RCdc -> RE: A day in the life of a Master/Slave? And maybe if your good...a Dom/Sub too. (2/5/2008 5:00:49 AM)
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This is Darcy The alarm goes off at 7am, as per my command (or perhaps because it's a programmable piece of electronics, but I like to think it, like everything else is my life, is subject to my whims) and I leap out of bed. In my mind I do, anyway, the reality being that the mind is willing but the flesh frankly can't be bothered. However, after listening to Chris Moyles prattle on for the best part of half an hour I resist the urge to end it all then and there, and instead hall my ass out of bed, after having carefully ensured that the loaded organic gun that I usually wake up with has been rendered harmless. On goes the kettle as I wander around naked, figuring that if the house across the back can see what I'm doing, which would require a telescope, then they're entitled to the pleasing sight of my lithe, muscular, lily-white English arse perambulating from kitchen to bathroom. Shower goes on, Darcy gets in, makes sure everywhere is thoroughly cleaned, some places more thoroughly than others, and Darcy climbs out, smelling of Sonic Death Monkey (no, not some weird liquidised monkey jizz, but rather a delighful shower gel from the lovely people at Lush Cosmetics). Clothes go on, water goes in coffee cup (along with coffee, of course), Cheerios go in bowl, milk on Cheerios, bowl, coffee cup and Darcy transport to living room, Darcy eats, drinks, contemplates being Mary but decides against it, and the whole procedure is reversed, with the exception of the Cheerios and coffee leaving their new home in my stomach. Then it's into the car, off to work (oh joy of joys), spending an inordinate time wondering just where some of the other drivers on the road got their licenses, deciding on Toytown as a probable answer, eating a couple of Babybel cheese snacks (yeah, I'm weird, I know [;)]), negotiate roadworks on M1 motorway that are scheduled to continue until just after the Second Coming, wonder whether the posted speed limit of 50 miles per hour is actually possible as I crawl along at approximately a third of that. Perform work functions, pausing at a convenient point to call the.dark and have my life brightened immeasurably just by hearing her voice, do more work, rue choice of career, fantasise about other options, fantasise about other things that leave me in danger of needing a men's room and/or a cold shower. Repeat car journey in reverse. Marvel at inability of other drivers to display even the most rudimentary coutesy to me or anyone else. Wish fiery, horrible deaths on a good half a dozen of them. Listen to Radio 4, hopefully catching What's My Line, get home, shut world out. Eat, write, then speak with the.dark who brightens the room even through the telephone line.Wish it was the weekend so we were together, wish it was June so that we'd be together all the time, engage in some filthy one-in-a-bed action, fall asleep. Wake up. Repeat.[:D] (You may have noticed a lack of beatings, floggings, restraints, gags, handcuffs, fisting, felching, snowballing, head, pussy-eating, fingering, fucking, licking, sucking, watersports, and other Conservative Party manifesto items in the above, but that's because they don't define who I am, they're just things we do when we're together [;)].)
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