First off the disclaimer: let it be known that after reading this blog your dominant or submissive gets ideas on anything mentioned here I cannot be held accountable for bratty behavior. Im dealing with enough of this shit daily, literally. 😳🤢
So let the blog begin.
When Hazel and I first met she had what was called a comfort zone, things that she wasn't comfortable doing or having done to her. One was she didn't want the lights on during our playtime, now the sun could light up the room and it isn't going to stop the fun.
Certain clothing she didn't wear do to things from her past, it's getting better every day, her wardrobe is expanding.
Now the one thing I thought was strange was she didn't fart in front of me, oh burb like a rude, disgusting, no manners redneck not a problem. But fart, passing gas, releasing the winds of hell, however you want to call it, nope.
Now you have to realize something, she's got no problem after finishing her morning routine of coffee and a cigarette to quickly head for the bathroom.
In this small but cozy room, she has been known to peal the paint off the walls, create an environment that resembles a gas chamber or some sadistic torture room. Nose hair curls, eyes water, loss of breath happens, the urge to pass out has occurred on occasions especially when as she calls it the period shits come to town for a week every month.
Believe me folks in all my life I have never encountered anything that resembles that smell and I've been around grown ass disgusting men who I believe their insides were rotting out from too many burritos and beer.
She enjoys way to much when this sacred time comes. Her sitting in the kitchen praying I get up to go pee, hearing the bedroom door open she contains the giggles as her unsuspecting victim half asleep walks into the room of death. Let me just say that a bath towel held covering your face is useless as she is laughing so hard.
Please understand I installed a new bathroom fan a few months ago, I should have installed a fan like they use in those wind tunnels maybe, just maybe it might have helped.
Now I was told if I ever farted in bed I would be subjected to lets just say some unpleasantness. Personally I was scared by the things she was coming up with, remember she's Greek.
So Tuesday night she makes Mexican lasagna, ground beef, tomatoes, onions, garlic, black beans, corn, among other spices. Late Tuesday night the effects of dinner are starting to become apparent when she text me while she's in bed and I'm in the bathroom. Oh I think that one was a little stinky, I responded I'm betting more than a little.
Wednesday evening, she's passing gas like a balloon with a leak. Needless to say I'm keeping my distance, once bit twice shy as they say. All evening the winds of hell are blowing and I'm trying to stay upwind.
Until I have to clean the cat box, trapped with the scoop in one hand, bag in the other, she corners me, let's go of silent but deadly, then pulls down her pants and says I'm just airing it out.
Holding my breath, I retreat to the kitchen, her laughing, me not trying to get a whiff of what may be certain death. As of now the Mexican lasagna is still making it's way through her intestines, ever so slowly developing into what could only be described as my demise if I have to pee after her coffee and cigarette.
So no, she's got no fucking comfort zone when it comes to being a brat and enjoying watching me suffer for her pleasure.
Now before anyone says control your submissive, remember outside the bedroom she's my equal. Now when that bedroom door closes and the restraints are applied, what happens next is totally up to me.
Hope you have a wonderful day my friends. Beware of strange looks and smells. 😳😳😳
