An unexpected surprise

As I savoured the taste of my extra hot latte before getting stuck into the work on the table in front of me, my glance was drawn to someone walking past the table.

Without needing to look up past waist height, I recognised the walk anywhere. I’d seen those legs walk towards me and away from me often enough. I’d studied them closely, intimately so many times before. 

Yes they were often naked, or in stockings, or trying to master the heels I’d make you walk in for my amusement. But I’d still recognise them as I did now, fully clothed, your tailored suit trousers outlining the shape of your body just as they’d always done. 

I felt my sharp intake of breath as my mind battled with the thoughts of you being here. That in all the coffee shops, in all of the world and in a random decision I’d made to work from there this morning instead of at home, you were here. That we were here. In the same place. At the same time.

I tried to avert my gaze. I tried to stop myself staring. Yet I couldn’t. 

I don’t think I wanted to. 

Not really.

I sat back in my chair, picked up my cup, and savoured the coffee as I watched you walk to the counter to order yours. My heart raced despite how hard I tried to suppress it. 

It had been how long since I’d seen you?

Years. Yes. 

But goodness, it could have been only moments ago. 

My eyes couldn’t break their stare. I drank in every part of you just as I drank my coffee and as you started to turn with your coffee in your hand I knew you’d sensed being watched. And for a few seconds the world seemed to stop. There were no sounds. No people. Just you and I. A gaze locked and an electricity that was undeniable.

Your face changed from a moment of shock, of surprise, to the warmth of your smile as your cheeks began to blush and you lowered your eyes. 

Fuck! 

No matter how much time may have passed, the way you blushed still got me. 

The way you looked at me still made me want to touch you, kiss you, hurt you. Your eyes looked for a signal, to know just as you’d always done, whether it was ok to approach. And as I nodded, just as I’d done so many times before feelings coursed through my body.

You sat opposite me and said hello in an almost gentle whisper, you stopped yourself adding Miss to the hello. I smiled at you and at the fact that even after all this time, you naturally stepped into a way of being. It touched me deeply.

A natural silence.

I knew you were going to wait for me to speak, and so I sat back in my chair, watching you, seeing the reactions of your body, your flushing cheeks, your smiling eyes. I remembered what it had been like to hold your face in my hands, to kiss and bite your lips, to whisper ‘Mine’ in your ear. And as memory after memory flooded my mind, we drifted into a conversation like the years between this and our last had never happened. 

Stroke yourself

"Stroke yourself"

She wanted to watch him stroke himself, there is something she loves about watching him, the long hard, deliberate stokes. 

Watching him create his own torment, his own suffering after being denied release for so long.

There is something she loves about watching his own hand wrapped around his cock, the way his eyes are filled with lust, the desire darkening the colour of his eyes.

She wanted to watch the pre-cum drip from him, as she tormented his nipples with her fingers, her mouth, and her teeth.  The whole image was hot for her, created her own lustful desire deep within.  Watching him was like her own self torment. 

"Harder"

She wanted to watch him stroke himself harder, to watch his tightening fist, a low growl of longing, a pleading look as he hoped to be allowed to find the release that his body had ached for, that his body longed for and still she denied him.  She wanted to prolong his wait, wanted to prolong his suffering, his torment, his desire.

He pleaded and begged for his release and only when it was granted was he allowed to release the salty seed which spurted onto his body, slowly dripping down his fist and over his fingers. 

A low growl released from deep within him echoed around the room.  His eyes shined with lust and hers with desire.  She fed him his own cum covered fingers.

"Here is your treat" she whispered as he devoured his own fingers before her eyes.

 

Regaining my control...

There is something about the early hours of the morning, or is it the late hours of the night that brings about a time of thought, of reflection that other times of day do not seem to. 

As an insomniac, I see this time of night on a far too regular basis, and when the night is dark, when there is no sound, it can seem, for some an almost lonely time.  And yet, I am so used to this time, this space, these moments of stillness it often brings a sense of calm.  For me it is a time when the mind often floods with thoughts, with memories, as it recalls, as it reflects, as it tries to find an understanding of things that may be happening.

