saturday morning: my toilette

Saturday morning at six, my alarm goes off. It’s quiet enough so not to disturb Amanda in her bedroom, yet loud enough to rouse me in my bedroom. No, we don’t sleep together all the time.

I have about an hour to get ready for the day — I need to be bearing coffee on a tray for Amanda at 7:15. I can cheat a little and get the coffee brewing a bit before 7:00, then return to my bedroom and finish my routine.

I shower. My hair’s a holy mess, but not needing to be washed. That saves some time. However, I need to shave, and that’s the trade-off. While my legs and underarms are quick work, shaving my pussy takes a while, I apply a shaving gel between my legs, then brush my teeth while it soaks in. By using a razor with a super-fine blade and a cream called V-Luminizer, I leave myself baby-soft and smooth. I am aware this is for the express purpose of preparing my pussy to be seen and felt by others. I am preferred this way.

I towel dry and sit at my vanity.

I check my nails. I work on them in the evenings, not taking my time in the mornings, but I check them anyway. I did them three nights ago, and they are holding up fine enough. They are long and a bright red, as Amanda likes them. They go well with my white outfit this morning. My toenails are another matter — their matching red is good, but my toenail on one foot and my middle toenail on the other are chipped. I’ll find time later.

Makeup is quick because I don’t wear much. A very light concealer and just a light brush of blush. Simple and hardly there. But I decide to wear lipstick, the same red of my nails. I take time to apply lip liner, then fill in with my Maybelline, and blend. I finish with a lip gloss.

I see I am running late, and realize my hair isn’t done yet and I haven’t dressed. I decide to get to the kitchen and start the coffee brewing first, but I make sure I put on a pair of high heels first. If Amanda is somehow up early, she would prefer to see me in heels. If she could, she’d keep me naked and in very tall heels all the time.

However, there is no sign of Amanda. I make the coffee, then return to my bedroom.

I have five minutes to work on my hair, not enough, and it wants to fly out on the sides, but I brush it into a kind of submission.

On the bed bench, Amanda has laid out clothes for me to wear: my white peasant skirt, a white fabric choker collar, and a pair of white high heels. I have to laugh because it’s all white, very virginal, and from Amanda that’s an intentional visual irony — a reference to my so-called debauchery with Kevin for ten days. What’s notably missing from the bed bench is a top. She wants me to be a topless virgin this morning.

In a quick minute I am “wearing Amanda,” my outfit now a symbol of her control and my obedience to dress according to her dominant preferences.

At 7:15, I am standing topless, collared, and heeled outside the kitchen holding a tray of mugs and a carafe of hot coffee, waiting for Amanda…

coffee is not just coffee

What has always been part of my slave life is the morning coffee ritual.

Even in my prior slavery, this was a given requirement each day. It marks the beginning of my slave duties each morning, although my slavery is always 24/7.

Now coffee it is at 7:30, though I have coffee prepared and am standing there at 7:15.

While this does not seem like a difficult requirement — most normals make coffee every morning too — it is a constant of my daily life, and is expected of me even when I am in service during the night. Whether I am sexually exhausted or not, it is the rule. It is the same ritual on weekends as on weekdays, although the time is variable on Saturdays and Sundays.

It gives me satisfaction to do this, as it seems to be the launchpad for Master and Mistress to start their day. I feel I am productive through them.

To be clear, the ritual is not just coffee being available, but me standing there with a tray of mugs and a coffeemaker fresh brewed beside me. I stand there till 7:45, whether or not Master or Mistress show up. It gives them satisfaction that I am standing there , obedient, submissive.

Mistress usually wanders in first, showered and dressed, around 7:20 or so, which is why I schedule my time at 7:15. She takes a mug from my tray and pours herself coffee, adding the half & half I’ve set out, then walks into the breakfast nook or takes it out on the patio. She may mutter a “good morning,” but maybe not. I stay standing with the tray, waiting for Master.

He comes out of his bedroom, often already on the phone, precisely at 7:30. He has been working since 6:30 by email and phone. He takes a mug from my tray and pours his coffee, black, adding sugar. He goes to the breakfast nook and sometimes makes himself a bowl of cereal. Sometimes Mistress joins him, sometimes not.

If both have been served coffee, I bring my tray and the coffee carafe to the table into the breakfast nook. If one is coming in later, I am to stand there holding the tray until 7:45. That is the rule.

Master K is a whirlwind from 7:30 to 8:00, even though he spends the time at the breakfast table. It is him texting business, taking calls, and reading the newspaper.

If both Master and Mistress have been served coffee from my tray, I am to stand outside the breakfast nook, within hearing but not in the midst.

Sometimes one or the other call me in, and I sit with them and pour myself coffee. I don’t eat much else for breakfast. They might talk with me or not. Usually they are busy with business. I respect their zones.

Mistress has more to discuss with me than Master. She will talk with me about the week’s schedule, about matters she is thinking about, about things she wants to do with me. She rarely gives me orders, but I pick up on things she is worried about and feels she needs to do, and I try to do what I can to take care of those things during my day and week. To be clear, Mistress does give me orders at certain times, but in the mornings she is just talking.

