Day in the Slave Life #1

Note: What it says on the tin—first in a series, a non-fiction piece about one day in my M/s dynamic, hoping to answer some questions I frequently see about the day-to-day life of a slave.


It’s Sunday morning.  Mistress stirs a little next to me.  The cats notice I’m now awake and pad along the bed towards my face curiously.  I try to not make the metal bits of my leash setup clink when I stretch.

I check on the status of Mistress’ stirring.  She’s very much asleep, so I’m allowed to let myself up for my needs; I unclip the leash from my collar and slip out of bed to the bathroom, and when I slip back in, she’s a bit more awake, so I hold the leash out to her questioningly.

She blinks at me, her eyes never fully opening, but soon clips the leash back on and dozes again.  I curl up close to her and doze too, but I’m up before her later.

.

After some morning tidying, I make lunch for both of us, and when I don’t have to be standing next to the stove, I make quick trips to other parts of the house, setting up the pedicure supplies for after lunch, cleaning a few things as I notice them, rotating the laundry between the hampers I already sorted, the washer, and the dryer.  Intercepted, one trip becomes getting Mistress coffee.

After lunch, she settles on the couch and watches a TV show, while I do the last-minute pedicure setup steps, mostly getting hot water in the foot bath, and then get to the pedicure itself.

She looks up from her show only once, asking about my odd additions to the water.  I tell her I did some research, and found out they were good for removing dead skin.  She smiles and praises my initiative.

.

After, with permission to roam, I handle more laundry when my timer goes off, do some cleaning, but my main focus is prepping for a routine trip of Mistress’ that I’ll be accompanying her and a friend on.

I plan what we’ll eat while we’re away, and pack for that what I won’t be buying there.  You can make anything in a crock pot, I reason, confirming the pork roast and chicken breast recipes.  I bake batches of various cookies and pancake bites for snacks, figure out what tupperware I can pack the two of them lunch in.

I get the cats set up for our absence.  I clean out the car we’ll be making the drive in.  I pack for her, I pack for myself.  A few days’ worth of uniforms into my bag is easy; choosing what books to bring is harder.  

.

When she calls, I fetch Mistress more coffee, more water; when I notice a low supply, I refill the water dispenser, make another pot of coffee.

It’s nighttime proper; I’m exhausted when I’m by her desk again, kneeling next to her.  My hands are behind my back, but my head is in her lap.  She tells me to go to bed, don’t worry about the few remaining things to do right now, secures the leash to my collar again once I’m under the blankets.

And so, I sleep.

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