I've paced the house on a couple of occasions this week, watched the dark of the night gently fade into the light of a new day, a night which has passed without sleep, but certainly not without thought. 

I sometimes wish there was an off switch to the mind, to my mind.  I often wish that there was something, anything which would just switch off the noise in my own head, stop the agitated thoughts that flood the mind, helping to ease some of tumultuous introspection. 

And yet, it is often at this time of night when I can and do find a level of understanding of myself, my thoughts, the feelings I may have, but this has alluded me this week also.  As I take the time in the dark and quiet, to simply be. To simply feel.  To simply sit in the feelings and thoughts that I have to seek a level of understanding and clarity.  And it is often, at this time, that I reach here . . .my blog . . .my place where I can literally work through and find an understanding of where I am. 

(So . . .here I am . . . )

A lot of the noise this week has been work related, one of the downsides of being self employed when things aren't going as well as they should or were, when things are up in the air it can bring along a level of stress as you simply have to try and work things out, begin to make plans, try to step back from the situation that has brought this stress to the surface. 

It was hard stepping back for me this past week, situations left a level of anger that I've not felt for a long time, and still some of it lurks now (although the situation is almost resolved). 

But more so I don't like how this has had an effect on other things this week too.

And then of course, my mind is flooded with thoughts of something, of someone who has come into life like a damn whirlwind

:-D  (a rather wonderful one mind!) making the solid foundation gently rock and sway. 

It has been a long time since someone has filled my thoughts in this way, it's been a long time since I have physically found myself missing someone, of finding myself wanting to be with them, to spend time with them, to just be close.  It's been a long time since I've found myself drawn to someone, of wanting to learn about them, to get to know them to their very depths.  It's been a long time since there has been any other focus apart from my son and my work! So, it's all very different.  But all very good!

And I am here, trying to find an understanding of what is so very different, of what it is that my head? My Heart? Both? is not yet able to get an understanding of.  

The understanding alludes me right now. 

So I am here, delving and exploring, the thoughts in my mind, of where I am, after all I can always rely on a good writing session to help me find a clarity.

I love how things are so very different. 

I do not feel as if I've taken these steps before.  I do not feel as if I've walked down this path before and that for me is a wonderful thing. 

Truly.

But then, when things are so very different, it takes getting used to, you (*I*) have to find a steady footing, and then it's all happening at lightning speed and that's different too and that on it's own makes some things a little harder to comprehend...

And yet....

And yet, things do not seem too quick (in fact, my desires, my hopes, my thoughts are even further ahead than we actually are)!

But, simply put, I can't quite put my finger on the word that I need, of the word that would describe how it is, how I'm feeling.  I have so many thoughts and words flying around in my head, it as if they are all shouting at me, screaming at me to take notice and I can't quite hear.  Some of the words seem so negative though and there's not a negative thing about this in the slightest. (apart from the fact that it is the depths of the night and I am sat here alone  - wishing I wasn't - trying to find a clarity, trying to find words)

Unsettled? 

No.  As that would suggest an unease or that there was a worry sitting behind these feelings, of what is happening.  And I don't feel worry or unease.

It would suggest lacking stability and that isn't right either.

Agitated?  No. 

Flustered?  No. 

Perturbed, shaken, upset?  No. None of these. 

Not in the slightest.

Perhaps it is  (I am) unsettled in relation to change, change in life, change in thoughts, change in focus, change in where I am and where I want, (hope or desire to be).  Perhaps it is because life is changing, (has already changed) in a most surprising way and because I want it to change in many, many more ways.

Yes.  Perhaps that is it. 

Or perhaps it's just I wasn't expecting the unexpected and right now, I'm not in control of just how I am feeling?

Hmmmm..... (here comes the hitting the nail on the head . . .)

Yes.

Perhaps that is exactly it. 

A shift in the control I have of my own thoughts, of my own feelings, because of something so wonderfully unexpected. 

But, it isn't that I am unsettled, or that things are unsettling me, it's because I'm flooded with a whole new load of thoughts, and feelings and desires and longings and I wasn't expecting it.  I've been open to it, but it hasn't happened. 

