The Hard Days

Yesterday I was having a hard time.   I never did write a blog, because I felt I was too close to the emotion (ie. wrapped up in it) and whatever I wrote would come out as an unpleasant, whiny rant.

Because I really do have it good here, and I realized that even in the middle of my grumps, I did not want to write a post like that.

It started out pretty much like any Sunday morning.  I woke up early, horny (I always wake up that way) and Master told me to get up and let him sleep.   I went down stairs, did some stuff, drank my coffee, and when Master got up I made breakfast for everyone- pancakes and sausages.   Pffft. Diet. What diet?  Oh well. 

I gently and respectfully made known my intense desire to get fucked.   Master just kind of laughed at me.  I went upstairs to get dressed, because I was going to the gym to work off those pancakes (ha!).  

After a minute or so, he came up to the bedroom, grabbed me by the hair and told me to strip.  I stumblingly removed my clothes, still with him gripping me by the hair, and he propelled me to the bed.    He read his big book of porn while I gave him a blowjob.  

This was enjoyable, and I was happy to please him, but if I had been hot before, now I was near-meltdown level of desperate.   He told me I was cute when I was horny, spanked me just a little and said that I should be a good girl and go work out now, then go visit Myst, who is laid up at home with a badly broken leg. 

I was a good slave, and did this, did not pout (much) or whine.  I had a good time visiting Myst all afternoon- a bunch of friends were there.   I picked up pizza for Master and the kids on the way home.

Then came the crown of the evening.   See, our oldest ram died a while ago, of natural causes.  I tried moving him, but rams are big, and I couldn't do it on my own.  Master now had time to help me, but the beast was not only rotten but frozen solid.  It stank. Oh gods, it stank bad.   Master sharpened a knife and proceeded to cut all the sticky-outy bits off the ram while I put the parts into trash bags.    This is one of the lovely parts of bucolic farm life that nobody wants to know about.  You can't bury dead animals when the ground is frozen and there is two feet of snow on the ground.  

By bedtime, I claimed to no longer want sex in the slightest.  Sorry, the feeling has past.   Rotten sheep have a way of doing that. 

Master was not fooled.  And anyway, it wasn't up to me.  He paddled me to warm me up, with the wooden paddle, and then fucked me nine ways from Sunday.   He slapped my face, over and over, and ordered me to cum.  I did, over and over.   It was awesome.

I guess you could say my St. Paddy's Day turned out all right after all.