Number of times I've been ordered to play with myself without coming: 2
Number of times I've been allowed to come: 0
Number of times I've heard "Did I say you could...?": 7
Number of times I've been given direct orders that are aimed to humiliate and torment me: countless
Stupid things. Little things. Dirty things. Things that are aimed to remind me I follow his instructions and his instructions only.
Get dressed. Make coffee. Eat breakfast. Sit. Stand. No, don't put on your panties yet. Okay, now you may put on your panties. Brush your hair. Stand by the door. Okay, you may go.
Meanwhile, we're figuring out the bathroom outlet situation. Since it has become clear to him I cannot be trusted to plug his shaver back in
he's figuring out an alternative way to handle this. He might go to Costco today and buy a new shaver, one that doesn't have to be charged. I don't know.
He's not going to punish me pain-wise until the "shaver problem" is dealt with. One thing at a time, he says. Until then, I have to take his near-constant humiliation tactics.
Dear God, I think a tiny part of me is beginning to like it.