Note: What it says on the tin—fifth 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.
This particular piece is not exactly a typical day; it takes place over a sleepless thirty-eight hours and a twenty-five and a half hour fast.
My morning rituals feel thrown off by the fasting, meaning no serving brunch at 9:30 even though I was up at 8:15. While I’ll say the fast is for the holiday, it’s more of a spiritual than religious thing I just like an excuse to do now and then. But, the rest of my morning is quiet, normal. Get unleashed from the bed. Dress in my uniform. I started fasting at 4:30 PM yesterday, after serving dinner two hours early. Mistress is fasting with me, for now, though she admits she foresees breaking it early.
She says she wants to do a scene with me sometime before 1 PM. I say the earlier the better, skeptical of how my energy will hold up with the fast, and we schedule 10 AM, after my daily walk.
The scene is nice. Rope and a Hitachi and a good time. I clean up, coil the rope, a meditative activity. Do some writing, some crocheting. The effects of hunger are starting to kick in. Mistress breaks her fast at 1 PM and then takes a nap.
I’m a little envious of both the lunch and the sleep; the catch to my fast is that I am also looking at a total of thirty-eight hours without sleep for a medical test I have scheduled tomorrow morning that requires sleep deprivation, and then the interest of not throwing off my sleep schedule horrifically.
My mind somewhat stuck on food, I decide that while I can’t eat, I can cook, and that at least doesn’t feel like desperate distraction. So I start my first go at making apple bread, a coffee cake like dessert bread with a batter containing cinnamon and brown sugar and apple and, feeling adventurous, some nutella.
I do some cleaning and Mistress wakes from her nap in the mood for oral, pulling me into the bed with her. It’s a bit dizzying by this point in the fast. I’m dismissed when the timer for the bread goes off; she gets up but the bread needs a few more minutes anyway. The scent permeates the house. I finally start what will actually be dinner, a pasta dish, peeling some garlic and getting the water boiling.
It’s on the table at six, and the fast breaks then for me after twenty-five and a half hours. It’s glorious. The bread came out very well. (I have now already made it again a few times since.) I clean up dinner. Soon, Mistress goes to bed and sleep.
Now that I’m sated on food, time to stay awake.
I write and crochet more. Mostly, I read.
Mistress just finished Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations and it’s now required reading for anyone in the vicinity, so I pick it up and finish it before she’s awake again, copying quotes and making other notes in my notebook. Reading a few related articles when the book is done. It’s good stuff. Binge reading Stoic philosophy at three in the morning feels like middle school all over again.
The book opens with a quote from Plato: “States will never be happy until rulers become philosophers or philosophers become rulers.” It seems suiting for a philosophy book I’m reading at Mistress’ recommendation.
I stored some homemade cookie dough in the freezer for a later time and now seems as good a later time as any. I preheat the oven and put some of the dough balls on a tray and in the oven. Later, snack. Sugar boost might keep me up.
I doodle font ideas in my notebook and look up the words I noted down from Meditations to see if they’re useful for my word of the day list.
Mistress gets up, and we talk a bit. Meditations and everything else. Getting ready for that medical appointment. At the last minute, my collar malfunctions, rope unraveling as the whipping twine wasn’t done perfectly; we knew it when this one was made, months ago, replacing one that had lasted two years and was replaced only as the rope was rotting, but as Mistress wanted to try a new design soon anyway, it was left as it was. It gets cut off to be kept before it falls off somewhere we won’t find it. I’m just awake enough to be disoriented by the lack of it. I make the bed, which feels a lot like the cooking while fasting.
(Days later, Mistress was so disconcerted by my ability to get in and out of bed at will, without our leashing ritual enabled by the collar, that she tied a ribbon around my neck to temporarily take its place while the actual collar work was in progress.)
The appointment is relatively fast, a peaceful test. Results later. So we go home. I have a snack, as the appointment ran into brunch time, organize things in my office, do some writing.
The doorbell rings with a package delivery. I bring the package to Mistress’ office though it technically has my name on it because we know what it is and are eager to open it… and open it… and open it; I am far too tired for this amount of packaging and laugh as we both fail to not need an ironic knife to open the package.
But, the daggers we’ll exchange at our upcoming wedding have arrived exactly as promised. I perk up a bit, finding enough energy that I ask permission to shower to remove some electrode glue from my hair.
She grants it, but says, “I’ll pee on you first,” and tells me to go wait in the master bathroom. So, I do. I soon hear the toilet in the other bathroom flush and then footsteps and Mistress’, “So… I zoned out and messed up.”
At over thirty hours without sleep, this is the now the funniest thing that’s ever happened to me.
I shower. The hot water is lulling. Inspection after. The cold air is not lulling.
I start dinner, throw together a tomato sauce and make a version of baked ziti, clean up after. A friend comes over for leftovers, seeing the daggers (complete with Mistress doing a bit of abrasion play on my thigh), trying the apple bread, and mostly hanging out.
When my energy is fading out on them, they go home; I go through my nighttime routines, and finally head to bed at 10:15 PM.