everyday erotic

i was trapped behind the stove. on my butt, wrangling my feet around the ancient claw feet of the old-fashioned gas burning monster he insists is the right way to go, swatting at the dust mountains stuck back there. there was no way in hell i was going to be allowed to get out until it was cleaned out, and to his satisfaction. which was no easy task.

it was, dare i say, immensely gratifying.

we were also having a halfway conversation about "the olden days" [of slavery], and how the olden days Master was most likely out toiling in the fields with his property, or getting shooed out of his own kitchen by the same. most owners during legalized slavery in the united states sure as hell didn't have ginormous estates on which they sat sipping mint juleps on the veranda all day. the fantasy version of Master/slave relationships, the ones that involve chains and ball gags and vibrators, while certainly valid in their own personal way, are in no way similar to the daily functioning of a Master/slave relationship of the civil-war era. nope.

but there we were, re-enacting a scene that was probably happening right around then: property assigned kitchen duties involving a nasty cleanout of old-farmhouse grime in the kitchen while owner chops and hauls wood so neither of us freezes that night in said farmhouse.

and it was hot.

knowing that it's his choice, that i am serving him, that no matter how gross i find the gunk stuck to the floor, i will be finishing this task to his satisfaction. eroticizing the every day, the mundane, makes all of the minutia seem - worthwhile. pointed. and - erotic. that's what makes all of this different from the "olden days". i can't say it's something i "consent" to - because how do you consent to something that is in your very nature? it's like saying - oh, i suppose i'll be blonde. i suppose i'll be submissive now.


(photo credit: i have no idea. but wow - i didn't realize there even *is* a kitchen fetish. is she fucking the faucet? i can't tell.)