Last night after the kids were in bed and the chores were done we sat on the couch and had a good talk about what was up with me (uncertainty about the future and whoremoans mainly, the same old stuff).
We talked about what is going on in the rest of our lives. We have two offers on our house this week but Master doesn't think he wants to move or sell it anymore. So we talked about that. Real life stuff. Ugh. I floated the idea of selling everything, moving to a tropical island and selling shell necklaces on the beach for a living. He could doctor the island's puppies and kitties in exchange for weed.
"I've got my toes in the water and and my ass in the sand..."
Anyway, such are the daydreams of a frozen Northlander.
I told him I felt guilty about not having a job. He told me to quit that. He didn't see any way that I could work outside the home and still take care of everything here, and he would not allow it anyway. He needs me to be here at home. This has been decided. I don't have to feel guilty if it is an order.
After that he took me upstairs, gave me a hard and very pleasurable/painful caning, and I sucked him off.
It is a bit surreal in a weird and wonderful way being made to sing along to "Rainbow Connection" while the cane stings ones ass.
No, that's not my bed. And I'm not dead. I was getting worked over by two men, and looking pretty out of it at that point. ...
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