Who serves whom, third asignment by Satan Klaus

[Satan_Klaus]

I am so impressed that English is not your first language. The few awkward sentences could be attributed to this? Bravo! This piece caught my attention and kept it.

Dean told me "not to fret the language barrier too much." The truth is, I'm frequently hiding behind it, which is just stupid. I shouldn't aim for second place just because it's my second language.

The note about it not being a switch story at the end, was that intented to be part of the story? I think this is an example of explanation as a mechanism of self defense, either way. Why bother? It is a good story. If you don't want people to think it is a switch story, you will have to make it tell that part.

No it's not part of the story and in retrospect I feel stupid for saying it. The reader should make his own judgement.

Sub boy in action, sub boy failing, failed Domme subbing for this turned lazy boy...somehow a switch happened there, I hate to tell you. I have no idea how. Looks like a switch, smells like a switch... if the intention is not to wreak of a switch (conscious or uncounscious), something must be done to illustrate this. I am [I]not[I] convinced.

Why so against the story being a switch story?

It smells like a switch, yes. But are you sure? I never said for whom the chair was intended or who was going to suffer in the basement. Isn't it normal for the dom to prepare the setting and the toys? And worshipping the ground your lover is treading on doesn't necessarily mean you are submissive. It would make you a good sub for sure, but it just might make you a perfect dom. Who was serving whom? That's easy. But who was domming whom? Who knows? (God, I feel stupid for this "not a switch story comment".)

This was the effect I was going for, and it might be the reason why the story is so short. Maintaining that ambivalence was awfully hard.

Satan_Klaus

PS: This had nothing to do with tolerance, just with me trying to think for the reader, WHICH I SHOULDN'T. Can we please forget about this?

[Rhabbi]

This had nothing to do with tolerance, just with me trying to think for the reader, WHICH I SHOULDN'T. Can we please forget about this?

I never even paid attention to the quote, as for thinking for the reader, our job is to make the reader think. I think we do that best be feeling for them, and making them experience what we want them to. That is the challenge of writing for me.

[Satan_Klaus]

I DO make a lot of mistakes and I'm grateful to you for pointing them out, but sometimes I think you are too stuck on rules and 'flow'. Rules are made for breaking them. Sometimes I break them accidentially but sometimes I do it on purpose. The flow, too. To hammer in a point. Just like that.

I edited the story, working in most of your suggestions and making it more ambivalent. I hope it has improved. If it has, it is only your support that allowed me to do it.


Who serves whom?

Jason put down the rag and surveyed his work. He had cleared up the playroom, swabbing everything down with disinfectant: floor, walls, toys. His knees were sore and his head was spinning from the solvent. He found another plug and disdainfully dumped it in the cleaning tub. Bodily fluids were fine with him during playtime. After a day or two, they were simply disgusting. He really hated cleaning up the dungeon but it was his duty to keep everything safe and clean. It was his responsibility and he took it seriously.

As always, the clock was working against him and he was far from finished with his chores: a meal had to be prepared, a table had to be laid and candles had to be lit. Not to mention the clothes and toys. It was going to be a long and elaborated scene tonight. Maybe that was exactly what he needed; it would help take his mind off how stressful it had been to prepare. He sighed, picked what he needed from the well stocked equipment rack on the wall and hurried upstairs.

Jason stopped to catch his breath and caught his reflection in the mirror. He didn’t like what he saw. Dark rings were clearly visible under his steel blue eyes and his hair was tangled and wet with sweat. He would need a shower before she came home; as if he hadn’t enough things on his mind already. No wonder he looked like that, he thought: He always got up an hour before Francine so that he could leave work early. So that he could prepare everything.

All for her.

Was it really supposed to be like this, he wondered. When he had chosen this lifestyle, he had never thought that it entailed that he had to do all this work.

It was a labor of love, he ruefully reminded himself as he laid the table with a single setting. For the woman he loved, no sacrifice was too great and he was the luckiest man on earth just to have her. He truly worshipped the ground on which Francine trod but sometimes everything just went over his head.

He selected a good wine to go along with the meal he had prepared and took a deep breath, surveying his work. Almost perfect. He adjusted the single chair to perfectly match the setting and laid out the doggie bowl and pillow on the floor next to it.


