Ever since Master made banana bread while I was healing up, he’s told me he has been craving it. He’ll come home from work and say how he was thinking about banana bread, or how he had some for breakfast or something. I’m always excited when Master adds a new food item to his small list of foods he’ll eat. He is, admittedly, a picky eater.
The other night I noticed the bananas we had put in a brown bag were ready to use for banana bread. I was going to bake it for Master, but he told me to sit down and that he wanted to do it. Of course I didn’t argue, but each time this happens I do feel a bit guilty.
Each M/s household has different rules and expectations, and each slave has different ways his or her dominant expects them to serve. For me, I sometimes get caught up in the preconceived notions of what I think I should be doing, versus what I should actually be doing. For example, I didn’t wear panties much before I met Master. Now he purposefully has me wear them. Why? Because he likes to see them on me. He’s very visually stimulated, and he’s attracted to panties and other lingerie. So, I wear them. Yet, somewhere deep in the dark recesses of my mind there is a tiny voice that tells me: “No! Real sluts don’t wear panties!” Of course, that isn’t true at all. The right thing to do is to wear panties like a good kitty, purely because Master likes them, and fuck the “real” rules to Hell.
Cooking is like that for me. You wouldn’t think it if you came over, but I actually do like to cook. Most people I know don’t need to measure what they’re cooking, but in “true” slave fashion I can’t do anything without being told exactly how, so I follow recipes. (By the way, that was sarcasm if you couldn’t tell. I admire all people who can cook without recipes, slaves, submissives, and bottoms included.) Truth is I can’t cook without one though. Sometimes, if I cook something enough, I’ll appear to be able to cook without a recipe, but truthfully, I’ve just memorized it. The types of recipes I like are completely hit or miss with Master. I like veggies, he doesn’t like too many of those though. More often than not, if I do cook, I make separate dinners. One for him, and one for me. That’s not even the point though. The point is “if I cook.” As I said, I love to cook – but Master loves it too, and guess who wins out? You guessed it! Master.
What Master says is lord is this house, and if he wants to cook dinner, then yes, that’s what he does. It doesn’t matter if stereotypes say that I should be the one to cook. Master and me never really gave an actual fuck about what stereotypical slaves are supposed to do. We care about what works for us. While I do love it when Master cooks (because he’s doing something he is passionate about), I do sometimes feel a bit guilty about sitting around, or playing video games, or whatever else Master has set me up to do. No matter how much I know that other people’s rules do not apply to us, I still have this feeling in the back of my head that I should be taking care of Master at all times, and not the other way around. If I look at it another way, I suppose I am taking care of Master by being good while he cooks, because it is something he wants to do and depriving him of it would probably be damaging to his psyche. Not that I’d even try. It is still one of those things that’s hard to wrap my head around, but it’s also one of those things that I like because it makes our relationship even more unique. Sure I do still get to cook. Would I like to more? Yes! But only being allowed to cook with permission does make it special and wonderful, which is, after all, what our relationship is anyway.