Until now. 

And that's it. 

I'm at a point where currently I am not in control of where I am, of how I am feeling, of what I am thinking and I need to take that back, I need to find that balance, I need to be back in control of "me", in control of the thoughts, and finding the balance that feeds me and for the steps going forward.

And because I thought that the understanding of it all was alluding me, I felt unsettled and it is not that way at all.  I've actually been a little out of control of my own thoughts, my own feelings, of my own brain

Because after all, I think I've said it before . . . it's all about control.  ;-)

Fuckshivers. . . .

*This*

The fear, the unknown, the mindfuck.

The trust.

**Fuckshivers**

*THIS* gets my beast growling! 

From the very first time I saw this image many years ago.  It STILL makes my beast growl!

And I love it when . . .

He is stood behind you, hands pushing down on your shoulders forcing your face into the pillows of our bed, forcing your chest down against the mattress which in turns raises your ass so much closer to him. 

He digs his hips into your ass. And again. And again. You can hear the grunting in your ear and he can feel your body begging to be taken.

And I can see it all.

I can see him.

I can see you.

His cock near your ass while your own betrays your body. 

I can see the pleading in your eyes, pleading for him to fuck your ass, pleading for me to make it stop before he's really begun.  I can hear your breath, short sharp breaths as if you are struggling to get the air into your lungs to be able to exhale properly. 

And as I nod at him, telling him it is OK to proceed, the coldness of the lubricant makes you shiver as firstly you feel a finger, then two sliding between your cheeks. I see you tense, he feels you tense and you can feel his breath, hot and heavy on your neck as he pushes into you further and further. 

He pulls you up into a triangle, your ass in the air, face pushed down into the pillow and I can hear you groaning as he reaches round to your stiffened cock.  Breathing quickens, sporadic bursts of breath, sharp and fast.  You feel the tip of his cock sliding between your cheeks causing you to tense further still and I can see how much he loves to ride your ass, and there is such a desperation playing out before me. 

From him.

From you.

A frantic animalistic fucking. 

I shiver at the sight before me, it hits me right in the pit of my stomach. 

Him fucking you, while I watch you being fucked.  I do not break my gaze, not from you, not from this sight.

Your body is filled with sensations so intense, they flood your being and you are rocking against his hand, pushing back on his cock that is plunging deep in and out of your ass.  And it is clearly evident that you are loving him riding your ass. 

And still I watch.  Taking in every fucking beautiful image that is playing out before me.

You are moaning, groaning, urging him on, urging him in deeper. And there is screaming and it is him and it is you as the rhythmic thrusts into your ass that is screaming loudest, begging, pleading. 

And the blood rushes to your ears, drowning out the screams, the breathing, the gasps from you both.

His body twitches.  His cock is pulsing and as you tense your ass around him he fills you with his warm load.  Breathing is frantic.

And I am watching still as you fall into the pillow.  A beautiful sight. 

And baby, I love it when you're ass fucked.

Stroke

There is something incredibly hot watching him stroke himself. The strength in his hand, in his fingers wrapped around his hardness.

Watching the precise and deliberate strokes, teasing, torturing, tormenting as they take him to an edge that she denies him from falling over. Eyes glazed with a desire so lustful as he fixes his gaze upon her own lust filled eyes.  

Her own hands, mauling his flesh, scratching, pulling, twisting the skin of his thighs, his ass. The pain and teasing only heightening his desire further, he feels the pressure building within him like a volcano waiting to erupt.

Pre-cum drips from him, she knows that it will soon be hers, and indeed his again, but not until she is ready, not until she is ready to grant his body that release from his frustration. She loves to hear him whimper, she loves to hear him beg "please" as she makes his fist tighter around his cock, making him move harder, faster, more deliberate, more controlled.

She loves to hear his low growl of pleasure, of his arousal resonate in her ears.

She loves to watch him struggle to hold that moment, denying him for as long as she is able. She revels in the frustration in his face, the longing and salacious desire that burns in his eyes. Her own arousal deepening at the control that she has over his body, over his cock, over him.

