Poor Master

i woke up with such tightness at the base of my head and neck that it felt like it was in a vise-grip.

Sir Raven was first to the French Press and poured her coffee.  i let us run out of half-and-half, which is basically a sacrilege, and all we had was the sweet creamer.  That is what i use for iced coffee that I make for Sir Raven.  She doesn’t like change and certainly doesn’t like anything to fuck with her morning coffee.

Personally, i consider it to be a household emergency to run out of coffee.

So, um, that was one fail.

i forgot to send her a daily list again, which i realized when she came home early.  i had finally determined that i definitely had a migraine, reached for the medicine, and dropped the cardboard box of pills into the tub.  Naturally, my back is so tight i can’t bend and reach them.  We also have a white-on-white situation, which means trying to fish it out wasn’t working out.

She nearly always comes home to me neat and clean, make up freshened, smelling nice.  i’ll change my dress if i need to or shower a second time.  i brush my teeth, put on lipstick, fix my hair.  i make the effort for her.

Today, she came home to my hair all frizzed out everywhere, in pjs, and missing many daily tasks being completed.

i was laying in the dark, but jumped like Pavlov’s dog at the sound of the wind chimes on the door.  Master’s home.  And i look a hot mess.  i walk to her and take her bag, serve ice water and wine.  i have just realized that i also let her run out of beer.  Which is another no-no.



She skips kissing me, mentions my crazy hair, and sits in her chair.  When she goes to the bathroom, i ask for her help to pick up my medicine.  i take it the second she brings it to me, apologize for looking a hot mess, and she takes the gentlemanly route and ignores the entire situation.

She asks me to recite my day again, and i’m smart enough this time to add in that i forgot to send my daily list to her.  Then i’m dumb enough to mutter, “That’s as close as i can get to mutiny.”

Um. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Jesus Jade!  Shhh.

“Mutiny?” She says, her voice tight and low.  i know that voice and my cunt tightens in fear and then is wet, from fear.  My mouth opened and some words came out, evidently words that were acceptable somehow.

She asks about school and i tell her that i’m still confused over my test, the one i failed.  As it turns out, she never heard me say that last night.  She only heard about the other class, and the test i got a perfect score in.

Damn.  Sigh.

i was surprised when i told her i failed something last night, and she said nothing at all.  i thought i had gotten away with it and we were moving on when she said nothing.

i go shower, shave everything, and put my hair up in a simple pony tail.  i add blush and chapstick, the new perfume she likes, the one we agreed instantly was the scent of “Pleasant Demeanor,” if pleasant demeanor had a smell.

i wear a dress she likes and half bow in front of her, grinning.

“That’s my girl,” she says, a smile in her voice.

“Yes, this is what your good girl looks like for you,” I agree, in what has become our ritualistic response.

We kiss then, lots of little girl kisses, and giggles.

i run out for her beer and the half-and-half.  i take down the garbage and recycling on the way, so at least some more of my chores were done, even if it was done late.  She accepts it, without pointing out that it should have been done.  i just couldn’t until i had enough medicine.  “Poor Master,” i agree, as i serve her beer.

We talk for awhile and i thank her for giving me a life where i feel safe in our home, safer than i’ve ever felt in my life, anyhow.i thank her for being such an amazing provider that i never have to worry about the rent note being paid, or not having lights.  She thinks about money in a way i have learned to understand, and respect.  Quality comes from spending money, and quality counts because it lasts.  She provides for me to have the look she wants, getting my nails and toes painted.  What she had to go through to get me on pointe?  Nearly four years.  Poor Master.

She goes into the kitchen, which is freshly mopped, and cooks dinner.  That was a huge surprise, but it was really thoughtful.  Everything is clean in there but i hadn’t put the clean dishes away.  Ugh.  Poor Master.

She is across from me, laughing, and singing with her earbuds in.  So the Goodliest Master is happy, despite all the mess ups.


2 thoughts on “Poor Master

  1. morgianacontentlycaptured says:

    I think sometimes, they are much more simple than we, in our little heads, make them out to be…

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