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Simone examined Brian. Inspected him. Most parts of him. His arms. His legs. His face. His chest. She decided that he needed a new bandage on his leg.

She unpeeled the old bandage and carted it away. She took the funky, used cotton out and tossed it in the trash.

Then she went into the bathroom. She carefully washed her hands.

Simone cleaned Brian’s leg wound with “ouchless” antiseptic. Then she pressed a sterile pad against the place the railing hit. She wrapped the leg with bandage. She taped the bandage nice and tight.

Simone leaned over Brian. Her property. Her slave. Her most treasured piece of property. Her treasured little slave.

But her property had a fever. Drops had gathered on his brow. She soaked a terry cloth and wiped the fever-sweat away. She kissed her property and slave.

Simone met Brian’s gaze. Simone had eyes like the sky.

“You be OK. You’ll be fine. Just relax. Just relax.”

She wiped his chin. She wiped his brows. She made his lashes gently gleam. They were asphalt after rain fall. Simone said, “Go to sleep.”

Her slave obeyed.


Brian woke in quiet darkness. But he was not there alone.

Simone clicked the bedroom light on. He blinked. A private sun. Simone reached out and felt her slave. His temperature this time. Her palm resting on his forehead, she asked Brian how he felt.

“Better. Much better. A whole lot better.”

“Good. Your fever’s had it, I think.”

Then Simone asked Brian if he needed to go. He said he did.

“OK, stand up. Grab my arm. Lean on me. Just lean on me.”

Simone and her man stood on tile out of ice, more than half a mile above a swaying, pale toilet. Simone held Brian like a squirt gun.

“You won’t even have to wash your hands”, observed Simone.

But she had to.

Then Simone renewed the bandages. Then asked Brian, “Are you hungry?”


“Up for soup?”

Brian grinned. “I am up for the ass out of a dead rhinoceros.”

“Copy that”, Simone said.

Fifteen minutes went by. Went by. Went by. Simone returned with a plastic tray. A plastic tray and a steaming bowl. A steaming bowl of – of course – chicken soup. “It is”, she remarked, “a stereotype that comes in a can.” Simone set the tray down. And in notably casual tones announced, “Oh, by the way, I am going to feed you.”

“Scoot up”, she said.

Brian scooted up.

Being careful to spare Brian her weight – normally a diamond gift – Simone climbed in bed. Loomed over Brian. She retrieved the plastic tray. Brian liked the steam that rose. He moved.


“Hands at your side! You just sit there. Just be fed. Let the spoon go into you. Into. So to speak. Penetrate a bodily opening.”

Brian echoed, “So to speak.”

At first the soup was way too hot. Way, way, way, way too Betturkey hot. Simone blew over it. She blew on the spoon in the middle of the air. Now and then she paused a bit. She took a paper towel. She wiped Brian’s mouth and hairy chin. Her baby had a beard.

The soup had lots and lots and lots of bits. “Thank you.” Brian said. “That hit the spot.” A few seconds later, “You are not bad at hitting the spot.”

When the soup was all eaten, Simone put the tray aside. She looked into Brian’s eyes. She said, “Get back down.”

He got back down.

Haltingly and quietly, Brian thanked Simone. He was grateful. He was grateful. for the love and loving care. He had learned.

He had learned that she would always – she would always – know his need. And she’d protect him. She’d watch over him. She had proved that he was hers. This made him feel comfortable. Made him feel safe. It made him feel that finally he was home.

Brian added parenthetically that when Simone needed someone, that someone would be him. If she allowed.


As the days rolled on by, Brian’s wounds healed nicely. The cotton shrank away and Brian got a trifle bored. He got tired of lying around and lying around and lying around. Lying around and doing nothing. Lying around and doing zilch. A lot of reading. A lot of sleeping. A little swaying over the toilet. He felt tired and also guilty.

So one fine day, Brian begged to help Simone. “Can I please help? Please?”

Simone was cooking dinner. She muttered something about they’d see.

A few minutes trickled by. A few minutes trickled.

Simone entered. Looked at Brian. She looked quietly and calmly and assessingly at Brian.

Then she said in an offset voice, a light and sort of acting voice, “So you’re sick and tired of being served by your domme. Jeez. Being waited on and waited on, hand and foot, foot and hand, by your sovereign queen. Please no more!”

“That’s it exactly.”

“OK. Alright. The bitch from hell now rides into town. You will make the salad or suffer the consequences.”

“Anything you say.”

“You are learning.”

Now the days hurried by. Brian’s life now had a core: housework for Simone. Doing things at her command. He was living for her will.

Simone had Brian do the dishes. He did the dishes and she watched. She watched Brian just in case and just to see his giving in. Then Simone had Brian help her. Help mainly when she cooked. He chopped and stirred and lifted stuff. And she watched him giving in. She liked to see him giving in.

Then Simone ordered Brian to perform certain tasks – clean-up this, clean-up that – while she was off at work. And when Simone got home, she would check on Brian’s work. Is this truly spotless? Is that part OK?

And if Brian had did it right – and he usually did it right Betturkey Giriş – Simone would let him bow to her. Kneel to her and bow. He would kneel by Simone. Her knight. He even had a lance.