Master is usually consumed with business, but the one thing he does sometimes is to speak my middle name “Maura.” Which is my code, reflex, trigger, for getting on my hands and knees under the table and opening his pants and taking his cock into my mouth.

That is my breakfast.

I don’t know if it is a dominant thing or a man thing, but at times he’s been talking on the phone when he has come in my mouth.

I have been trained to do him without fuss or muss. After, I zip him up, and he is ready for work. At times he has left before I crawl out from under the table, sometimes before I swallow. It’s his dominant way. He leaves me on my hands and knees.

Mistress usually trails him by about twenty minutes. I follow her in those twenty minutes, fetching what she needs, bouncing topless and frantic for what she has forgotten. She sometimes gives me instruction for the day, managing her slave into the future hours, until she will see me again.

I am at the front door, handing her briefcase, She sometimes kisses me, perhaps tasting him on my lips and tongue. She climbs into her car and drives away.

I am alone. I pour myself a cup of coffee.

this morning

This morning my alarm goes of at five, but I am awake and waiting for it, excited about having time with Master K. I shower, do light makeup and no lipstick. I put on a navy skirt, a white button-down blouse and navy heels. It seems he wants me wearing something dressy, maybe business attire. I don’t know why. In the time I have, I brush my hair and try to make it look halfway presentable. I maybe get it exactly that —just halfway. I hope he won’t be displeased.

I could awaken at four and do my hair proper, but then I wouldn’t be me best, instead dreary-eyed and slow for him.

At five-thirty I make coffee. I am waiting for Master K by 6:00.

At 6:05, he calls me from the study. I go to him. He looks me over, but says nothing about my hair. He says we will be in the study but to bring him his coffee. I return to the kitchen and prepare his mug of coffee, black with one teaspoon sugar. I put it on a tray with a napkin, and head back to the study.

He takes his mug and has me put the tray on the desk. He remains standing. “From now on, when I call you by your middle name — Maura — you will drop to your knees and service me with a blow job. It doesn’t matter where we are. It could be here at the house, in a restaurant, on the street, at my work, in the lobby of a hotel, in an elevator. When I say “Maura,” you will drop to your knees and take me in your mouth.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“We’re going to practice,” he says. “‘Maura.’”

I immediately get on my knees in front of him. I reach for the zipper of his pants.

“Stop,” he orders. “Often, we will have limited time. You will save time getting down and back up by squatting. STaying on your feet. Not going to your knees on the ground. Try it again.”

I get back on my feet.

“Maura,” he says.

I bend my knees and go down, keeping my back straight, I have to place my hand on the ground for balance.

He stops me again. “You’ll need to practice squatting like this on your own. You need to be quick and steady.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll make it a regular exercise for me.”

“You’ll have more stability,” he says, “if you widen your thighs. Open them out. And also, hike your skirt up as you go down. Let’s do this again.”

We keep practicing. I find that it’s smoothest if I grab the hem of my skirt with my hands as I go down. My lower body stoops out of it. My skirt bunches around my waist with no wasted movement. And Master K is right — by widening my thighs, I have a more stable base. It’s trickier in heels, but that’s why he had me wear these. I’m also aware that this way, as he is looking down at me, he can see my pussy.

After more repetitions, he’s pleased enough with me to move on. “This time you’ll actually take me in your mouth. You must not leave any mark or wet spot on me. When you feel me tap you on the top of your head three times, you will stop. You’ll then have ten seconds to put me back in my pants.”


I stoop before him, my skirt gathering at my waist and my thighs opening wide. I unzip his pants, and pull out his flaccid cock, taking the head between my lips. I realize I need to create a barrier between my mouth and his pants, and I use my left hand as a shield, placing it firm around the base of his cock and flat against his slacks. My mouth then can slide down on his cock until it hits the back of my hand. Without any mark.

My mouth enjoys his familiar presence. During my claiming, he made it his home. I feel him swelling along my tongue. I go down on him again and again, pulling back along his shaft each time. I start to lose myself in this, in the tactile pleasure and privilege of having Master in my mouth.

He taps me on the head three times. At first, I forget what it is and only feel it distantly, an annoying distraction. Then I panic, realizing that already three of my ten seconds are up. I let him drop out of my mouth, then slide his penis sideways into his pants and his boxers underneath. I zip him back up, then stand beside him, as instructed.

“Not great,” he said.

“I’m so sorry, Sir. I forgot about the signal.”

“You can’t just let my cock drop there at the end. It will hit my pants and wet them with your saliva still on it.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And in the interest of time, you don’t need to get my cock back inside my underwear. Just inside my pants. You just have to get me zipped up.”

“I understand, Sir.”

“We’re going to practice it again. But first get me some more coffee. This is lukewarm.”

I take his mug and the tray and head for the kitchen, making him a fresh coffee.

Back in front of him again, I present his mug on the tray. He takes a sip, then says, “Maura.”

I step to him and squat, that part of my service routine becoming easier and automatic. Again, I pull his cock out of his pants. He is already semi-hard. I take him in my mouth again. I realize now that too much of my saliva will be a problem. It can’t be a messy fellatio. I try to regulate that, though part of my own arousal is a thirst for him that makes me salivate. I can’t help myself.

