Dog house

Yes, I am in the dog house. It’s not for providing her all of the fabulous fun she asked for, not at all. After all, she conjured up a beast and she got a beast. More than once!

No, I’m in the doghouse because, as we moved into the new place, she assigned me the task of getting propane service wrangled. And yesterday morning the heat didn’t come on. Because the tank was empty. Now, to be fair, I could easily say (and I have tried to make an excuse of it) that life things (and death things) have gotten in the way, but it really did just take about 15 minutes on the phone to get things set up – so it wasn’t that big a deal to take care of. I should have done so earlier.

I know I’m in the dog house. Fortunately, we’re supposed to get a delivery today and get on automatic service so we’ll be covered for the entire winter.

But yesterday morning and this morning it was cold in the house, all in advance of warming temperatures to be had today. Had we an actual dog house, I might have found myself out in it last night. Sometimes she taunts me with the ideas of such torture and I know why she doesn’t follow through. First, we are in a neighborhood, one with children nearby. It wouldn’t do to have a man tied up to the picnic table naked all night. Second, we have a roommate. One who knows and respects our FLR dynamic, but we also respect her by not obviously playing it out in front of her. Were she to head out in the morning for a morning smoke, she might be offended by the naked man tied to the picnic table. The ideas within fantasy are always so wonderful and potentially beautiful, but in practical terms, the reality can’t let us play that way. Were we out in the country with some acreage, perhaps it would be different. But given our city location, it just won’t work.

Not to say I wouldn’t have deserved it. And it wasn’t THAT cold, I would have survived it, I am sure. I certainly deserve to find myself out in the cold, even in the rain, naked and suffering as part of the penance I should pay for my failure to serve appropriately. I’m expecting some painful strokes of some device in my future as punishment. But I can’t be sure. Perhaps that’s what she wants… the waiting. Tom Petty is right, it’s the hardest part. Well, aside from my cock – that might be harder right now.

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