For the record

 

An unusual blog post today.  The blogger has to create a post of at least one thousand words, and not one of them can have the letter that comes between 'h' and 'j'.  All other letters are acceptable, but that one letter cannot be used.  Not today.

Why such a rule, you ask?  Well, a Lady known to the blogger – a pro-domme that he sees when lucky enough to do so – has recently become aware he produces the 'CTD' blog.  And two days ago, for reasons too dull to recount, the author was late when due to meet the Lady concerned, and she was not at all happy about that matter.  The scene began almost a quarter of an hour late, and the fault rests solely on the present author.

So, as a penance for such bad conduct, she commanded that the blog post you read today must be at least one thousand words long, and not one of those words can employ that letter.  You understand, of course, that the rule acts as a penance, because to create text that way must always be much harder – and slower.

The blogger expresses deep sorrow to any readers of the blog who hoped to read some more enjoyable prose here today.  However, you should be aware that, however dull today’s post can be for you to read, for the author to construct such an essay was utterly dreary.  He feels resentment about the task he has been handed, and he undoubtedly feels shame, as well.  That he – a grown man – should have to spend hours on a sunny Saturday afternoon, on such a humdrum task!  Probably, for her, the order to me was just a small and casual thought, produced as part of the femdom ‘scene’ that was acted out at her chambers.  For her, part of the job.  She does not, most probably, really feel much sexual or other pleasure from such casual use of power over me. Yet for me, her use – and abuse – of power meets a need: for abasement, for control and even for shame.

And so, here the author must be, some days later.  He types carefully, and has to stop frequently, to create  a word that meets the sense he wants to convey, that does not enclose the letter that she has not allowed.  The word count slowly goes up, as sentences slowly appear.  Frequently, the author needs to return, to correct matters when – through a lack of competence on the author’s part – a word was thoughtlessly typed that had the banned letter. 

But the thought occurs: the rule that she has demanded has a purpose, other than penance.  Just as a recap: the letter the author cannot use comes after ‘h’ and before ‘j’.  One vowel as any other: perfectly usual.  Yet that letter has an uncommon role.  The letter – usually presented upper-case – acts as a word to mean ‘the person who speaks’, or ‘the person here’ and so on.  But slaves should have no need of such a part of speech.  Commonly, those followers of the bdsm scene who act as slaves refer to themselves only as ‘the slave’ or ‘her object’ and terms of such self-abuse.  They are de-personed, rendered no longer as people, by an act of abasement that must be renewed each and every day, whenever they are called upon to speak.  Surely, then, no penance could be more well crafted, to stress to a slave the lowly place that he possesses, than a command that that letter – and that letter alone - must never be employed?  How clever and astute my Lady shows herself to be, through the atonement she has forced her lowly sub to undergo!

The word count feature tells me that many more words are needed, to meet my Lady’s command.   As yet, we are not three-quarters of the way to the target length, and of course there can be no attempt at short measures or any thought that one could cheat! My Lady knows how to use a word count just as well as anyone else, so the task must be completed, no matter how dull that task becomes, no matter how much the author would prefer to watch TV, or play a computer game.  The way he spends today has been pronounced already, and he has no sway over the matter.

No doubt the Lady herself has much better ways to spend her hours than to read dull prose on absurd femdom blogs, and can therefore safely be assumed no longer to be one of the readers.  The author can therefore say whatever he wants about her*, and about what she has commanded.  Yet through the anger, through the resentment at a wasted afternoon, and the shame of deference to such casual commands, the author has only one thought.  He adores her.

He adores her beauty, her power, her pose.  The way she gazes upon her slave when we are together at her chambers, me secured to a cross and she casually, elegantly seated on her throne.  She draws on the tobacco and blows the smoke away, whether towards me or perhaps towards any other object before her – why should she care?  Her contempt: whether amused contempt, a sweet taunt or a savage rebuke.  The way she looks, casually dressed, before the scene starts.  She has no need of leather, of PVC, of sharply-heeled boots laced from top to toe, yet when she wears them before me my heart nearly stops.

She acts as my angel, who takes me to my personal heaven as well as my hell.  She commands me, she exalts me: through a soft word she causes me to ascend, by a harsh one she casts me down once more.

Her laugh.  Above all, her laugh.

My task has been completed: more than a thousand words produced, and not one use of the letter between ‘h’ and ‘j’.  So now, the penance done and the rule no longer extant, that letter can once more be used.  Yet now the author understands how rare and valuable that letter can be - so let the letter be used just once, as part of a word of great power, to conclude the essay. 

Thank you.

Thank you, Mistress.

*  (but he knows he cannot use her name here, at her request)