Simone would put a hand out to him. Her hand would rest on Brian’s head.

Simone would tell Brian to close his eyes. “And do not take a breath”. Without the echo of a whisper of a thought, he would obey. Brian would obey her. Brian would obey. Then Simone would make a shower out of good and gentle words and drown her slave. Drown her slave. He would be helpless in the rain.

And one day the gentle words contained a question. Simple question. Simone asked Brian if he knew what they were doing.

“Playing 24/7. We’re taking a 24/7 vacation.” He hesitated here. “In a coupla weeks I’ll be back online.” He paused again. “Is two weeks too much? I can only handle monotone for so long anyway. And I am not trying to be your job.”

Simone nodded a vigorous “no”.

“Two weeks is fine. And I think you ARE one of my jobs. But 24/7 has to be temporary. I just wanted to make sure that you understood that.” Simone took a long pause here and quietly went on, “24/7 sounds kinda neat. But life is not about getting off. “

Brian agreed. Simone then said, in a rough and fervent voice, “But for now you are merely an extension of my will. You are because I think so.” A pause. “Kiss my instep! Lick for your life!”

Her slave obeyed.


The bandages had disappeared. Completely disappeared. Brian was a week or so from going back to work. He wondered when Simone would make him hurt and hurt for her.

Kinda wondered.


But not idle curiosity.


Simone was just standing there. All innocence and smiles. She had a ribbon in her hair. She held her hands – and something else also – behind her.

Brian said, “I’d ask you what you’re holding behind your back, but I’m afraid I’ll eventually find out.”

“A justifiable trepidation, I happen to believe.” Simone wore an evil grin. Simone’s eyes were sparkling. There is not a great deal Brian would not do to make Simone’s eyes sparkle.

Simone turned serious. “If you feel weak or dizzy, like you’re about to pass out or anything like that, then tell me. If you let me really hurt you, I’ll have the guilts for… I don’t know how long. And you’ll get the prize for shittest slave. The safeword is for MY safety.”

Simone took a crop from behind her back. Just a regular, ordinary riding crop. A wee on the small side, perhaps. Perhaps. Brian stared and stared and stared and stared at the riding crop. Simone noted Brian’s noting and said happily, “Get a good look.”

Simone peeled the covers off. “What is that bulge? Curious minds… well one curious mind… .” The crop struck the mattress. “Underwear off!”

Hurriedly, Betturkey Güncel Giriş Brian took his underwear off.

“Put it on the floor.”

Brian put it on the floor.

Simone studied Brian. She held the riding crop aloft. The crop had a small leather leaf at its tip.

“Spread your legs. Open up. Open up for me.” Her voice darkened. “Open for my whip.”

Clumsily, but earnestly, Brian spread his legs.

The whip landed on Brian’s left thigh. It bounced between his thighs.

“Wider! Wider! Grab your ankles. ” Simone said. “Its nineteen fifty and you’re pregnant! You are in the stirrups and I am in the saddle. Wider!”

Brian stained like a human rack to pull his legs ever further apart. Even further apart for Simone. For Simone.

But he was afraid.

He farted.

“What?” Simone started laughing. A helpless domme.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean. I am very sorry. It just happened.”

“I don’t believe… . You should be sorry. It did just happen. That is disgusting! You know, I was gonna let you off easy. I was gonna wave the whip around, growl a few times, scare the crap out of you … but not literally. And you cut a fart! Dam! Plan B. Scrotal chastisement is now required. “

Simone hit Brian’s right thigh. She hit with all her might. “SPREAD ‘EM DAMMIT!”

Brian gulped and Simone leaned over him. She did her Carly Simon imitation. “Antici-pa-a-tion.”

Brian’s eyes got bigger. He looked like that guy on Monty Python.

Simone moved in front on him. Brian’ eyes followed her. She tapped her slave’s scrotum with the leaf of her riding crop. She held the leaf under her slave’s family jewels. A couple of hairy objects on a dark but shiny, disciplinary spatula.

Simone declared that she was ready to begin.

She began.

The first blow of the whip made Brian hiss aloud. But he pulled on his ankles to show Simone he was hers. The second blow of the whip made Brian close his eyes and press his mouth firmly shut. He pulled on his ankles even more.

Simone put the whip down. “Question, Brian.”

“Why are you letting me hit you in the nuts with a riding crop?”

Simone studied Brian. Her expression said, ‘This had better be real good.’

Brian’s problem was an embarrassment of riches . There were so many real good – or at least real true – possible answers. For instance he could have said ‘Because I love you.’ That would certainly have been true. And a big enough truth. He would hardly just lie there, legs a nightmare and a half apart, unless… . But it did seem a tad light on the details.

Then he considered, ‘Because your joy means more to me than my pain.’ Brian kinda liked that. It sounded nice and romantic. He could picture Simone getting hot over that. But he did see a down side. He could also picture Simone getting pissed. Some artfully crude and sarcastic verbiage about his impending canonization.

In the end he went with, “Because your joy gives me more pleasure than the whip gives pain.”

Simone started crying.

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