I feel his taps on the top of my head. I stop, but remain holding his cock. This time I take my left hand at the base of his cock, stroking it up the shaft and over the head. This collects any wetness from his cock in my hand. With my right hand I then angle his cock back behind his fly. The challenge is that he is still hard. But his pants are loose enough and by angling him, it works. I don’t worry about his boxers. I zip him back up.

I get to my feet and stand beside him.

“Good enough,” he says, “for now. Just at ten seconds. I’ll want you to trim that time by a few.”

“I’m sure I can,” I say.

“When you stand up again, best not to stand next to me. There’s no normal situation in which you would do that. Best for you to step away from me, facing me, and standing between me and the doorway. We may have business things at hand. Perhaps at times you will have a notebook at hand you can grab. Other times, we’ll have some dialogue that sounds right.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“There will be many times when none of this matters. I’ll have you in some situation where I don’t care if you’re seen doing me or who walks in. But in enough situations, I have to maintain appearances. So this is a necessary skill for you to become proficient in.”

“I’m not sure,” I say, “that I understand where all of this will be happening.”

“In a week or so, I’ll start to take you to work with me, maybe once a week. I’ll want you to accompany me on my drives to my other offices in Colorado. We will practice another version of this for the car. Sometimes you will come with me to a conference, and I’ll use you in a hotel or conference center or elevator. We will practice for those situations.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s all for now. You can go.”

I pause. “Master,” I say, “I haven’t finished you this morning.”

“No, you haven’t. And you want to finish me?”

I nod. “Very much so.”

“You’ve already had me in your mouth. Not enough for you?”

I shake my head.

“What more do you want?” He knows my answer. He just wants me to say it.

“I desire to have your cum in my mouth,” I say.

He pauses and looks at me with a slight grin, as if he’s laughing at me inside.

I start to blush, but I keep my eyes up and meeting his gaze.

For the longest time he says nothing. Then: “Good. You should always have that desire. But you won’t always get your desire. Not today,” he says. “Go. I’m done with you for now.”

“Yes, Sir.”


Master K leaves for work a half hour later, having to go in on a Saturday morning for a spell. Mistress Amanda has gone out with friends for breakfast. I spend another fifteen minutes doing squatting exercises. Then I pour myself coffee and sit out in the sun room, thinking. Of course I’m not Shae unless I think about everything that happens and analyze it to death. Some of my after-thoughts:

–I realize I am going to be conditioned forevermore to associate my middle name Maura with giving blow jobs. I’m not sure I like that, but then there’s not much I can do about it. “Shae” is now frequently “slave Shae,” and I am conditioned to that, so perhaps it doesn’t matter so much. It’s not that I resist being known as a slave and doing what I do. It is my identity. Still, Maura now will be my blow job name. Wow.

–I have mixed feelings that he intends to take me to work with him. I know little about his work except that he has built a network of regional construction companies and oversees it all. I imagine warehouses and small industrial office buildings. And that leads me into my reservations. I wrote a fiction piece called “Penance,” posted on my blog, and it’s a story that takes place among warehouses and workers and such. It plays to some of my inner submissive feelings. All of that kind of environment feels very dominating to me. So what will Master K’s work be like? I don’t know what his colleagues will think of me, how I’ll be represented to them. All to say maybe this scares me a bit.

—So Master K has a plan for me to service him orally in an extensive way both in his work and travel. I am happy that he is engaging with me more, and being the “carer of his cock” in any and every situation is a position in his life that I embrace. I can’t deny that my body remembers him from the night of my claiming and desires him in a deep way because of it. This will help satisfy those desires he’s implanted in me. My concern is that this will subtract from my time with Mistress Amanda. I still don’t know how they communicate schedules with each other. They must do so, somehow, as there’s never been a conflict or confusion.

—Lastly: practice, practice, practice.

morning after

It was close to what I posted last night. Not exactly. But close.

Last night Master did not fuck me.

I begged. He said no.




But yes, at my request, he tied me to the bed post. It played out that way for real.

It’s a swivel clamp of some sort — I don’t know the names for hardware things — but it allows my wrists, attached, to revolve, so I can turn in bed. It allows me to sleep, sort of. Also, it’s at the base of the post, not the top, so I am not stretched, as I would be if bound for sex for another purpose. It’s a little more comfortable. If comfortable can be in any way compatible with sleeping alone.

It’s not that I don’t feel the ache of my pussy or that my vagina doesn’t wet and soak the sheets, but without any ability to satisfy my desire, mentally I give up and fall asleep.

The dreams are interesting.

But I do sleep. There’s a saving grace. Thank you, God.

At 6:30, Master walks in, unclamps my cuffs, leaves, without a word. After my dream I hoped for a kiss or a fondle or a squeeze or maybe a morning fuck.

I wasn’t so lucky a girl.

He is just playing with me, I tell myself. He’s not bored with me. Surely not.

I get out of bed, shower, prepare my body, as if he will be interested again.

At 7:30, I have made coffee and am standing at the front of the great room, fragrant and fresh, with the tray bearing his mug and the scone he so enjoys.

As I am required to do.