She loves to see his face, his eyes filled with desire, with wanting, with love.  His body trembling with excitement, a sheen of sweat over him that enables her hands and fingers to glide easily over him, teasing him, stroking him, arousing him.

His movements grow with anticipation of that moment, and she loves to watch his salty seed spurt out of his body, over his hand, his groans and screams that escape his mouth in relief. 

And then she loves to give that seed back to him, forcing his fingers into his mouth one at a time as he recoils against the saltiness upon his lips, his mind which hasn't recovered enough to prevent this invasion in his mouth.

He sucks his own fingers, taking in every last drop. She loves to see him hungry for it.

For himself.

For her.

No idea

You had no idea as we had dressed for the evening formal dinner that this was how the evening would end.  In the days of planning, neither had I. But with everything in place, I knew exactly how the evening would pan out. I knew that we would stay for dinner, we'd have champagne and dance a little.  But I also knew that at the end of the night we wouldn't return home alone.  And I knew that what was going to be a pleasure for me, would torment you.  That what would build me, would break you.

You had no idea until you had seen us flirting over the dinner table, a dark haired, younger very handsome man with the most kissable lips. You could tell from the way I looked at them, that I wanted to devour them, to devour him.  You could tell from the way I looked at him and the way he looked at me, that there was a current of electricity, shocks passing across the table which everyone else was oblivious too.

You had no idea where we had gone when I had excused myself from the table to "powder my nose" and you had no idea where he had gone when he had left a short time after.  The bewildered look on your face when we returned together, flushed faces, and a smile on my face.  As I sat down beside you and guided your hand between my legs, you knew.  You knew what had just happened and as I placed my hand on your device I could feel your cock begin to stiffen and I knew that you knew.

You had no idea that he would be coming home with me. With us.  And you had no idea that you would be sat across the room, the same room, while I straddled him, kissed him and lowered myself slowly onto his hardened cock.  And as I took control over his cock, the speed and depth to how he entered me, I could hear and sense your humiliation as I told him how wonderful it was to finally have such a big cock inside of me, to be filled by a real man.  I knew. I knew that you were longing to be him, longing to be in that place, that you weren't jealous of him, but longed to be him.

I knew that your cock would be straining against the device I had locked you in before we had gone out for the evening. After all, I wanted you properly dressed, you looked so handsome in your dinner suit, the bow-tie, it was as much as I could do to keep my hands from you before we had left, I had teased you, tormented you, edged you until you were so aroused and then locked you away.  Laughing at your frustration.

And there you sat, across the room, witnessing him fucking me.  My kissing him, our moans and groans of passionate release as he fucked me harder, deeper, as I rode him.  All the while, you sat there watching us. Watching him. Watching me.  

We were lost in the desires, the lust of the moment, oblivious to your humiliating defeat, oblivious to the strains of your cock.  Oblivious to your burning cheeks of longing, of need, of desire, your broken humiliation as his cock filled me deeply. Oblivious to your own moans as he came deep inside of me.

And you had no idea that soon it would be your turn.  That this would be your moment of even deeper humiliation as I order you to your knees before him, to clean his cock which had moments before been deep inside me.  

And you had no idea that your humiliation would only be complete as you led on your back while I straddled your mouth and ordered you to clean me, to clean me deeply and thoroughly, your tongue recoiling at the taste of him.

And you had no idea as your tongue brought me to a shuddering orgasm that my juices, his juices would flow over your face, your mouth, and your tongue, trickling down the back of your throat causing you to gag. You were broken. Your humiliation marked by us both.

You JoJo. Had no idea.

Taken

Your hands. Held in mine. It is I that captures them. Captures you.  It is I that holds them and it is my grip that pulls you close. That pulls you to me. Against me.

Your hands feel my strength. My touch. My control. My need. And your own hands are giving. Touching. Wanting. Needing. 

A gentle touch, a gentle kiss, a tongue tip gently flicking around your out turned palm. Drawing patterns, leaving a trail of warm saliva as it teases each of your fingers. A look between both, a look that draws you deeper, that brings you in, drinks you in. Takes you in.

