I got back from Scotland late yesterday and although I enjoyed some success with increasing my degree of control over Owen, it wasn't all fun and games. Perth in January is not exactly over endowed with things to keep one occupied and Owen was busy most days with meetings and standing around in the rain looking at plans and piles of stones. I thought the "castle" was going to be something I would recognise as such; with battlements, arrow slits, portcullis and moat and drawbridge but it was more like an old house gone to ruin. Owen told me that what I fondly imagined to be a typical castle was in fact a rarity in the wealthier parts of England and almost unknown in Scotland and that I had been influenced by Hollywood's idea of a mediaeval castle.
Most days I had the choice of sitting in the car out of the rain or going shopping and visiting the attractions of Perth and its environs. There wasn't a great deal to choose between the two. Evenings were much better and the choice and quality of food available has vastly improved since I was last north of the border. Then I remember it was almost impossible to get anything decent to eat in the evening, the Scots having a tradition of eating high tea between four and five in the afternoon and then a light supper before retiring. Now at least there are some decent restaurants and even the hotel served reasonable food in the evening.
Owen had booked us two rooms, and although they were supposed to be doubles what we got was two single beds in each room and although they could be, and were, pushed together it still left a crease down the middle. Most nights I slept in his room but even though it was probably costing him a small fortune I missed the comfort and privacy of my own home. I insisted that before I would get into bed with him he put on a nightie, I brought three extra ones especially for him and although he put up some token resistance at first he rapidly accepted this as the lesser of two evils. In order to save on washing I gave him my panties to wear the day after I'd worn them; telling him that it was a privilege for his male bits to be in such intimate contact with something that had so recently been in intimate contact with me. Oddly he didn't make any fuss about this at all.
Sadly I wasn't able to take any discipline instrument other than my tawse, neither my cane nor crop would fit into my suitcase and I didn't want to frighten him by packing my multi tail; there was also the risk that airport security might ask me to open my case which would have been a little awkward. I looked in the local shops and thought about buying another crop but it would have been a waste of money for just two weeks possible use. Fortunately Owen's behaviour, apart from his worrying tendency to drink too much, didn't merit much in the way of punishment so I got by with what I had.
Now for the bit you've been waiting for. I allowed him the privilege of having sex with me on four occasions and sadly there is a great deal of room for improvement in this department. I know we were in a strange bed in a strange room with wafer thin walls, but I expected better. I think that his drinking is partly to blame. It would be unreasonable to expect him to have pansy's stamina or youthful enthusiasm, but I did expect him to have more self control and to concentrate more on pleasing me. The third time we had sex, I won't dignify it by using the term making love, it was all over so quickly that if I'd blinked I would have missed it, I was nowhere near an orgasm when he suddenly came and then just rolled off me. No kisses, no loving cuddles, nothing. I told him I felt like I'd been raped and that he deserved to be punished like a rapist. I got up and got out my tawse then told him to kneel on the floor and put his forehead on the ground.
I was very upset and extremely angry with him so I gave him some full force strokes across his bum, I would have given him a great many more but as I said the walls were very thin and I could hear the couple next door commenting on the strange noises. After I'd finished punishing him I told him in no uncertain terms that I expected better and that such a "hair trigger" was prima facie evidence of chronic self abuse. He will definitely need some intensive training in foreplay and controlling his ejaculations and I intend to take him very firmly in hand over this.
When I arrived home I found a very affectionate pansy waiting to welcome me. She was full of news and in between telling me how much she'd missed me she told me that Marie has now had her twins and that she had forwarded the details to you. On a less happy note she informed me that she and Gayle have had yet another bust up; I can't leave those two alone for five minutes, the course of love is never smooth but this is ridiculous.
She made me a cup of tea and while massaging my feet told me all about it. My understanding is that Gayle has become, shall we say, over zealous in her attempts to dominate pansy, over loading her with domestic chores to the detriment of her studies and expressing a desire to very publicly expose pansy as a sissymaid. After seeking advice from yourself, pansy, very sensibly and rightly, told Gayle that she did not want to jeopardise her chances of being able to financially support a Mistress by flunking out of college and there was no way she would risk drawing attention to our household by doing outrageous things in public close to home. Reading between the lines I think the thing to which Gayle has taken such exception is pansy's use of the term "our household" meaning herself and me; the fact that pansy has put someone else's interest above Gayle's.
As you know I have constantly tried to impress on anyone who will listen that owning a sissymaid comes with responsibilities, it's not much different to being a parent. One has a duty of care and protection, being a Mistress is sometimes emotionally more arduous than being a sissymaid, you have to take tough decisions and it's not an easy ride. Gayle has to understand that, and I thought after the dragon cane episode she had, but it seems I was mistaken. I shall have to speak to her. In the meantime pansy is very keen to demonstrate her devotion in all areas; last night she cooked me a chicken casserole with braised celery, julienne carrots and some simple boiled potatoes. It was the tastiest meal I'd eaten all week, simple home cooking without fancy sauces or pretentious adornments. I told pansy that it was delicious and she said, "That's because it has a special ingredient." I thought she meant some spice until she kissed my hand and said, "Love, it was cooked with love. Welcome home Mistress. I've been worrying about you ever since you left, but now I can take proper care of you." There isn't money in the world that could ever buy that kind of loyalty; far less the massage pansy gave me afterwards, we didn't have sex because I was very tired but she gave me more pleasure with her finger tips than Owen did in the whole of the previous week.
I am so glad to be home. The notion that paying a lot gives one good service is rubbish. I hate hotels: they're impersonal and foreigners sneer at you if you dare question the dubious level of so called service that they're providing. This morning I was woken with a cup of strong Assam tea and a gentle kiss, pansy told me that my bath was ready and I could smell the breakfast she was preparing. We shared a proper full English breakfast, the only way to start the day, and she kissed me over the marmalade and asked me never to leave her.
With fondest love
Of course my regular readers will recognize this author as a dear friend we lost a while back, that said, her wisdom will enlighten us all for years. Her expertise in the practice of Petticoat Discipline is second to none and so I felt it only right to include her in this special issue as a gift to you.