinforce the expectations. He was right. By the time I had repeated each of my five expectations, they were burned into my soul as surely as the flesh on my bottom was scorched. He then unbound me, turned me to face him, kissed my tears away, and showed me the implement. A sword! A freaking sword! He had used the flat of the unsharpened blade to wack my bottom. I then inserted the sword into a walking cane and screwed it in place. The cane, he said, would be within arm’s reach every moment for the next week. If I did not meet an expectations, reprisal would be immediate, no matter where we were. He held me, kissing my neck and whispered, “If we are out, I will take you to a private place, my love. You will bend over, bare your bottom, and receive your reprimand within five minutes. For each minutumblr_onljmrIrwS1w7474fo1_500te over, I will increase the number of stripes you will bear.” I sighed and pressed my naked body against his. With the first touch of the leather restraints with which he had bound me I had begun to feel my tension seeping away. Now, my shoulders relaxed. I kissed his chest, slid to floor, and looked up at him, my master, my love, my lion. I sat back on my heels, savouring the tenderness of my freshly marked flesh, and placed my hands, palm up, on my knees. I breathed deeply, then said, “As you say, so let it be.”