There’s a cicada in the lounge room

I announced to Master the other night that I was thinking about applying for the permanent positions that they are offering at work. In a momentary lapse of reason brought about by a couple of days where I actually enjoyed work I had been thinking that it wouldn’t be too bad to continue doing my job with better pay and better conditions on a full-time basis. 

Master’s reaction was, on the surface at least, the reaction that he always gives me in relation to decisions that I make:

“Well, if that’s what you want to do sweetie…”

But his tone was saying something different. In fact, the message he was giving me under the surface was much closer to:

“What the fuck are you saying, slave?”

Over the past couple of weeks Master had said to me on a few separate occasions that he was looking forward to me finishing work so that I wouldn’t be out at all hours in the cold and wouldn’t have to deal with people telling me to get fucked on a regular basis. But over the past week his worry about me being out had transmuted into a wish for me to be back to full-time slavedom. I know for a fact that he still worries about me while I’m taking public transport at night etc. but for some reason he had begun voicing his angst about my departure from slave girlie land and my arrival into office bitch land.

In a recent blog he said he felt protective towards me. I can understand that. Personally, I think it has been encoded into the DNA of most men to be protective of their possessions ever since they realised that they didn’t have a door on their cave. And speaking from the perspective of a woman who likes to be dragged back to the cave by her man, I enjoy a healthy level of possessiveness in my owner. But it did amuse me to think that he had encouraged me to find work, had sent me the info that lead me to getting this job and in many ways had been instrumental in creating the situation that was now giving him angst. I realise that owners are just as infallible as their slaves,  but it is funny to watch them dig their own holes.

The slave-life balance is just as tricky to maintain as the work-life balance. At the moment, Master and I have swung way out to the edge of work with the tiniest sliver of life and slavery barely balancing the see-saw. With Master away for most of the week and me crashing in bed at senior citizen hours even when he is home, there hasn’t been a lot of Master-slave stuff. Of course he has always managed to squeeze in his ‘word-porn’ interrogation sessions. But I do wonder whether he really wants to do them all the time or whether he feels the pressure to do something domly with me and they are the easiest things to do that include all the necessary elements of a good use session – boots, kissing, collar-pulling, inner-thigh slapping and repeated stating of roles and duties bordering on brain-washing.

“I’ll be glad when you finish up and can be back at home doing slave things like cleaning out your cage.”

The main reason I was thinking about the permanent positions was because I have enjoyed the ‘normality’ of the past few weeks. I’ve enjoyed being back behind the wheel of my life, being useful and experiencing autonomy once more. In many ways over the few months that I’d been slave 24/7 before I began temping, I had worried abut whether I could ever be ‘normal’ again. I’d even angsted about how I’d mix with people again- what would I talk about? would they think I’m strange. It has been comforting to validate my place in society once more. But as I’m writing this I can hear exactly what Master will be saying in response to it:

“But you’re not a member of society. You’re my slave…my property. It doesn’t matter what you do outside the house, it’s what you do inside that matters. You live to please me. You have no rights, no choices.The only thing you need to worry about is being obedient.”

Actually, the only thing I’m worried about at this moment is the cicada that’s somewhere in the lounge room that I must have brought in with the wood for the fire. Roasted cicada anyone???


One thought on “There’s a cicada in the lounge room

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  1. Sweetie WTF

    Can l clear a few things up for you

    I sent you the information about the casual call centre work becasue it was for a fixed term, it paid reasonably well, it was possible to get there and back on public transport, you needed to top up your bank account for travels home and you needed some employment to top up your superannuation bonus payment.

    I have always said whilst your a slave girlie, it doesn’t hurt for you to ahve part time or casual employment during the yar or take short term blocks of full time employment.

    If l had my way we would be both full time home Master and slave roles but no one has sold me a winning a lotto ticket and l didn’t buy FMG shares when they were 50 cents each.

    I enjoy you as a full time house slave, as l get spoilt rotten with welcome home Master slave girl greetings, well l used to before you got the l got to go to gym class sessions in the evening.

    I don’t enjoy our current arrangements as l am away from home too many hours in the week and don’t get to use and abuse you often enough. The bed time interrogations are enjoyable to me on so many levels and would remain a feature of our lives whether your at work or a home bitch. If l get a Perth based job, despite being home every night, l still have the gym sessions to compete against for your time and service.

    No l don’t like you being out and getting cold and wet and coming home with white finger and white toe, yes l do worry about your safety in the dark hours of public transport, yes l do enjoy coming and fetching you, its like putting you back on your chain leash.

    Doubt its a cicada its probably a cricket chirping and yes roasting it is a good option but its somewhere in the dark hiding so ldoubt you’ll do it any harm.

    Yes l am still going to mark your arse with a Magpies tattoo.


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