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It's Fun When you Go MADD (Minor Acts of Deliberate Disobedience)


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you come home from work, pull into the driveway, and I’m already in the house. you take a few breaths in the car before coming in so you can begin to get your mind right. you willfully shift your mindset from your vanilla, professional responsibilities to your submissive, serving frame of mind. Sometimes it’s easier to do that on good days when you’re in a good mood and you’re excited about what’s coming next. Sometimes it’s easier to do that on bad days when you want to leave the day behind and you just want to come home to the strong sanctuary of Me. No matter what happens during the day, you know that walking through that threshold will take your mind off it. That’s one of the things you like about coming home to Me – you know that I am always reliable, but never predictable.


Today is an average day, so you take one more deep breath, slowly let it out, open your eyes back up and step out of the car. When you go in the house, the first thing you do is find me and say hello because that is rule number two.


“Hi, Sir!” you announce with a big grin. “Hi there, little bitch,” I return with a smile, happy to see you. I have many nicknames for you, but little bitch is your favorite. You told me once that you liked it so much because it was edgy and cute at the same time.


“Go get undressed and get ready for inspection.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You give me a little kiss and patter off toward the bedroom obediently. Moments later, you call out, “i’m ready!”


I come into the bedroom and find you completely naked standing in Ballast position, eyes straight ahead, and clothes in a pile on the floor next to you. I give you a once-over with My eyes before walking over to you and beginning the inspection. I know every inch of your body. My hands and eyes work as a team, I feel every bone, I touch every muscle. I am on a first name basis with every bump and every bruise. I know which ones I gave you. But today there is a new one, and I don’t know where it came from. It’s on the side of your leg, so I ask you about it.

“What’s this?”

You follow the direction of my eyes and look down at your leg, not knowing what I’m talking about. When you see the small bruise, your eyebrows raise like you’re seeing it for the first time.

“i hit my leg on the corner of my desk today. It must be from that.”

“Let me ask you a question. Whose leg is this?”


“Whose body is this?”


“That’s right. this body is My body. you are only carrying it around for me until I need it.”

I pace around you, then continue slowly.

“Are you my property?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Are you my… thing?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And does Master take care of his things?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then answer me this – since this body is Mine and since you are the custodian of this body until I require it, don’t you think you have a responsibility to take care of it, not let it get hurt, and keep it in good working order for me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I grab you firmly under the jaw, look you in the eye, and growl, “Then be more careful with this body. I don’t want to have to tell you again.” you reply with, “Yessur” as best you can with me gripping your jaw and scrunching your mouth.


Getting a bruise is so minor, it’s almost not worth mentioning. Almost. But these miniature reprimands every once in a while help to keep you on your toes and help you be more mindful. you find it oddly comforting that I care enough to notice the smallest of details.


With inspection complete, I walk out of the room and tell you, “Get changed, put on a collar, put your dirty clothes in the laundry hamper, then meet me in the kitchen. We’ll get dinner going.”


you put on a pair of shorts and a tank top. you have about a dozen different collars, but today you’re in the mood for the blue one. you pick up the clothes off the floor and place them dutifully in the hamper. you stand there for a second looking at your clothes lying on top of the other dirty clothes. You stare for a little bit longer, then your mischievous sense of creativity betrays you.


“you know what would be fun?” you think to yourself.

“If i left one article of clothes on the floor.”

“Then He’d have to punish me.” you think to yourself.

“It won’t be bad enough to be considered rebellious, but it’s just barely enough to get in trouble. Yeah, i’m gonna do it.”

So you peek outside the bedroom to make sure I can’t see you, then you take your underwear off the top of the pile and throw it on the floor by the bed, then scamper off toward the kitchen.


We make dinner together and talk about the day. I make you laugh and you make me smile. We flirt a little but don’t get carried away; there’s stuff on the stove, after all. After dinner and the kitchen has been cleaned, you sit on the couch while I go to the bedroom to get something. That’s when I spot it – the underwear.


