Thanksgiving. Its a time of good food, and good company. Of course in other countries, its on different dates and known by other names, like the Harvest Festival. For me, growing up in the US, it comes at the end of November, and on a Thursday morning, the kitchen begins to fill with wonderful smells: Turkey and mashed potatoes, the drippings turn into gravy. Hot dinner rolls, melting with butter, stuffing, veggies, and cranberry. Its an all day affair of cooking, eating, and cleanup. Then the left over turkey sandwiches, and late night snacking begins. You sneak down to the fridge, select a few things, pop them into the microwave and enjoy another mini feast.
I will be on the road this Thanksgiving. My slave has to work or she would be with me. It drives me nuts. There are times I simply hate her job. I know she loves what she does. If she didn’t, I’d have made her quit a long time ago. Horses can be an addiction, I know, I get it. I just don’t share the attraction for their particular “perfume”, or the bruises and pains that always accompany being that close to a half ton animal with a mind of it own. My property is constantly reporting a new bruise. Not being with me for Thanksgiving is just one of the many annoyances.
So, completely under her own desires, she drew up plans to serve me an early Thanksgiving meal this weekend, before I left. That was sweet. It started early, as these days always do, and went on for hours and hours. When our plates were ready, she slipped into a sexy little blue dress, and served in high protocol fashion. I thought the dress up was a really nice touch. I like a formal dinner. Afterwards, she cleaned up, served desert, and asked for permission to let the desert dishes wait for tomorrow. I allowed this indulgence. I normally insist that no dishes be left in the sink, unwashed.
It is at times like this, when such incredible care and service have been provided, and when I look at the thought and detail that she puts into my happiness, that I sometimes question the equity of our arrangement. When I hold her, and she melts into my arms, and I feel what I feel, and I feel what she is sending back to me, any doubt goes away.
From the perspective of a Dominant, the mindset of a slave is very odd. Not in the sense of caring for another or pleasure from creating pleasure. Good Dominants and slaves share these simple pleasures. No, its the pleasure that a slave often finds in tasks under direction of another, that is foreign.
I do however have memories from which to draw upon, that relate to this. In my first years as an employee, I worked in a mail room and the labor was very manual, very much about moving heavy sacks around, and completely free of any thought. It was simple but satisfying. I enjoyed laughing and joking with co-workers and there was something simple yet satisfying in the labor. The love of labor, and a labor or love – these are the roots of it.
Perhaps it is not odd that all the service, and my extreme satisfaction with her tonight, made her quite horny. I’m grinning now.. It was a really, really, good day, start to finish.
She is off to work now. Barn duty starts early. She will come home smelling of horses, and if happiness was not easily found at work, I trust she will make it a good day anyway, because Master demands it. We are blessed. Happy Thanksgiving my friends, Carpe Diem! Go make a great day!