Sometimes when I am at home I wonder about having a little pocket slave to do mundane things for me. Like my laundry. Or cleaning my kitchen floor, preferably in French maid garb. Or when I’m relaxing with Domina Lexx watching movies, to massage my feet and paint my toenails. Or scoop the poo out of my cat trays. Mostly tho I think it would be fun to have some who would quietly move around my home, tidying up, making sure dinner is ready and preparing a hot bath for me without even having to ask. Sometimes I think that would be fun, but I know that would not be the ideal situation for me.
I relish my privacy. I love the peace and quiet of my home. I like being able to know that I can sit around bare ass naked, reading a book and drinking wine, with no one to bother me. And while it would be amusing to have a naked slave to prop my feet on instead of my leather ottoman, I could only do with that for a weekend. I love the idea of having a sub over to clean my carpets- real ones, not my beaver, pervs 😉 – and then sit quietly by my feet while I shop online with their credit card and allow them to massage my calves. I think I could truly enjoy a weekend of using someone as my furniture and having them organize my panties by color and texture- but that would be all.
I adore chaining a slave to my dungeon wall and treating them to a a thorough lashing with one of my floggers, or binding them up in plastic wrap and gagging them and leaving to have a drink while they painfully await my return. I love blindfolding and playing loud music so that they only know where I am by my perfume, my breath and the gentle touches I may treat them to before I run an electrical current through their balls. But I also love watching a slave indulge in their fetishes too. Watching a slave caress and lick my feet, savoring every inch of the soles, sucking on my toes and watching that light of happiness come into their eyes gives me my own sense of pleasure too. Or forcing a slave to watch in the mirror as I torment them, and always that same look of “coming home” settles in their faces. It is reminiscent of seeing a small child lick an ice cream cone, or stressed-out smoker take that first drag of a ciggie after a stressful day. But would I want to come home and have to be “on” all the time? No. Not even for that look of bliss that tells me I have done a very good job topping whoever I may see that day.
This is why I love my job… I get to be the secret me and indulge in what truly satisfies me, then go home to my every day life with a secret smile upon my lips…. Bliss.