Housewife Chronicles

This post was originally published over at mouse droppings, but after brief reflection felt it was also perfectly suited here. Lately, there has been a struggle to post here, with most of her thoughts revolving around cleaning, cooking and service to Master, it makes for a rather dull blog. It seems mouse has come to an odd crossroads. For those unaware, mouse droppings (cleverly named by Master) is a companion blog, for other more service related posts that with an occasional mention of sex, but remain fairly vanilla in thoughts. 

Staring at the cursor, you ponder where do you begin this recent tale of exhaustion? You, like most days, have spent the day cleaning, cooking and re-cleaning afterward. It's 11pm, the dishwasher is emptied, the kitchen countertops cleaned, sink scrubbed. Everything is ready for the bustling morning that will follow. You're beyond tired, yesterday was a special day that required more than the usual number of hours cooking, multiple pots and pans that required attention, and even a dessert was lovingly prepared by your own hands. Additionally, you also spent the day doting on your Husband, Father of your children, making extra certain He wanted for nothing. It had been a lovely day and the exhaustion you feel is a good thing because it's the kind that comes from being happy in service. Ironically, someone in your home mentioned that it was also the "longest day of the year," and all you can think is 'no kidding.' For you, really, every day seems long, stretching out each of the minutes, until it seems all is completed.

Carefully, you make your way to bedroom, creeping inside. Your Husband is already sleeping, He has a big day tomorrow and the last thing you want is to disturb His slumber. You carefully shut the door behind you and creep your way into the bathroom and close that door as well before switching on the light. You undress, placing the clothing into the proper spot, your things are kept, before washing your face, brushing your teeth. Last stop before sleep is a quick trip to potty. You sit, reach for the toilet paper and instantly realize you are at the end of the roll. You do that awkward reach around to check for the extra roll that lives on the toilet tank, but there's nothing there. You close your eyes silently hoping what meager amount in your hand is enough. You just make it. 

Now, your next problem emerges as you reach for the soap to wash your hands. You need more toilet paper. You can't just leave it, because it's highly likely that you'll be the one to wake and need to pee, or worse that you'll sleep peacefully through the night and your Master will get up early...You know which would be worse by instinct and history. 

You turn the light off in the bathroom, quietly open that door that squeaks annoyingly, and then realize as you reach the bedroom door you're nude. Now, you ponder, is anyone else awake? Will anyone else see your naked form as you walk down the hall. You listen and decide the coast is clear, because in the dark closet without having to close the squeaky door, and turn on a light, you'd never find your bathrobe and it's just a quick run to the linen closet where the extra rolls are stowed. 

You briskly walk to the closet, in the darkness reach your hand up to where the rolls are located, or supposed to be located and find ONE roll. Now leaves you feeling disgruntled since you just refilled it a few days ago and it's already nearly empty.  What are these people doing with it? You don't need wrap it around your hand like a catcher's mitt? That, obviously, would be news to them. You make a mental note to again refill that shelf, and simultaneously, feel blessed there was that single roll still present. Quietly you return to the bedroom, close the bedroom and enter reenter the bathroom. 

The next problem presents itself in a natural way. How to replace the roll in complete darkness. Yes, your eyes have somewhat adjusted to the dark, switching on the light is unthinkable (squeaky door problems). The toilet paper holder isn't a "modern one" you just slide off the old roll and replace, it's a tricky one that is held between two holders, with the roll holder rod, telescoping between the two sides. Finding the hole, getting the roll on is often tricky during the day as more than once you've launched the metal roll holder across the bathroom, always it seems against the tile. Carefully, you feel for the ends, the holes where the holder seats properly, repeatedly testing by tugging. This is too much effort for so late at night, but you emerge victorious. You did not launch it across the bathroom. 

If you felt exhausted before, if you felt the strong pull of bed, where it's warm and you can at last lay down and sleep...That extra five or so minutes felt painfully long to you. Bed was right there before you went to the bathroom, and now it's closer than before. Still more is always asked of you. Carefully, in a prayerful manner, you kneel beside the bed. If your Master were awake, you'd wait for His invitation to enter it, either by His word or deed. You know that won't happen tonight, so there is no shortcut but to wait the predetermined time. Now that time feels arbitrary, and wrong. The minutes tick, as you consider options. He would never know if you just climbed into bed, would He? Master is sound asleep, His breaths are slow, long and even. What would the harm be to just abandon the pre-bed ritual? He would never be the wiser, after all, you've worked your butt off today, more so than usual and all to make His day a special one. His evening meal, extra grand. You did your duty, filled and refilled His drink, offered Him snacks, sucked His cock when the mood struck Him...

How would He know if you didn't wait the 20 minutes before climbing into bed at the end of a completely exhausting day? Why wait 20 minutes anyway? Why such an arbitrary number? You recall the day He let you know about His expectations for your behavior, when you asked specifically if He didn't answer how long should she wait before assuming permission was granted and He said, rather unthoughtfully, "twenty minutes slave." The idea being that would certainly give Him enough time to raise any objections, should He have any.  Ruefully, your next thought is that should only apply electronic communications, yet you can recall many instances where, at home, you also painfully waited.

Your burden to wait is at His pleasure. You are owned property, not a free person with autonomy to just decide for yourself what you should or should not be allowed. Only He has that freedom to choose, and you gave up that last bit of your freedom to Him to decide such things for you. At least you managed to resolve this on your own, taking comfort in your pause, your persistent evaluation of your surrender, and the twenty minutes has passed. You climb between the sheets at long last, feeling the muscles stretch comfortably and relax. You whisper, "Thank you Master" as you drift off to an uncomplicated sleep, finding comfort in the one fact that tomorrow you'll gladly do it all again.