Eyes locked, gaze not broken for one moment as I take one finger, lips gently closing as I feast upon your skin. I am filled by you. By the taste of you. By the sight of you. By the sound of you.  All of my senses filled in that one moment. My need to devour you, consume every last part of you as my lips close tightly around you.

They are your hands. But it is I who has captured them. Taken them. Taken you.

Touching you.

Stroking and teasing the hard flesh in my hand, long slow strokes as I kneel between your thighs.  Fingers moving along your thick length, watching you intently as your eyes close and your lips begin to part before a deep moan escapes from within.

Fingers squeezing harder, wrapping themselves around you, tantalising, teasing, torturing and drawing drops from you. I love how it glistens, how it calls out to me. How it screams at me to taste you.

I ignore its call just as I ignore the pleadings from your body as I loosen my grip to drag my nails across the tender skin, feeling you flinch beneath my touch, your moaning at the sharp pain that follows.  You reach out to grab my hand, trying to force my fingers back around your hardness. 

A small laugh escapes my lips in response to the frustrated sigh that escaped from yours.  And I continue stroking, touching, slow and hard, picking up pace, increasing pressure, watching you closely as your expression changes with the heightening arousal that you feel.  Hearing your breathing change as I know that your arousal is close to its height.  As you are looming close to the edge.

I watch your body tighten, the muscles stiffen in your thighs which grip either side of my body more tightly with every stroke I make on your hardness.  And I continue to tease you, to tempt you close to that edge, knowing exactly when you will take that fall over the edge, that you will fall when I am ready for you to fall.  There is a damp sheen of sweat on your brow.  Body arching, hips protruding forwards as they make their own silent pleading and begging.  

And my relentless touch, a continual change in pressure and speed, taking you closer and close to the edge. Your breathing and open eyes pleading for this moment. I watch you closely as I lean forward and touch my lips to your hardness, our eyes locked together as my tongue laps across the head.  The gentlest of touches, the warmth from my tongue enough to send you cascading over the edge to the depths.  My hand covered in you as I bring it up to your mouth, forcing my fingers between your lips as you taste, as you smile, as you fall.

Waiting

He waited patiently.  But then he would have waited forever.

For her.

For whatever she had planned. For whatever she had in mind.

For whatever was his fate.

He would dare not move.  Or raise his eyes.  The sound of her footsteps echoing loudly as she descended the stairs precisely.  He counted the exact seconds she stood on each stair before stepping down the next.  He knew exactly how many more stairs there were to go before she would stand in front of him.

The sight of her feet being the first thing that came into his view and the tip of the crop that she held languidly in her hand, yet knowing her grip on it would change all too quickly.

He had openly presented himself.

For her.

For whatever she had planned. For whatever she had in mind.

For whatever was his fate.

He breathed in deeply, her scent filling his nose, drawing comfort from her close proximity to him and her aroma.  Regardless of what was to come his way he drew comfort in her presence.  Revelling in her attention, that she had yet to bestow on him.  Yet savouring every moment he was in her presence.  He was obediently waiting for his Owner, his lover, his everything.

And he, Her cherished pet.  Her toy. Her boy.

Her everything.

His waiting was over.

You knew

You leaned in and kissed him.

It was dark, yet light enough for people in the crowd to see.  You pulled him in closer, lips strong, tongues probing, as his stubble rubbed against yours.

Those close by watched with mouths agape, as tentatively his tongue began to explore your mouth, my hand pushing on the back of your head, encouraging you, forcing you in closer and deeper.

The pressure of my hand pushing you to know without doubt what I wanted.

Your legs begin shaking as your knees begin to bend.  Your mouth working its way down his body.

You knew what lay ahead.

You knew where your mouth was heading. You knew what you had to do, albeit not really wanting to do it.

You knew.

Surviving surgery and lack of control!

I am now 3 weeks post surgery.

I am alive.

No matter how many people said "you will be fine", when you have a fear of something a million or more people could say that, but you don't or cannot actually believe them.

