#domestic bliss
Bringing me my breakfast–she’ll be punished for looking so uncheerful and not dressing like a fucktoy.
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Alternative Pin Up http://lingerie-pinup.blogspot.com/
Today she’s organizing my records because there’s no task too menial for my slaves.
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Domestic servitude.
We each have our roles. She cleans, cooks, waits on me, works to bring me home paychecks, and keeps her tongue busy when I need her too. I tell her what to do and slap her around. It works well.
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Fresh squeezed juice and a good view every morning, that was one of her Mistress’ most firm demands
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How things should do laundry, only without the shoes.
She was hurrying to finish her chores, knowing I’d be home soon expecting to discuss her turning over her work bonus to me at her paying job, knowing I’d expect to be served while we talked about me raping her wallet, wanting to be ready and in position…but time…time was not on her side.
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Every OTHER week she had to vacuum the drapes and curtains. She didn’t want to forget again like last time. She couldn’t sit down for a week!
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My clothes never used to be ironed, but I have this dumb cunt now so I always look pressed and profesh.
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I was exhausted. I thought being a prominent business woman was tough, but my descent into slavery was truely tough. Veronica had transformed me from business woman to personal slave. I looked pathetic in my pink bow and bunny ears, but she said it was important to look as ridiculous as I felt.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept. I know I’d done a lot in the meantime. Made her house spotless, washed her car, done her shopping, picked out some expensive gifts for her, driven her around, cooked her several meals, worshipped every inch of her body several times over with my tongue, painted her nails, danced for her, written her an essay on how beautiful she is, entertained her guests, cleaned her mother’s house, rearranged her closet….I think I got it all. And finally, she allowed me to curl up on the floor at her feet and nap.
My eyes had barely closed when she barked at me. “BITCH! My FUCKING nails aren’t perfect. Fix them. Now!”
I opened my eyes furious. That was it. I wouldn’t do this any more. But when I turned to face her, my momentary resistance was crushed. Those amazing legs, her perfectly curvaceous body, her entitled expression…
Reaching for the nail polish, I profusely apologised. “I am so so so sorry Goddess Veronica. Please allow me to make it up to you, Your Perfectness”.
My pubishment wasn’t so bad afterall. Three more hours of my tongue gliding over her supreme body before I was finally allowed to close my eyes
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Shut the fuck up and flop them out.
Stand there and hold my coffee until I need one of you, slut.
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In her place.
Now she brings this upstairs to me, knowing if it’s cooled off, she’ll regret it.
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Late night domestic bliss ♥️
Of course they borrow each other’s clothes
Remember when Marcy refused moving in to PB’s place? I think it’s because she sees it as Bonnie’s workplace.
This is why having domestic life at Marcy’s place means so much. It’s something they can call home!
I wanna move in with them too LOL
…owned kitten life…
Mmmph. Yes, please.
I love this sort of casual display of power and control. Remind me that you can do whatever you’d like, touch me however you want, whenever you want.
You have the right to my body, even if I’m doing something else, and you don’t need to ask for my permission to play with me.
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Right now I’m working from home because SNOW DAY!
Meanwhile, Reaction Junkie is doing the dishes, vacuuming, and doing lots of other cleaning around the apartment.
I’m bringing home the (vegan) bacon, and Reaction Junkie is washing the pan.
Reaction Junkie is moving in with me!
We’ve already started moving his stuff into my place, and the weekend after New Year’s, we’re renting a truck and moving the furniture that doesn’t fit in my car (With help from The Unknown Quantity, who, according to Reaction Junkie, asked to ravish me as payment. Hee.)
I’m so excited! The place he’s living right now is fine, but they won’t let him have overnight guests more than three times a week, which is reasonable but cramps our style. He’s moving in because we want to spend more time together. It’s the first time either of us has lived with a partner, so it’s somewhat scary/intimidating, but I’m ready to take this nervcited-making step towards commitment with him.
We’re having such fun looking forward to little scenes of domestic bliss. Sitting on the couch doing work together, me getting to receive beatings more frequently and consistently, me cooking for him, practicing rope while we relax after a day at work, sharing parts of a commute, me getting drowned in the shower until I’m thrashing and sobbing, taking bike rides together, making each other exercise and eat right, watching TV together on the couch with him bound and gagged, going grocery shopping as a couple.
I can’t wait!
Reaction Junkie and I just got back from a pre-con happy hour (which was hella fun, by the way). It’s late, so he stripped and went right to bed. I told him that he needed to brush his teeth.
He whined, and I told him again that he needed to do it. I had to repeat my instruction several times until finally he told me to bring him a toothbrush.
My mind immediately went to something MLAM and I had done. I asked Reaction Junkie if he wanted to spit into my mouth. In a tone that was a mixture of pleased and surprised, he said, “Yes! Bring me a toothbrush and a glass of water.”
I grinned and trotted to the bathroom to comply with his instructions. When I returned, I knelt by the bed, head bent back, mouth open. Reaction Junkie told me, “Don’t spill any,” and began brushing. As he did, he told me to get a towel.
