My Domme - part 2

So, we sat down to talk, and she asked about what I ate and when. We talked about what I was doing wrong. It seems that I was not having enough protein, nor was I eating regularly enough. It is something that my husband has told me for years, so it turns out he was right; again.

She talked about what a week looked like for me and what my commitments were. She knows me. I attend an exercise class of hers each week elsewhere. She talked about how I was such a "giver" and that I do that so "naturally and casually". It was time in my life, she said, to insist on some "me time". What did I like to do? This gets tricky, because as soon as I ever tell someone that I "like to write", they ask me what I am writing. So, I told her that I write short stories about "relationships". That is what I liked to do with spare time.

So, we devised a weekly schedule: a routine of exercise and times when I would write, in a room with the door closed. She said that I really had to "insist" on that with the family.

I found myself comparing her to a dominant man I know on the Internet; a man who believes in rituals but also believes in "me time", too; a man who supports rituals as a way of my getting that "me time". The penny was starting to drop. It was okay to have 'me time'!

With the discussion over, she moved into the 'workout'. Panting, breathless, desperate; I tried to distract her for a moment to get a breath of air.

"You're a slave driver!"

"Why do you think they call me 'Madam Lash'?"

I giggled.

"They do?"

"What do you think the other group gave me for Christmas? A whip!"

"They did?"

In my mind, this conversation was already on the blog.

Finally, the woman left, with instructions to have a big drink of water and a "bit of a rest." She'd see me the day after next.

And, so it has begun; insistent 'motivation' to get fit and lose those couple of mid-life kilos that I want off.

It is a bit of carrot and plenty of stick.

And, Clemmi, you're next!