So yes, I survived the anaesthetic and the days are passing with a good recovery, I feel more tired which as an insomniac hasn't been too bad a thing to be honest, but, it does drain away the motivation for things that I'd love or want to be doing.  Still, in the longer term, it will be better. *I* will be better and things will be too, that is what counts and what I'm working towards.

And I hope that I will slowly be able to get back to writing, or more so, there being the motivation and want to do so.

When I was talking to the rather nice (and yes incredibly sexy!) anaesthetist prior to my surgery I said to him that I didn't mind what he did, as long as he woke me up at the end.  He looked at me and asked "do you not like not being in control?" 

I smiled.  He would never know what I was actually smiling for, but I smiled at him and said "No, I don't."

And it made me realise that one of the things about going under was that it was something I had no control over, that I couldn't control what my body or anything else was doing while sedated.  As I walked into the theatre and settled onto the bed, as they started to secure my arms down with straps it was a rather awful feeling.  Yes in my life before I have been restrained and tied down (a long time ago now mind!) but, it was a very surreal feeling, a very strange experience and one that I wasn't comfortable with.

And as I drifted off into the land of sleep, the light being the last thing I saw as I drifted into a rather wonderful but incredibly vivid dream, my thoughts were that no, I don't like not being in control.

But then, I already knew that *smiles*

House Slaves and House Maids

There was a discussion going over on IC some time ago, talking about house slaves/house maids HERE and I do not think it is surprising that people often wonder what someone can get out of such service.

Some truly fail to see how someone can be fulfilled in this way, although quite often it seems the ones who cannot understand it come into D/s with a completely different outlook as to what it is and what it means to them ~ which is understandable.  If it isn't their thing, if it doesn't fulfill their needs, they aren't likely to fully understand how it can to others.  Some people will make comments because they speak out of ignorance, looking down on people who are fulfilled in such a way.  But simply; they just don't get it.

But, to me, I totally get it.

Totally get that someone can be fulfilled from such a service orientated role.  That they can simply be pleased and have fulfilment from making someone's life easier.  This however, isn't an easy thing to find, there are very few who truly want or who could be at ease within such a role.  It seems that the number of people who search for such, who long or desire such, decreases by the day.  They are certainly quite rare it would appear.

Within that thread, there is a male submissive, who explains what he gets from his service in this way, of how it works for him . . .it seems that the service he provides is such a rare thing, but what stood out for me, is what he gets from it, of how he explains how it fulfills him and his needs.  It goes on to show that it isn't just about having a service submissive, but that it is something quite special.  His words, actually spoke volumes, so much so that I wanted to share it here. 

The IC member Lanterne_Rouge  wrote this . . .

I've served in this way for a decade or so, with one Lady in particular for the last few years.

I don't "get off" on housework (as it was described in the original post); it doesn't give me a sexual thrill and at home it's just chores that I do. In normal working life I've got a stressful and senior role. I very rarely actual "do" anything, I'm more often juggling people and other resources or working on strategy and other long term guff, generating excel sheets and powerpoints. 

Performing service for a Lady allows me to completely switch this off. I'm usually doing something quite manual for her, and able to focus on quite tightly defined tasks ("Clean the oven") rather than dealing with the uncertainties and open ended work items of my job. I can perform a task, and see it through to completion. I may even get some praise for it if done well. For a while I can simply exist, which is fantastically mentally relaxing even when I'm rushing around scrubbing, polishing, cooking, whatever. There is a real satisfaction in a job well done - and, conversely, real disappointment and shame if she finds something I've missed that she then needs to complain about or punish me for.

Sometimes I work with close supervision (there is nothing that concentrates the mind quite so much as the Lady pacing up and down, flexing a riding crop or paddle and sometimes swatting me if I'm not fast enough, or thorough enough). That tends to be when she is in a more playful mood and wants to enjoy watching me toil for her, and exert her dominance - or if she's just had a rough day at work and wants to work out some pent up aggression.

