Living the disciplined life

The sadist is big on discipline. And by that, I don't necessarily mean spankings and caning and such, not to mention that recent addition - the wooden spoon, although their looming presence can be an inspiration and an aid to enforcement.

The sadist is big on plans.
On schedules.
On timetables.
And on sticking to them.
He gets very peeved when his schedule is disrupted.

Schedules are good for people like me. I lose track of time. I lose track of goals. Entire days drift away from me and I'm not at all sure where they've gone.

The fiend has tried before to make me schedule my days. I've done it up to a point. When I was working, I would schedule writing time, and I have a set bedtime for "school nights". Meaning Sunday through Thursday. But it's a struggle. I know he enjoys the idea of me struggling. But he enjoys even more my observing the boundaries of the segments and thereby accomplishing more.

Now that I am unemployed, he rightly sees the increased importance of designing a schedule and sticking to it. Which I have been trying. I've been writing schedules and submitting them and entering all the details in my on-line calendar. Now my Blackberry is constantly beeping at me like a high school PA system announcing that it's time to change classes. It's exciting when it works, but annoying when I wander off the chart.

Today I was way off the chart. I had another of the rejection nightmares I've been having since getting laid off, didn't sleep well thereafter, and woke up feeling very shaken. Which meant I was very slow getting going this morning, and sent a poor-pitiful-me e-mail to the fiend.

Bad idea.
Very bad idea.

Between one thing and another (including writing him a long message in response to the one from him that arrived just as I was almost leaving the house), I embarked on a carpet-buying expedition much, much later than I should have. The expedition was successful but it, too, was overlong. In the end, a whole segment of the schedule has gone unfulfilled. But worse than that, it seems, is that things didn't happen on time. Silly me. I thought what was important was to get the things done. But to him, what's important is sticking to the schedule. Doesn't make sense to me. But obviously that's irrelevant.

So I'm sulking.
Can you tell?
I'm sulking
and feeling rotten again
and I can feel my bottom lip
protruding
and curling down
and I'm this close to a tantrum.

Again,
a bad idea.

Especially as he reminded me that the spoon and the cane can be used for discipline as well as for his own amusement.

After the visit at which the wooden spoon was introduced to my pussy, the sadist said he wasn't planning on changing the "pain component" of our interactions. Meaning it wouldn't be increasing or becoming a major feature. But that doesn't rule out employing it as necessary for correction or punishment.

So instead I'm sulking here. Consider this post as the equivalent of me stomping around and kicking at things and throwing myself on the ground and banging my feet and fists into the carpet until I've gotten it all out of my system and can be all sweetness and light again.

Because I do need to be all sweetness and light again. And concentrate on giving him the very best blow-job he has ever had when he visits on Wednesday. Which means I'll be competing against myself.

And I give the most exquisite blow-jobs...

mmm...
my pussy is twitching now...

an orgasm would help...

Not a chance.

Damn.
There goes that lower lip again...