I rushed out, grabbed a towel, and got on my knees again, waiting with my mouth open. When he finished brushing, he put his closed mouth next to my open one, and spit. I felt the mixture of toothpaste and spit hit my tongue.
I got up and went to the bathroom. As I left, he told me, “I’m not done yet,” so when I spit the contents of my mouth into the sink, I hurried back to resume my position on my knees by the bed.
Reaction Junkie swirled some water around in his mouth and then repeated his earlier action. It was mostly water now, but there was more of it. I almost spilled some, but managed not do as I hopped up and went back to the sink.
I returned to the bedroom to take his toothbrush and put it away for him. As I left, turned on by the objectification and the fact that I had been so useful, Reaction Junkie looked at me and told me what a disgusting slut I am for enjoying that kind of treatment. That just turned me on even more.
After complying with instructions to wash my mouth, I went back in to get a good night kiss. Reaction Junkie praised me for being useful and for taking my proper place as a waste receptical, a spitoon. I smiled, happy to be used to make his life easier.
Some girls, like me, aren’t naturally inclined towards domesticity. I would pout, whine, argue, dawdle, and do a bad job with the housework. My husband tried everything he could think of to get me to fulfill this part of my wifely duties. He asked nicely, tried to bribe me, yelled at me, beat me, threatened me, even bought me a cute little outfit. Nothing worked. I just yelled right back at him, suffered through the beatings, and threw the clothes back in his face, wearing my sweats and t-shirts when I made my half-assed attempts to clean.
Finally, he left me in the stocks for two nights. Exposed, vulnerable, and unprotected. I lost count of the number of people who used my cunt and ass. No one listened to my begging or my hollow threats of vengeance. They just laughed and pointed out that I’d been a negligent wife, hadn’t kept the house as my husband wanted, hadn’t been obedient. And now I was getting just what I deserved.
Now I happily clean the house without him even needing to ask. Beyond that, I wear the French maid outfit he so generously bought me and strive to be sexy even while I’m just cleaning. I know that I’m lucky to have him and I want to always be pleasing to the eye. I’ve learned my place and feel so good about serving my purpose as a wife and as a woman. He has a clean house and a much more pleasant wife.
We’re both so much happier now.
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![Daily Picture Assignment #6[1.19.2015] A picture from this winter. I spent the evening wearing these](https://64.media.tumblr.com/99a36fbaf55b5c48d95b28e613cab82a/tumblr_npmtc9MN1Z1s8bp28o1_1280.jpg "Daily Picture Assignment #6[1.19.2015] A picture from this winter. I spent the evening wearing these")
Daily Picture Assignment #6
[1.19.2015]
A picture from this winter. I spent the evening wearing these shackles and cooking for Reaction Junkie. Out of all of the things he tells me to do, service-type tasks are the ones I push back on and whine about most. There are two main reasons for this.
For one, unlike the impact we do, or the more specific d/s-focused play we sometimes do, these things aren’t, except for cooking, very fun. The instructions and the tasks usually aren’t sexy or kinky in and of themselves. They’re straightforward orders to do things that just need to be done. Quotidian domestic tasks.
The other reason, which is just as, if not more, important, is the fact that, in contrast to the planned scenes we do at happy hours or parties, and the spontaneous “because we’re both in the mood” fun we have, these orders are often given at inopportune times. I might be grumpy from work, or tired, or having a rough time with depression or jealousy. I might even be mad at Reaction Junkie himself.
So, I resist and complain about these kinds of instructions because they aren’t fun or entertaining, and because I’m not always in the mood when they’re given.
Neither of those things should matter. I shouldn’t be doing what he tells me because it’s fun or sexy. I should be doing what he tells me simply because he’s telling me to do it. The instruction or the task needn’t be enjoyable or pleasurable. I should get pleasure knowing that I’m doing what my owner wants me to do.
As for not being in the mood, that should be irrelevant. I belong to Reaction Junkie. When he gives me an instruction, how I feel is immaterial. Even (especially) if the reason I’m not in the mood is that I’m upset with Reaction Junkie, I need to push past that and remember that he owns me. Possessions don’t get to decide if they “feel” like serving their purpose. I owe him my obedience no matter what.
Submissive and barefoot in the kitchen may not be every woman’s place, but it’s certainly mine.
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I sucked Reaction Junkie’s cock while he relaxed on the couch with kittens on his chest, watching Archer. It made him very happy, and I loved pleasing him like that.
Domestic bliss.
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…what would you like for breakfast, Sir?
Damn
Reaction Junkie and I have a bit of a tradition. Every Sunday I wake him up with chocolate chip pancakes (vegan, of course). I like making them for him because I like showing my love for him with acts like this, I enjoy the domesticity of it all, cooking is a kind of service I actually enjoy, and, obviously, because then I get pancakes for breakfast!
Domestic bliss.
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Leif & Thorn flashback: Hermosa and Dex, when they first moved in together, decorating the home.
“Dexie, honey, how in the world is this not level?”
“It’s tilted too far clockwise by half a degree. If you ever get spelltech eyes, you’ll understand.”
(Spoiler alert: these days Hermosa does have spelltech eyes, but he doesn’t use the “superimposed visual grid” function as much as Dex does.)
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