He Insists

So there I am, muddling along in the day-to-day of my life. I have been so busy between kid stuff, work stuff and house stuff that I’m up and running the moment my feet hit the floor every morning…so busy that I rarely eat breakfast these days, and chug my one cup of tea between the various tasks for taking care of my family (including fur-kids!). For several days I only sent a goodnight text to M…at midnight.

And then.

I did a thing.

You know how one day you just get tired of the same old, same old? Yeah, I hit that point a week ago, and I cut my hair.

Now, M loves long hair on women. I know that. And I’ve been growing my hair for 12 years (with occasional ‘big’ trims)…but it hasn’t been short-short since he’s known me. And you know,  he’s not the day-to-day Dom that manages stuff like that. He doesn’t care what I wear, doesn’t care if I wear underwear or not, it just is too much micro-managing for him. It used to bug him when I’d ask about changing my color, or getting 4″ of hair lopped off.

So I just plunked myself in the hairdressers chair and told her it was time for a makeover. My hair was lank, and damaged, and tired. My red was more trending towards orange, and I was just tired of managing all of it.

She took off somewhere near 9″ and then added lots of layers (I have super thick hair). Now it’s bouncy and vibrant, and a deep coppery red…and I love it. It barely skims my shoulders in the back!  It takes me 2 minutes to style and boy how nice to not have the chore of keeping it up. No more braids, no more ponytails…and no more headaches, either. If you have long hair that you put up in a pony or bun, then you know what I’m talking about.

While I’m sure he’s not pleased with my decision, he also understands that sometimes you need a big cut to make it nice again.

So that leads me to his text early last week, insisting that we have a play time in June. Yes. HE initiated wanting playtime. So we’re going for it, hopefully mid-month. I was stunned, and happy, and glad to know that he still wants my fat o…hrm…if I say that word, Jz will be on me again…my fat, 59 year old ass. It’s nice to be wanted, isn’t it?

“I hope you beat me good, M,” I said. “I suppose you could beat me for cutting my hair,” I continued.

“Nilla,” he says, and I can hear the voice in my head as I read his texted response, “I’m going to beat you for breathing. I don’t need an excuse to do so.”

Which just makes me laugh. It’s just so M.

Keep your fingers crossed, Peeps, that things continue to flow and we get a second playtime already, this year. When you’re only averaging 3 times a year, having another time to fuck like minks in such a short time frame is a gift of immeasurable value. And if all goes well, despite him not loving my hair, which I know he won’t, he should hopefully at least not loathe it either.



The Annoyed Master

If you’re like me, you spend your mornings eating you breakfast, drinking your tea/coffee/smoothie, while trolling the interwebs for slutty, sexy blogposts. You go to a site…oh. nothing new. blah. Oh…nope she’s not posted either. Well fuck.

That was me, yesterday. Not only did *I* not have a new blogpost…but virtually none of my subsisters did. It’s the end of summer. Okay not by the calendar, those rigid equinoxes and solstice days…but by all else? Yes.  Maples are turning red, trees are dropping fruits and nuts like crazy, the geese are on the move south…and the chicadees are back from the north country. School began today–not for my homeschooled kids–but for my, and surrounding, cities. We are going on our traditional end-of-summer camping trip to the beach; I’m gathering last minute things, even as a school bus rolls past my house.  But everyone must be super busy as the “lazy” summer days roll to an end, because there was very little reading material for this slut to gobble down. So what the fuck should I write about, I wondered yesterday, knowing I’d have this little window of time before we drove north for our vaca. And then there was last night’s conversation with Master.

A very….displeased…Master. A pissed Master? No, not pissed but not happy Master.


He’s an annoyed Master.  And He shows His annoyance in the *meanest* of ways…let me explain. It’s a long-winded tale (most of mine are, had you noticed that?) So go fetch another cuppa, I’ll wait.

Here we go…(she says, as if this was a *fun* tale. It isn’t. It’s a sad tale, filled with woe and sorrow…and a distinct lack of orgasms. That is truly sad.)

Yesterday was “like day” for Master and I.

However, Master is…a bit annoyed. (That may be an understatement but I’ll let you decide that.).  And it all has to do (are you ready?) with my hair.

Part of my end of summer is getting my haircolor “refreshed”…that is, the hairdresser doesn’t only do the new growth at the scalp, but puts the color on ALL of my hair to brighten it up after it has faded from being outside all season.

Something went horribly wrong.

I went in a redhead…and came out a brunette.

Brunette with undertones of red…but red–MY red…my sassy-assed so THERE red? Gone.

I have a good dose of vanity. I’m NOT hot in the “hollywood” sense–but I’m pretty in my own way…and my hair is a part of that. And it was –so fucking ugly.