I yell out, “Get in here, slave!” you’re pretty sure I found the underwear, but you’re also thinking that there’s a possibility this might be about something else. So you come into the bedroom wearing a question mark on your face, pretending like you don’t already know what I’m talking about.


I point at the floor and say, “Apparently you don’t think rules are important.”

you think to yourself, “Yep, it’s the underwear.”

“Apparently, you don’t want to follow instructions.”

Your expression changes from question mark to worry and you timidly offer up, “i think rules are important. i want to follow instructions.” I walk over to you, grab you by the back of the neck, and pull you over to where the underwear is. I bend you over closer toward the underwear and say, “your panties on the floor say otherwise.” I grab you by the hair and pull you back up to standing.

“So, you want to leave your clothes on the floor?”

“No, Sir.”

“No, it’s okay. I get it. You want to leave your clothes on the floor. Go ahead, leave your clothes on the floor.”

you look at me a little confused.

“Go on,” I say.

you’re still not sure of what to do.

I lean in a little, “Take your fucking clothes off and put them on the floor with your underwear!”

Now you get it. “That’s what He’s doing,” you think to yourself. So you get undressed and put your clothes next to the underwear.


I tell you, “Take off that collar and put on your training collar.” you do as I say. As you’re doing that, I go grab a leash and a flogger. I hook the leash to your collar and tell you to get on all fours. I give the leash a couple tugs and start walking back toward the pile of clothes on the floor. you humbly follow behind Me.


Once there, I tell you, “Don’t use your hands. Use only your mouth. Grab one piece of clothes – one only.” You decide to start with the original infraction and use your teeth, lips, and tongue to pick up and draw the underwear into your mouth. I turn around and walk you on your hands and knees to the laundry hamper. We stop in front of it and I proceed to lay fifteen strikes of the flogger on your bare ass. I don’t count out loud, and I don’t tell you to count either, but you count to yourself and you know you got fifteen.


Then I instruct you, “Spit them out into the laundry hamper.” you obey.


I turn you back around and we go back to the pile. I tell you to pick up another piece – just one. Now that you know what we’re doing, you do some quick math. Including the original pair of underwear, plus the shorts and tank top, that’s three pieces of clothes, so you know you have a total of 45 swings of the flogger to look forward to. We rinse and repeat until all clothes have been put in the hamper and your ass is cherry red.


I walk you over to the bed and tell you to lean over it in Orchid position. I change floggers, and start working your back. you take it like a champ in the beginning, but once your back starts to warm up, you begin squirming a little. Eventually, the seal on your emotional faucet pops and the apologies start leaking out. “i’m sorry, Sir.” Drip, drip, drip. “i’m sorry, Sir.” Drip, drip, drip.


you’ve never apologized too early in a punishment; you’ve always felt that an apology is more genuine when the intensity of the punishment eventually matches the intensity of the remorse. That isn’t anything I taught you. That just came naturally to you. That’s yours, intrinsically.


When I hear your words, I give your back a rest. I bend you over my legs and switch to a belt on the ass. That’s when your body begins to respond a little differently. Less repentance and more eroticism. your body language acts like visual pheromones to me. My objective shifts as well. It has now become less about making a point and more about giving passion the encouragement it needs to blossom. We roll into a full-blown scene.


A couple hours later, you’re sweating, I’m sweating, half the toys have come out to play, we’ve fucked, you’ve cum a couple times, I’ve cum on you, and by the end, we’ve ended up on the bed lying down catching our breath.


I’m lying on my back. you are on your side with your head on my chest and your arm draped across my ribs. I’m lightly dragging my fingertips across your bare back. As I stare at the ceiling, I ask you, “So, are you ever going to leave your clothes on the floor again?” you sheepishly whisper while staring off blankly at the wall, “Noooo Sirrrrrr.” Then you coyishly grin as you think to yourself, “… but probably.”

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