The heat is on

I got the call from the propane company that the driver was on his way so I drove home – a benefit of the new place – it’s less than ten minutes from the office, sometimes as little as six!

To my surprise, Mistress was home, having dropped in to change and shower before an appointment. It seems that all the warm clothes she was wearing became too much when it turned into a gorgeous fall day!

Having met with the “gas man” (snicker!) and confirmed that the heater was working, I went back inside to tell Mistress the good news. She was happy it was done and happy that things were finally set up properly. But it was obvious she had not been happy Monday morning. Or this morning.

“You know what’s next, pup?”


“You failed me pup. I’m upset that you failed me and our roommate. Put away those clothes on the floor and I’ll be right back.”

I put away her morning clothes as she finished some post shower items and returned to the bedroom.

“Drop your pants.” I did.

“Lay on the bed.” I did, my thighs, cock and balls laying upon the heavy wool blanket – the blanket I had to put there because I failed to attend to the propane tank – the reason I was in the doghouse.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her slide the sjambok from the toy bag. “Oh, fuck!” She stood to the side of the bed and after a few strokes to calibrate her distance and the weight of the stroke, she lit into me with a few zingers. I grabbed a pillow and yelled into it. She hit me again. I yelled again. She hit me a few more times, thighs, ass, wherever she wanted.

She then found a cane and started striking me with that. Lighter, yes, but it felt as though the cane was slicing into my flesh, the thin rattan stick able to cut such a fine line across my ass and thighs.

He is caned

He is caned


She tried to take a picture but the light of the room didn’t let it happen. “Turn over!” she barked. “Keep that leg flat!” I covered up my cock and balls to protect them “Put those down”, she said as she struck my hand with the cane. I forced my leg down to flatten it out and she came down with a cane stroke, right across my right thigh and my balls. I squealed out in pain and collapsed my body into a fetal position. I swear I heard her smile.

And then we both heard the house door open and close. Our roommate was home for a lunch break.

“You’re lucky… ” she said in a quieter tone as she motioned to me to start putting myself back together.

“Yes Ma’am, I know.” And I am.

As I left the bedroom our roommate greeted me with a smile “So, a little afternoon delight?” she laughed.

“Something like that, sure!” I smiled. “The heat is fixed!” I deflected. And vanilla conversation ensued.

Mistress promises more beatings. And not just for punishment, but because she wants to. Hey, roommate, any chance you can leave the country a week or three earlier?

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.