Other times, I'm told what to do and left to get on with it whilst she goes into her study to catch up on work, or relaxes with a glass of wine and a good book. In this case I may prepare and serve her a meal whilst also ensuring that the kitchen is left spotless (regardless of its state when I arrived) and any other tasks have been completed. In these sessions I may have very little interaction with her. 

The goal and satisfaction for me come in seeing that she is feeling relaxed and pampered. There is no expectation or hope that I'll get anything beyond a pat on the head and a thank you as I leave. It feels especially good if she has examined my work and not found any real issues with it.

With the Lady that I've been lucky enough to work for over the last few years there is no intimate service involved - although she knows that I appreciate seeing ladies in general wearing fully fashioned stockings and heels (well, I'm a bloke, aren't I!), so will sometimes wear them when I'm serving her as a treat (always with a decent length skirt, an elegant not a tarty look). This isn't always the case; she may equally often be wearing "slouchy" clothes - jeans and an old t-shirt or jumper chosen purely for comfort rather than looks. I have no expectations or demands on her.

I wear what she tells me to wear, which will usually reflect any particular jobs that she needs doing. That may be workwear (trousers and t-shirt) for hard work DIY/seriously dirty tasks or gardening, or if she fancies some eye-candy as I work around the house doing general cleaning she'll have me wear a short skirt, stockings and heels or perhaps a leather slave harness as the mood takes her.

On the odd occasion that I've been privileged to serve when she's had an evening with a few of the girls around (so ensuring that the house is clean when they arrive, serving drinks and nibbles, cooking & serving food, clearing up afterwards) she's preferred me either in waiter-style black trousers, white shirt and bow tie or alternatively blouse, skirt, stockings and heels depending upon which particular ladies are her guests. Wearing non-street clothes does help me get into the service head space, but is non-essential to my enjoyment.

So, back to the original question - there is a well understood dynamic between us. We both know what we'll get out of the arrangement, and enjoy each others company (often having fits of giggles together rather than behaving strictly in Mistress/servant roles). We sometimes meet socially as equals in a pub or coffee bar just for a natter and a drink. I'd find it hard to serve somebody that I don't like and respect - if that was the case then how could I get my enjoyment from seeing her needs met?

From her point of view, she obviously gets all the nasty jobs done that she dislikes (oven cleaning, floors scrubbed etc.) and any tricky handyman stuff, but beyond that also gets an evening of feeling both empowered and pampered - or if she's working late whilst I'm performing my chores then simply having her life made a little easier during a busy period. One of my best moments - seeing my Lady swell up with pride when one of her guests at the end of an evening said that she wished she had the services of someone like me.

I know that I could quite easily be that guest who said she wished she had the services of someone like him.  Because quite simply, it would just be perfect.  Someone who is able to be of service in this way, to this extent, to be at ease within that role, but more so, not to come with a whole list of wants and needs, but to be fulfilled in the role that he is fulfilling.  That the submissive needs, the needs to serve are met through those chores and tasks.  

As I mentioned earlier, people like this, are a very very rare, but special find. Someone else in that thread also says

" think "most" people advertising to be a maid have ulterior motives and that they want a bit of spanking or sex at the end of the cleaning etc....There are very few, like myself who genuinely just wish to clean and make someone elses' life better"

And that is it . . .that hits it right on the head.  The desire to make someone elses' life better.  As it says in the quote above

"the goal and satisfaction for me come in seeing that she is feeling relaxed and pampered. There is no expectation or hope that I'll get anything beyond a pat on the head and a thank you as I leave. It feels especially good if she has examined my work and not found any real issues with it."

It is about not having expectations, of not coming with a tick list of wants and needs that need to be fulfilled as so many seem to think that is the point of submitting, that is what submitting is all about.

For some, it is about that tick list. And for them, that is fine.  This is all about after all, what it is for each of us.

For others, it is far far beyond that.

For me it most certainly is.

But, it was refreshing to see that someone serves in this way and gets their fulfillment from serving, from pleasing.  Not because they have a whole host of expectations to be fulfilled to get that satisfaction. It does go to show, that there are some people out there who share that wavelength, that thought.

If only we could all be as lucky to find this . . . .