Labour of Love

You might call this weekend a labour of love with lots of added nostalgia.

Over five years ago my former Mistress (P) stopped being a domme.  She became a pro-domme after her online business went down the pan due to Chinese fakes flooding the market.  It never really suited her as the difference between lifestyle and pro was too much.  The decision to quit was spur of the moment on reaching breaking point made when a petulant ‘man-child’ stamped his feet at her refusal to one of his requests.  The one last time she was a domme is told here: The Bitter Sweetness of the End

The beautiful dungeon, with several large spaces was housed in a barn that with other barns were ripe for a property developer as a last means of income.  The dungeon was evacuated quickly.  The main pieces of equipment packed away in tissue and most other stuff packed in boxes without record.

For the last five years it’s all occupied two bedrooms and half a lounge.  Too much emotional investment and too many mental health issues for her to think beyond fond memories.

For over a year she has suggested that it’s time to sell the equipment and move on.  Anyone with PTSD, depression, anxiety and other related conditions will know it’s not as easy as that.  What the rational brain knows is true is not the same when the emotional brain takes over.  I now have my own version of this and I have even more sympathy for where she’s at.

Even so, she decided that this was the weekend that we would make a start on sorting through and cataloging everything.

What really became apparent was the scale of the task.  I’d thought it to be a few hundred items.  In reality, for many reasons, it turns out to be a few thousand items.  Albeit that once some rationality is applied much will be thrown away to leave just a few hundred items.

The rational take away from this weekend is that the scale of the task is now understood and a plan formulated to tackle it.

The more difficult take away is the emotional one.  It’s bad enough for me, the nostalgia as items emerge from boxes.  I helped fund that dungeon with it’s big items – and we’ve yet to tackle those.  But there’s so many other things I donated that bring back memories as they are unearthed.  The pair of bright red knee high boots that were just too tight for me (they still are – I had to try them) that despite being over 20 years old were in pristine condition.  Various wigs and petticoats to help flesh out the “sissy” room.  Even the fucking machine.  Much more will be uncovered over coming weeks.

The emotional impact on her was brought home as we sorted through a collection of canes.  A couple of times her hand went out and grabbed a cane to put it to one side.  Something she will never use again, yet so personal an item that she can’t part with it, even with them being in a box, out of sight and mind for over five years.

Days like this are strangely wonderful.  The rapport is extraordinary.  I am not her sub and never will be again, yet she knows me inside out and is invested in the growth of not just melody but my D/s with my domme.  That’s an exceptional thing to encounter.  We are sounding boards to each other with nothing hidden.  Damn can she ask some penetrating questions.  I can be presenting largely feminine dress and she’s very happy to see it.  There’s nothing about me to feel the slightest apprehension or embarrassment in her company and our discussions.

An interesting and actually enjoyable addition to this day of work and nostalgia was the girlfriend of her son.  She was there in the living room, occasionally helping – making a great job of brushing wigs for display and pictures.  P has never held back on openness with her children and any boyfriend or girlfriend has to learn to adapt with how that household openly discusses sex and even D/s.

It was always a thing when the children were younger for school friends to come back to the place to be sneaked in to the dungeon to blow their minds.

With P and I reminiscing about so much stuff as well as general discussions on D/s, that young girl was clearly taken aback a few times.  The final mind-bender was showing her the Humbler that had come out of a box.  The sly grin as she realised what it was, followed by suggesting to P’s son that he go Google a humbler because she fancied him in one.

I’m a curmudgeonly old bugger that can be dismissive of younger generations.  Yet I thoroughly enjoyed the presence of this young lady who was not phased in the least by my female presentation and took the topics of P and I in her stride.

There’s an interesting contrast here.  P and I were discussing topics that the young lady admitted were almost taboo amongst her own generation, a generation that finds it hard to admit they know what a sex toy is and many probably don’t.  Yet she was completely accepting of the activities P and I talked about, as well as me as melody.

In many ways it was just a wonderfully enjoyable and relaxing time in a domestic setting with my closest friend and some of her family.  The history of D/s between us is what anchors the friendship and yet it’s entirely in the past.  There’s something quite special about having a large dildo waved at you as just a conversational memory.