Day in the Slave Life #2

Note: What it says on the tin—second 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.

Still becoming awake, I open my computer to message Mistress.  She beat me to it, telling me to add something to the grocery list.

Yes, Mistress, I respond, and add, Good morning.  May I get up and get in the shower, please?

She gives the getting up request her typical response, which is coming into the bedroom from her office and unleashing me from the bed herself, and she gives me permission to get in the shower.

Thank you, Mistress.

There’s a “catch”—a quick bit of watersports before I turn the shower water on.  I smile, get up from my kneeling position and turn the water on as she leaves, feeling cold as I stand out of its way to let it warm up, and glad Mistress didn’t turn the cold water on this time.

I shower.  After, I go to her so she can inspect my work of shaving.  She approves.  I dry off a little more, brush out my hair, dress in my uniform.

We’re having a bit of an odd day schedule-wise; normally I’d be at my library volunteer shift and we’d go out to the grocery store tomorrow, but today, with the library closed and recent travel throwing off which groceries are urgent, we opt to stay home, and I place a grocery order instead, making the meal plan and snack plan, checking that and the master shopping list to make a list for the order I place.

Mistress and I spend some time together; I kneel on the floor next to her and we talk a bit and watch a video.  She goes to take a nap.

While she does that, she’s out of her office, so I take advantage of the good opportunity and clean up that room, file the miscellaneous papers of hers I end up sorting through.  I do some miscellaneous small tasks, a few loads of laundry, prep a coffee pot for when she wakes, bring in the grocery order and get it handled when it arrives.

She doesn’t doze long; when she’s up, I brew the coffee, fetch her some of that and some water.

I tell her I was planning on baking some chocolate chip cookies.  Does she just want to have those, or should I make the break-and-bake white chocolate macadamia nut cookie dough she requested from the store?  Or, does she want the white chocolate macadamia nut cookies to be homemade, too?

She opts for the latter, and I make both kinds of cookies from scratch, save some dough in the fridge, think about my project for National Novel Writing Month while I bake, answer a message from my mom.

I do more cleaning before the cookies cool and we snack on them.  Clean both toilets, do some sweeping, wipe down some counters, take out the trash, tidy up, check on that laundry to find the cloth napkins and placemats I’ll need more urgently; I check the laundry reference sheet I made about sorting as I put in another load.  I even get permission to use the dishwasher and run it.

Mistress is apparently in the mood to play a little today; she spanks me a little with what’s handy and sanitary in the kitchen.

It’s fun.  She acknowledges we’re getting short on time before dinner company though, so she lets me go to set the table.  I set her place setting’s silverware technically backwards, as she likes.

I get on the cooking.  Garlic chicken, corn, a new recipe for roasted potatoes my grandma recommended that I’m excited about.

Our friend who’s coming for dinner arrives.  I serve dinner not long later, get permission to sit at the table, the three of us eat and talk, I refill drinks and serve the cookies for dessert, clean up a bit as I go.  The food comes out well and the conversation is good.

He departs.  I do a few nighttime routine items and find myself leashed to the bed again, tired, but happy.

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.