A letter

Vanimp over at vanillaimpaired wrote the funniest post to her pets the other day. Seriously, you should go over there and read it and maybe leave her a comment or two…although she just got a hitachi and gonzo delivered to her door so we may not see her surface for a few days to write a reply….:)

Vanimp’s letter inspired me to write a letter to Master (hope you don’t mind vanimp….what is that they say about imitation being……??)


A Letter

Dear Master,

The dishes and drinks on the table in front of you are yours. The food on my plate and the drink in my glass is mine. Just because I haven’t eaten/drunk what’s in front of me yet doesn’t mean I don’t want it. I don’t find it spiritually pleasing when I’ve angsted over what to order, only to have it disappear down your throat. I also believe that a taste-test shouldn’t require consumption of my whole piece of cake.

Pulling me along by my hair or half-choking me with my collar does not make me crawl any faster. Similarly swatting me on the bottom as I try to move doesn’t make the journey from my room to your bed any quicker

I cannot detach my arms from my body so when you get angry when I tell you I can’t take my top off with my wrists in handcuffs – believe me. I also cannot suck cock when I have a blocked nose or scratch your back if you are lying on it. Getting into the ‘hot toweling’ position doesn’t mean that I will automatically give you one and asking me, ‘Where’s my coffee bitch?’ when you haven’t even asked for one would normally get you nothing but a forehead slap…if I wasn’t your slave of course.

Stiletto heels are very difficult to walk in and thigh-high boots are very difficult to put on. Waking me up at 6am and telling me to put thigh-high boots with stiletto heels on when I’m only half-awake is a recipe for disaster.

I don’t share your same penchant for my nakedness and I also don’t enjoy wearing things that only someone half my size should be wearing. Forgive me when I groan and moan about your wardrobe choices for me as clearly you enjoy humiliating me.

Toilet spray can smell nicer than your crap, but only when you use less than half a can, and disappearing into your bathroom to have your two minute shower and then getting angry when I’m not waiting there towel-in-hand to dry you down when you step out is, of course, unforgiveable. Because yes, I am psychic and know what you are doing at all times.

The proper time for kissing is: never. The proper time for licking is: never. Saying that you will ‘break me to kissing’ doesn’t make it any more pleasant for me. Ever.

Remember, slaves are better than kids because they:

1.     only eat gruel

2.     don’t have any money or property

3.     are easier to train

4.     normally come when called

5.     never ask to drive the car

6.     don’t hang out with anyone

7.     don’t smoke or drink (without permission)

8.     don’t wear clothes

9.     don’t have to buy the latest fashions (see previous point)

10.   don’t need a gazillion dollars for college/school/life

11.   if they get pregnant, you can sell them


3 thoughts on “A letter

Add yours

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: