June, 2011
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I found his note instructing me to wake him by four in the afternoon when I returned from a pleasant early afternoon lunch date with his mother.
My Master, Matthew, naps after workouts on his pommel horse or weight machine in the basement.
In preparation, I will undress completely and take down my dark honey blond hair. Today I wore it in a braided bun as he instructed before I left the house. It will be nice and wavy for my Matthew's hands to caress while I suck on his cock and balls.
Matthew says I have stunningly intelligent and expressive blue eyes. He makes me look into his eyes when I suck on his cock.
I have grown my hair very long for him. It falls in soft thick waves to the bottom of my firm round ass cheeks to show off and enhance my curvaceous figure. Matthew says my hair is very beautiful but he wants it longer still. My master is not one for false praise nor will he be denied.
Matthew says he has watched my sexuality bloom like the most colorful and exotic of rare tropical flowers. That is how Matthew describes those changes in me. I no longer suppress my submissive sexuality and passive nature, I embrace them.
Another of the changes I have discovered about myself is that I enjoy a little bit of pain. It heightens my arousal and enhances my glorious orgasms and obedience to him for I am a true slut, Matthew's slut.
Especially while being bound and helpless. I am forced to wait, sometimes for hours in longing desire as my juices flow making me wet with arousal and yearning for his touch.
When Matthew uses me for his pleasure my multiple orgasms seem endless as they burn through my body when he ravishes me. I love having my hair pulled when he fucks me hard.
I am mandated to exercise daily to maintain my figure or I will be spanked and it will hurt. My punishments are tailored to the situation.
Although I am 37, I can easily pass for a much younger woman in her twenties because he has seen to that.
I can kneel or be bound helpless for hours with little discomfort because of my daily yoga and Matthew is very proud of me.
I have also discovered early morning exercise and yoga invigorates my creative energy for the day. I can easily keep up with him on his long walks or our frequent backpacking wilderness camping trips.
I no longer work for Wright Insurance and Securities. I am much too busy taking care of our home.
Mathew teases me and calls me his kept woman or his Mistress. To the world we are boyfriend and girlfriend.
Matthew's family accepted me as one of their own and his mother treats me like a daughter. His sister, Laura, keeps pushing us to get married.
I am a woman of leisure in a matter of speaking. I am free to stay home to paint and draw. My paintings, my chalk and charcoal drawings are on display in several art galleries. The proceeds from their sale go to charity and for my art supplies.
I have everything I possibly need. I have Matthew and he sees to all my needs. Clara would be scandalized if she knew, may her soul rest in peace. I have a cleaning lady that comes in three times a week. Matthew insists on it.
I have no excuse not to look my best for my Master. My hair and makeup must always be perfect. Frumpy is no longer in my vocabulary and he oversees the purchase of all of my clothing and chooses my hairstyle for the day.
I was a married woman of thirty when I went to work for Matthew. I was fifty pounds heavier having let myself go frumpy. I wore loose and baggy clothing and stopped wearing makeup entirely. That has all changed.
Now at 37 years of age I weigh a fit and trim one hundred twenty five pounds at five-eight. My Master monitors my weight carefully and heaven help me if I gain more than five pounds.
He disciplines himself as well. At six-four he is strong and fit, like the competitive gymnast and hockey player he once was. I love my Master and I know in my heart that he loves me. If Matthew would only come out and say it, "I love you Chastity'.
Matthew has ordered me to share my story... our story, and so I shall. He will interject his opinions and perceptions from time to time.
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My ex- husband, Donald, is doing two consecutive life sentences resulting from killing a young mother and her infant daughter in an automobile accident.
Donald was drunk at the time. It was the third time he was arrested for driving while under the influence.
I was never accepted by my husband's mother. Clara was always interfering in our marriage and her lists of complains, criticisms and advice were endless. Holidays were always stressful with my mother-in-law.
Before I was married my family took turns for the holidays. Dad's family would get Christmas Eve and Mom's Family Christmas Day. We would alternate from year to year.
I followed that same tradition while I was married to Donald. We went back and forth between Donald's family and mine. Donald spent all holiday's with his family leaving early when it was our turn to spend the day with mine.
When I was with Donald's family, I had to listen to my mother-in-law's hymns of praise about Clara's three other daughter-in-laws, the ones who were knuckled under and spent all their Holiday's with her. Holiday's with Donald's family was like a depressing sitcom with an abundance of good food.
The final nail in my coffin was when my mother-in-law found out I couldn't have children.
If nothing else Clara doted on her many grandchildren, eight, and she spoiled them terribly. Clara blamed me being sterile for her son's drinking; as if Donald needed any excuse to drink.
My ex-husband is a cowardly momma's boy. There is no doubt about that. Donald never took my side against his mother, even when his own brothers stuck up for me. He always wanted me to compromise which meant to capitulate in full to keep the peace.
It wasn't only the drinking that drove me into the arms of another man. Sober and temperate, Donald will always be a momma's boy.
My pathetic ex-husband refused to get help for his addiction. Donald was a functioning alcoholic like his father. His three older brothers drank but were smart enough to drink at home and sparingly.
Even early in our marriage, Donald liked to drink in low class dives. I had a bad feeling about that; why not drink in nice bars.
Matthew says I am attuned to such things, more so than him. I followed Donald once to see if he was cheating on me.
I waited in the shadows of the parking lot. Donald came staggering out of the bar with a woman; a woman old enough to be his mother.
The barfly stopped to smoke one of those long thin cigarettes. She held it between her fingers trying to emulate the graceful movements of the old time movie actresses when smoking was thought to be sexy.
I watched as the anonymous old floozy inhaled and held the noxious smoke in her tar coated lungs before letting the smoke out, some escaping through her nose. This old Cyprian spit on the ground while reaching around under her dress to adjust the crotch of her panties.
The old trollop then grabbed Donald by the crotch and kissed his mouth. My husband actually let her. I was ready to vomit when she turned her head to cough and spit up some phlegm onto the ground before kissing my husband's lips again.
They went to Donald's truck where she gave him a blowjob followed by the old broken down lush, rolling down the window to spit his semen outside along with whatever other juices resided in her mouth. Donald put his arm around her shoulder and she cuddled up next to him.
Donald held her for a half-hour while they sat in the truck sharing a fifth of cheap whiskey. She smoked several more of those cigarettes in between sips.
Finally, the woman got out and my husband drove off to who knows where. The old lush smoked another cigarette before going back into the bar.
I sat in my rust bucket of a car trying to make sense of things while gathering the courage to go inside to confront the home wrecker.
Once inside the "Palace of Song"; that was the actual name of the dive, I sat at the bar across from the whiskey marinated barfly.
I don't drink at all. I had to order something to blend in so I ordered Rum & Coke.
From where I was sitting I could see the bartender cleaning my glass on the stationary brush after dipping it into the sink on the side containing a greenish sterilizing solution. There were tiny flecks of who knows what floating in it along with a cigarette butt.
Next, the bartender put it in the other side full of gray rinse water before dumping it out to fill it with ice. He dumped the ice out and rinsed my glass in clean hot water from the faucet when he saw I was watching him.
"All new customers get their first drink on the house," the bartender announced, smiling magnanimously, "I own this landmark establishment and the laundry mat across the street. I see that you are married," he added, glancing at my wedding band and engagement ring, "Are you meeting your husband here?"
"You might say that," I replied, wishing the bartender would go away. He was hitting on me. I realized I said the wrong thing and must have given him the wrong impression because several of the men at the bar were watching me intently when I walked in. They were listening as intently to the exchange. One of them got off his stool and sat down next to me.
"Yes, I am meeting my husband. We are going out for dinner when he gets out from work." I lied to no avail. The man sitting next to me tried to start up a conversation. I ignored him. I was a married woman who didn't belong here.
I never go to bars, but I continued to watch my husband's choice in women to cheat on me. Eventually, Romeo took the hint and left; another Romeo took his place and tried the same.
Noticing I was staring, the lush walked over and asked, "Why are you staring at me? What's your problem, huh?"
I had to think fast, "Excuse me for being rude. I was taught better than that. I was wondering if you were she. The resemblance is uncanny. My mother used to take me to the Community Theater on Delaware when I was a little girl," that part was true.
"What do you mean," she asked.