I cried.

Yeah, okay. It takes a *lot* to make me cry. Master usually has to annoy me for several weeks to drive me to that point. 🙂  My kids have to be *super* horrid all day to drive me over the edge. My hairdresser did it in 90 minutes.

It was wet when I went home…so I thought..you know…once it dried it would be lighter. But it wasn’t. Here is a before. It’s been brighter than this, but Master isn’t a fan of the more “neon” (for lack of a better word) reds..He thinks they look ‘cheap’…This is His PREFERRED color of red..

hntNow, stop looking at the tits…focus people. It’s the hair.

Here is my hair last week (it’s taken me a week to write this. Every time I tried, I cried. Yeah. Vain. Told you.)

disasterThis is the after…it doesn’t photograph all that well, this is *right* after I dried it. I sent this to Master (the full version, not this cropped one)…His reply was “that is NOT a happy face. What happened?”

And of course, He hates the color. (IRL it is really, really ugly. In this pic you can see the hint of plum-red. But mostly it’s like muddy water brown.)

This, by the way, is NOT a diatribe against brunettes. I have many brunette friends. Hell, my MOM was a brunette. What this is about is that Master likes a “hot redheaded slut. This ain’t it.” (When He slides down into the vernacular of His youth rather than the cultured man He is now? He is seriously upset.)

We met over the weekend for lunch. He took one look at me and shook His head. Right there in Panera He grabs a fistful and tells me how bad it is. And has been teasing me mercilessly about it…not in a hurtful way…but just to yank my chain in that asshole way that Dom’s do.

(and they do this all the time, don’t they? find our weak spot and exploit the fuck out of it? Bastards!)

He decided that since I wasn’t the “real nilla” as a brunette, “Like Day rules do not apply”…ergo…NO O.

That rat BASTARD! I was primed for it. I’m going camping for 6 nights…no WAY to have an O with my kids right fucking there….I whined. I begged. He’s holding it out pending my getting my hair fixed next week. (Yes, I called my hairdresser. I NEVER do that…but it was bad enough to give me the gumption to complain…and she’ll fix it for free. Thank the goddess.)

Isn’t that just the *saddest* tale? No O for the “fake” nilla on Like Day.

What’s the foundation of “Like Day” you ask? Well–for 3 years now, we’ve ‘celebrated’ that we officially got back together on a Tuesday after nearly breaking up…HIS idea, too. See? He’s really sweet under the thick coating of Badass Bastard He wears.

Not that I noted any hint of “sweet” when He refused to relent about my O. We talked for over an hour, and then He put me to bed with one terse order.

“Sleep, slut, capiche?”

What’s a slut to do (fake or otherwise!)…?

I slept.

So…while there *is* sweet in Him…it’s truly well-hidden under His Rat Bastard suit.



The Balancing Act

I’ve been floating back and forth about writing this. Coz, yanno, i don’t really do all that much “real life” stuff…

and really, this is pretty superficial.

But also? It’s not.

Y’all know i am an owned submissive slut. Y’all know my Master has taken strong ownership of His property. And y’all know that i live a vanilla life with my lesbian partner of over 30 years.

And for the first time in these two disparate relationships,  the first time in a year and a half in my D/s relationship, i have a conflict.

My wife thinks my hair is “too long” and is “swallowing up” my face.  It’s hitting mid-back now, below my bra strap.  Just like Master likes. (see the conflict beginning here?)

Recently i got a pedicure. My FIRST pedicure, and it was awesome. See?

 Aren’t they the awesomeness?? And i see you, scratching your head and saying, uh,  nilla? Pedicure? Thought you were talking about your hair??   Work with me here!  So,  the pedicurist is the sister of the woman who cuts my hair. Who happened to see my very split ends when i went in. And advised that it “really was time for a haircut”….


Master *loves* my hair long, and it can’t *be* “too long”, ever, for Him. My wife likes my hair shoulder length, maybe a bit longer. My hairdresser likes my hair looking healthy.

What’s a slut to do???

C’mon, i’ll give you three guesses. (and the first two don’t count.)




If you guessed that i turned to my Owner for help?

You are right!

i went to my knees to my Master and asked Him about lopping off 4 inches (the thought of that makes me gasp.) He’s approved layers around my face, and the four inches…and wants no more than that taken, less if possible.

So i’m keeping the ball balanced for another 6 months or so. *smiles* Master rules, because, well, He’s the Master. Wife gets less vote here coz…

total honesty?

i don’t think that someone who hasn’t any “stake” in a sexual role with me should have a say in how i look. Someone who is more quick with a chore list  than a compliment.

Thank You, Master. For helping me find the balance, however “unequal” it is…it works.