Do I have permission to go peeing?

I didn’t usually say *why* I needed to leave, and after a couple of weeks, one time when I asked permission he said “Do you need to go pee?”

“Um, yes.”

“Well, then say ‘May I please go pee?'”

Long pause. Inner wrestling.

Head down, “May I please go pee?”

“Yes, you may.”

After that, I had to ask to go pee, rather than simply ask permission to leave the computer.

I got used to it.

As you know, if I get used to something, Richard ramps it up.

One day he said “Go pee now.”


“Go pee. You haven’t gone for a while. You can go pee, can’t you?”

Unfortunately, my tiny bladder would not allow me to lie. I could. I did. But on the way, Richard says I shot him a look of pure hatred.

I had hoped that Richard would no longer want me to ask permission to pee when we were together. A vain hope.

(He also used to make me strip for him on cam, and began having me masturbate on cam. That was hellishly difficult for me. I do not miss that, now that we are together 24/7. He still makes me masturbate for him, but it’s not as difficult when he is holding me.)

After a week or so of asking permission to pee, I actually began to like it. It reminded me, each time I asked, of our commitment, of my promise of total submission and obedience. It reminded me that Richard controlled everything; he could decide when and what I eat, what I drink, what I wear, everything. (Mostly he isn’t interested in micro-managing that way, but sometimes…)

It’s tricky to ask permission to pee when other people are around. I’ve become quite creative about how to ask. “Do you mind if I excuse myself for a minute?” “Anyone using the bathroom right now? Mind if I do?” And the ever useful head nod toward the bathroom, coupled with a quizzical look.

Mostly Richard magnanimously allows me to go pee when I ask. Occasionally he makes me wait. That is really frustrating and really hot. One time it was because he wanted to fuck me first (we were in bed). Another time it was because he knew I was irritated with him and was trying to escape discussing it by leaving the room. So he said no. I insisted that I really needed to go RIGHT NOW. He said no. I pouted at him. He said no. Then he gently returned to our discussion, not allowing me to go to the bathroom until our disagreement was resolved.

Recently he has followed me into the bathroom and watched me while I peed. Ack. It takes me a few seconds before I can, because I’m shy about him watching. Which he loves, naturally.

He’s been observing when I usually need to pee, and now he’ll tell me to instead of wait for me to ask. It makes me feel very controlled, which is way hot to me. That’s not surprising, given that being owned and controlled is what turns me on sexually.

Maybe more surprisingly, it also makes me feel precious to him, and cherished, and valued. Certainly no other man has found me interesting enough to observe me so closely, to want to know me this well. And this, I think, may be the big attraction of D/s to many women: to have a lover who is this focused and interested in her.

I feel blessed. I feel like the luckiest woman in the world. Even if I do have to ask permission to go pee.


I am his slave

One last look, for the moment, at the word slave, with definitions found through Google.


1. slave – a person who is owned by someone

2. slave – someone entirely dominated by some influence or person;

“A person who is held in bondage to another; one who is wholly subject to the will of another; one who is held as a chattel; one who has no freedom of action, but whose person and services are wholly under the control of another.

“One who has lost the power of resistance; one who surrenders himself to any power whatever; as, a slave to passion, to lust, to strong drink, to ambition.”

As you have seen before in a post by Amy, she has some real problems with the word “slave”, and isn’t comfortable with the very harsh reality of slavery, as contrasted with the kind of relationship that we have.

I’ll leave it to you to decide your own feelings about the word “slave.” There is enough flexibility in the various definitions for me.

I see a state of mind.

Namely, that Amy has lost the power of resistance, has surrendered herself, and is entirely dominated and owned.

Works for me.

“A slave has no choice” African Proverb

On exhibit

Richard loves exhibitionists. He’s not an exhibitionist himself, but he loves seeing a woman flaunt her sexuality in public. (I’m not sure I’ve said that right, but I’m quite sure he’ll tell me if I didn’t. lol)

I am not an exhibitionist. The work I do is male dominated, and it has never been in my best interests to appear overtly sexual, or even particularly attractive. I am happier when the focus is on my brain; I have a big brain and I’m comfortable with that.

I guess I like it when someone thinks I’m attractive. I’ve more often found wolf whistles and appreciative comments flattering than annoying, as long as the whistler/commenter is not too aggressive.

I really like it that Richard finds me attractive. What’s different from my earlier relationships (hell, what’s NOT different from my earlier relationships?) is that he wants *other* people to notice that I’m attractive. No “light under a bushel” with Richard.

I got a stern lecture after our first beach trip together – no more baggy linen shirts, no more capri pants, no more one-piece suits. He wanted to see more of me, and he wanted others to see more of me. Gulp.


So a couple of times recently I’ve dressed in short shorts and with cleavage showing before we’ve gone out. I felt awkward, but I stopped noticing after a few minutes.

When we bought my new corset (sorry, still no pics) I wore it out to lunch and boy, did people stare. It actually stopped a conversation at one point, when I was walking by a table. That made me feel a little shy, but also proud of myself for wearing it. And Richard was pleased, which always makes me happy.

Today, omigod today Richard made me go in a short skirt and panty-less to the grocery store with him. The wind was blowing in the parking lot. I was holding my skirt down with my hand, and Richard grabbed my hand and started swinging it. Bastard. I let go of the skirt in a hurry.

Every time I wanted something on a low shelf (ketchup, sugar) I asked Richard to get it and he’d always stop for a second and stare at me and I’d pray silently that he wouldn’t tell me to do it. Then he’d grin evilly and reach down for it.

At one point, in the wine section I think, he slipped his hand up my leg a bit and I was terrified he was going to start playing with my bare ass in the store. In the past he’s simply reached over, pulled me close to him, tugged up my shirt and started rubbing my belly. I can barely stand still for that, and usually freeze with my head down until he is done, but this would have been too much. Luckily he stopped at my leg.

(Here’s another cute trick of Richard’s: he’ll tell me to do something, and when I whine a little he’ll say “just be glad I don’t make you do X” which is like ten times worse. So then I’m supposed to be grateful. This time he said “just be glad I don’t make you take off your bra too”. !!!!!!!! I’m a 38D! It’s way noticeable if I’m braless! What an evil man.)

So, I’m on exhibit regularly. And of course I’m on exhibit here, and at where Richard posts my pictures. I’m getting used to it, but I don’t think I’ll ever be an exhibitionist. In other words, I don’t think I’ll ever *enjoy* being on exhibit. But I think maybe that works for Richard too. Instead of an exhibitionist, he gets a shy girl who he can easily tease and embarrass. Best I can do, I’m afraid…