Self Serve(d) is a blog by and for a sex-positive world. We are all our own sexperts and have much to contribute. Self Serve(d) includes the wisdom, experience and advice from the sexperts all around us. communication, collaboration, liberation & masturbation...
So what happens to the Master when the slave is sick? Well let’s see… it starts early in the morning, when the magic socks do not appear and the breakfast somehow stays mysteriously in the fridge. At one time the pots and pans and odd sounding spices had made sense but now years later~ the act of cooking has become foreign and dangerous. A soft and well placed Masters whine for breakfast elicits a moan from the barely conscious and somewhat drugged slave. she attempts to move out of bed, only to snot on herself and fall backwards.
At this point it is clear that the Master must attempt breakfast. Skipping the idea of a hot breakfast and deciding on a lopsided sandwich instead the now cold and still kind of hungry Master wanders aimlessly through the house, looking for clothes. Strange, the clothes do not put themselves out, they do not, jump up to greet a person; they lie still unmoving, wrinkled, as if waiting for something. This unknown laundry language is unknown to the Master~ so bare naked the Master dives in and finds her clothes for the day.
Next the Master knows that she must drive into town and find some soup and soda for her sick and moaning slave~ if only to quell the moaning…
Slowly the Master circles the car; she opens the door, and enters. Turing the key the Master thinks that maybe she turned it on wrong; the music is not on her favorite station. But restarting the car brings no change. Halfway down the highway the Master realizes that the car doesn’t have a GPS, and that she must somehow know where to go. This presents a problem. The slave always knows where to go. The Master double checks for a GPS... Nope.
Hummm, this new world is curiouser and curiouser…
Driving along the Master decided to pull off the freeway and look for a store. Three hours later she finds a fast food joint and it will have to do. The chicken sandwich and hot tea will double as soup, and the French fries are just as good as crackers.
Proudly on her way home, The Master spots a gas station, she drops in and picks up a bottle of 8$ cough medicine and a box of 10 tissues that can also double as sandpaper. To show her slave that she loves her, the Master also buys one of those fake flowers that double as perfume, the kind with the little bear on top.
Coming back to her castle the Master surveys her booty. Once inside the smell of hot fresh chili overcomes her. The slave motivated by sheer terror had cooked in the Masters absence. Although the Master does not mind eating peanut butter and baloney sandwiches, this disturbs the slave greatly and makes rest almost impossible.
The slave puts on a brave smile and takes her gifts gracefully between snotting and coughing, and going unconscious once more.
The Master surveys’ her home, she struts from the living room to the kitchen waiting, sensing that something is missing. She moves to the TV room and puts in a show to watch.
Sitting on the couch she reaches over to the air that was at one time the place where the magic tea sat. She punches the button on the remote but somehow the French subtitles stubbornly remain. The Master slumps into the couch, good posture is not necessary if there is no one to look adoringly at it…
The Master heard the slave snoring loudly in the background.
The Master looks down at her feet propped on the coffee table. Of course, she thinks… looking at her feet~ on one there is a slipper sock, on the other is an oven mitt... No wonder the shoes felt tight…
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