Friday morning, and I’m fully* dressed — the word “fully” needing a footnote. Amanda has me in a loose top with spaghetti straps and a short-short skirt. Seems she liked my look at the retreat wearing micro-miniskirts. So that’s her new thing.
The footnote says that I’m “fully” dressed as long as I don’t move. If I bend over — well, my assets tumble out. If I raise my arms — well, you get the picture…
It made me recall when I was in my early teens, my mother taking me to an etiquette class and my learning “how to be “ladylike.” If she could see me now.
Amanda has announced that this weekend we are going to tackle a home improvement project — namely, reclaiming and repurposing the dining room. By “we” she actually means me high-heeled, collared, and slaved-up, while she sits in the corner drinking a mai-tai and giving orders.
Since we moved in, we’ve used the dining room as a dumping ground for boxes and papers and junk “we don’t want to have to take down to the basement.” So it’s stacked with stuff. It has a bay window at one end looking out over the back forty, but that too is piled high with boxes, books, silver serving platters, and china dishes all from several partial sets.
Amanda doesn’t want to make this into a traditional dining room, as we never would use it for that kind of entertaining. We don’t even have dining room furniture per se. She says she wants to make it into a music room, but I don’t think she really knows yet what she wants to do with it.
Master McKenna wants more of me, which could be taken to mean several things, but in any case is nice to hear. Amanda is amenable to making something work, but struggles with my calendar, as apparently I’m a busy girl. She would gladly give me to him during her work days, but those are his work days as well.
When he’s had me, it’s usually been on an occasional Saturday. I show up on his doorstep collared and in a partial leash at 8:00 a.m. Now in post-COVID time, Master McKenna has other possibilities Saturday mornings, the main one being named “Golf.”
But it’s not just that. He would like to have me two days in a row, with me staying with him overnight. Not every week, but maybe every two weeks.
They’re working on it.
I sometimes think about how my slave life comes across in my writing. My purpose in blogging is to share myself as I live in D/s slavery. But the nature of D/s life is not inherently “eventful.” Most of my hours and days are filled with writing, reading, talking.
There was the retreat, which was such an event, literally, and there are things Amanda does with/to me, which I report on and are “eventful” in some way. But much of my real slavery happens in silences between Amanda and me as I am sitting collared and leashed on the floor beside her on the sofa. This is the real home of dominance and submission, but reading about that is not so compelling to people, I realize.
The point is, I’m always “in slavery,” but it’s not always a highlight reel.
Kevin has arranged with Amanda to forego my July visit and have me for a longer time in August. This is fine with her (and me). It seems Kevin has some travel plans this month.
It’s hot here again today, up to 90 degrees. I know that’s not anything near the heat in some parts of the country, and it’s not close to the humid heat I grew up with in Pennsylvania.
But it’s still hot, so it makes sense my wearing this scanty outfit “with footnote.”
A few minutes ago, I brought some coffee to Amanda in her home office. I asked, “This outfit barely has a purpose — why not just have me totally naked today?”
“I like to watch you squirm in it,” she said. “You have this sense of dignity, and it’s fun to watch you struggle to maintain it.”