He had barely finished dressing when Jason heard the ‘toc toc’ of her heels on the hall. Even after five years, he trembled with anticipation, uncertain if everything was good and to her liking.

As always, it was perfect.


********** One week later **********

The floor was dirty, Francine noted, so unlike Jason. She had been away for a week on business but he knew exactly when she would be coming home. She was used to a perfectly clean house, especially when they were about to play. Jason always created a perfect atmosphere, never skimping on the details. Bewildered she placed down her suitcase and looked around. It was as if Jason had not lifted a finger while she had been away.

There was some noise coming from the den and, when she cautiously entered, she saw him lounging in front of the television, his legs propped up on the table. Some stupid F1 racing game was running on the console and he was almost simultaneously cheering and cursing at his controller.

In all the time she had known him, he had never done that. What had caused this sudden change, she wondered.


********** Just a short time later**********

The tiny French Maid outfit was far too small and designed to be humiliating. The skirt was so ridiculously short that the lack of underwear, like the base of the butt plug, was quite obvious. Dusting the upper shelves was especially bad; which was why it was going to be the first chore every day from now on.

Jason could remember that he used to have trouble reaching the higher boards, even with a proper duster, but he hadn’t thought it possible with the flimsy, pink, plastic thingy that came with the uniform.

As always, the clock was working against him. And this time, it looked like it was going to end badly. He just knew it. If he qualified second, Schumacher was going to start in the pole position and the race would go downhill from there. He made a mental note to punish Francine for distracting him with her moist pussy and well plugged ass that she wiggled in front of him, frantically trying to reach the last shelf.

It was the heels, Jason mused. The heels helped.


Satan_Klaus

PS: I will be unavaiable for almost two weeks, starting now.

[Beswitchingly Positive]

Dean told me "not to fret the language barrier too much." The truth is, I'm frequently hiding behind it, which is just stupid. I shouldn't aim for second place just because it's my second language.

Satan, sir, please know you are far from second place. You have something much more difficult to find than the mechanics of english;you have the spark of creativity. Reading this again, in light of your response to my comments, I wanted to say again, I like it.

No it's not part of the story and in retrospect I feel stupid for saying it. The reader should make his own judgement.


I too have had the impulse to include disclaimers or explanations with my homework. This always made me stop and reread, to see what was lacking; why was I feeling the need to explain myself? I found it was usually cause I missed something. You shouldn't feel stupid, this is a class! We are all babies learning here. Jeez, if I was worried about feeling stupid, I would never post anything I have written. Fiction is just tricky. It makes me feel very exposed. I am sorry if my comments were over zealous.




It smells like a switch, yes. But are you sure? I never said for whom the chair was intended or who was going to suffer in the basement. Isn't it normal for the dom to prepare the setting and the toys? And worshipping the ground your lover is treading on doesn't necessarily mean you are submissive. It would make you a good sub for sure, but it just might make you a perfect dom. Who was serving whom? That's easy. But who was domming whom? Who knows? (God, I feel stupid for this "not a switch story comment".)


Don't feel bad! This was good, and it got you to level three. I hope all is well and I will see you there. I guess my gut reaction was to defend my people. It is not so easy being a switch. Some folks here don't even believe in us, the way some gay's think all bi's are really gay, just still looking for the right mate. I have been told a stat that 10 percent of the population is kinky, and only one percent are considered switch. I feel kinda stupid for reacting so strongly to your comment. So now we are even?

This was the effect I was going for, and it might be the reason why the story is so short. Maintaining that ambivalence was awfully hard.

Satan_Klaus

PS: This had nothing to do with tolerance, just with me trying to think for the reader, WHICH I SHOULDN'T. Can we please forget about this?

Satan, all is filed and forgotten. You should not be so hard on your self. I can't wait to see what you have been doing in level three...

Beswitchingly

[Satan_Klaus]

Thank you for your kind words and encouragement.

Alas, there is nothing of me in level 3, yet. I was on holidays and have just returned yesterday. I still haven't finished the level 3 reading asignments but I'm working on it. I hope I will manage to produce a longer story this time. (Somehow I seem to have problems with medium lenght stories. The short ones just flow out of my fingers and I can work the long ones until they have soul and substance but the medium lenght strangely seems elusive.)

Satan_Klaus