We interrupt this philosophical discussion for more kink

March 7, 2008 at 8:09 pm 6 comments

I’ve been working on that godawful third part of my clever little essay for frickin’ ever.

In the meantime, may I present to you my morning:

5:45 am: Wake up. Kitty purring next to my face, sitting very patiently. Go back to sleep.

6:00 am: Progressive alarm clock starts chirping at me. Lay and listen to it for a few minute. Hit the snooze bar.

6:20 am: Alarm clock screams at me. Kitty purring politely butts her head to get under the covers with me.

6:45 am: I turn off the alarm. Kitty doing tap dances on my head. I contemplate getting up, then roll over onto my back in the exact center of my expensive, memory-foam, Queen-size bed. Overtaken by luxury, I close my eyes.

6:50 am: Swim up from half-sleep. Contemplate putting feet onto floor and kettle onto stove. Decide to wait until 7am.

7:00 am (precisely): Houseboy rings bell. I climb out of bed, pad downstairs in bare feet and pyjamas to let him in. Set him to work cleaning the bathroom. Put on the kettle and feed the cat.

7:30 am: After much stumbling around with frequent stops in to supervise houseboy, manage to get breakfast on table.

7:45 am: Houseboy tells me he is done with the bathroom. I tell him to wash the dishes in the sink. Write my morning pages, work on my interminable fourth step.

8:00 am: Houseboy finishes the dishes. I tell him to clear the table and wash up the breakfast dishes. Go get dressed. Choose the plaid skirt and brown tights that go so well with the high brown boots.

8:15 am: Hand houseboy my boots and tell him to go kneel in the living room. Wash my face and brush my hair in my sparkling clean bathroom.

8:20 am: Pull houseboy over my knees and give him the spanking of his life. Tell him it turns me on when I hurt him. Hand him my boots and have him put them on while I read him some poetry. He runs his hand up my calf before zipping them up, clearly not by accident.

“Are they clean enough?” I ask.
“No, ma’am.”
“Then clean them.”

This is the first time he’s licked my boots. He does an excellent job. It’s the best boot-licking I’ve had in years. Did you know that your boots actually do shine when someone licks them thoroughly and well? It’s better than polish. I walk around him to give him the best angle on all sides. The only thing that would make it sexier is if he were totally naked and on all fours under me. I pull my skirt aside to watch him. When he licks my instep, I feel that old familiar thrill, dulled through the shoe leather.

I have him get on his back, put the sole of my boot across his face. Press it against his solar plexus, tell him that if I bore down on him with all my weight I would probably break his ribs. Rub the sole of my boot across his hard-on. Lean over and spit on his face — with terrible aim, most of it ends up on the floor. Drink a glass of water and try again. Pull up his t-shirt and pinch his nipples, hard. Spit on his face some more, rub it in, slap him around a bit. Grab him by his hair and pull him to his knees, pressing his face into my belly.

Step away and tell him to get dressed.

I was supposed to drop him off at the T, but he gladly walks. I pack my lunch, send a few emails, and leave for work.

I’ve been having trouble getting out of bed on time. What a little gift of the universe to help me out of bed on a Friday.

Plus, shiny bathroom floor.

Entry filed under: femdom, houseboys, kink, men who clean my house make me hot, sluts have more fun. Tags: , , , , , , , .

Fuck: I do not think it means what you think it means God: I do not think it means what you think it means

6 Comments Add your own

  • 1. v  |  March 7, 2008 at 10:59 pm

    Hand him my boots and have him put them on while I read him some poetry.

    When I read this phrase I thought you were having him wear your boots. The next bit clarifies of course but I thought it was funny.

    All these experiences are so organic, not scripted or paid for as mine have been.

  • 2. ViciousWishes  |  March 8, 2008 at 2:12 am

    I need a houseboy. Jason always says we need a female slave, even he’s instructed to do a lot of the household chores.

    Plus, I have plenty of boots to polish.

  • 3. omnivoresdilemma  |  March 8, 2008 at 12:48 pm

    V, it is funny when people read the text differently than intended. It’s part of the artistic process, I find. Once you send the end result out into the world, it’s not exactly yours anymore. Sure, you can try to edit for clarification in future editions, but that might ruin something else.

    Also, with kink, you never really know who will end up wearing what.

    Personally, I’m not into forced feminisation, for most of the reasons that Bitchy Jones articulates so well. But sometimes men want to put on a woman’s things not because they want to be made low, but because they want to have a brief taste of what it’s like to be a woman. Sort of like the intro to that Madonna song, “What it feels like for a girl.” Women get to put on masculine things because masculine = powerful in our society. But for men to try on the different power of femininity? Taboo. Shameful. Unless you create a safe space for them to do so.

    And I do so love my genderfuck.

  • 4. omnivoresdilemma  |  March 11, 2008 at 8:14 pm

    VisciousWishes, I think I could be persuaded to polish your boots for you. And that’s not an easy thing to persuade me to do. Too bad you’re on the other side of the planet.

  • 5. V  |  March 13, 2008 at 3:55 pm

    Oh gosh, even more funny. I wasn’t thinking that having him wear your boots was forced feminization. I think of boots as a symbol of power and resillience, like those boots in All Quiet on the Western Front

  • […] if I always keep my clothes on, it’s sexual. Once, I acted against my better instincts and let a married man come over and vacuum my floors in the early mornings. Married in the traditional sense. Vacuuming my floors was a sexual act for him. And for me. I felt […]

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