topthemonkey

Note: This is a backposted entry, so some of the details may be inaccurate.

My space monkey had a rough day today.

He returned today, after school and after spending the weekend with his Master.  When I inducted him into my care on Friday, I had given him a single "homework" instruction: I wanted her sex clean-shaven.

There were also a few other constant-care things that, between her master and myself, should seem to be common sense to the monkey.  In this case, there is one particular text message I got that annoyed me:

"Always forget it's a 20 block walk from Master's house to train station...Missed train by 3min.  Next at 1.39.  Haven't eaten.  Drank less than half a glass of water."

This had been because the Monkey had overslept.  The monkey is also supposed to ALWAYS carry food with her, just in case (which is always a good idea in general when using public trans).  By the time the train got her to school, the classroom (where she was due to hand in a midterm) was empty.  She knew she had messed up.  I told her, outright, that I was going to defer the right to punish her to her master (who she was due to see while at school).  As it turns out, however, he did nothing, promised nothing, as a result of her actions.

I texted her, and told her I would meet her at a train station at around 530.  Thus began a long day.

We stopped at one home depot, and picked up a bunch of eye-bolts.  I wanted to pick up snap-linkages as well, but that particular home depot was out of them.

We wound up at a second home depot, and finally *got* the damned linkages.  I also made her stand, with her legs spread, on the pavement in front of the store, and measured the gap: 42 inches.  I bought a 1" diameter dowel, and sawed it down to that length in the store.

After that, we stopped at Petco, where we bought a thin-style collar, leash, and a stainless steel bowl, all for kitty-boy play.  The space monkey looked at me with the cutest look. 

"Sir, could we please just *look* at the cages?"

Hi, my name is D, and I am in love with a Space Monkey.

I led her, by the wrist, to the back of the store, where I did some quick math on prices and dimensions, and tried to figure out if she would be able to fit comfortably.  Finally, I opened up one of the display cages, and told her.  "Get in, pet."

She fit in quite easily, smiling contendedly as I closed the door, latching it shut.  He looked so content in the cage, it was almost a shame to open it up and bring him out.

This is definitely going to be a purchase in the near-future.

Following that, we stopped off at one more place: the local drugstore, where I picked up extra cartridges for my Venus razor.

We went home with our spoils, and I set out upon a few tasks:  First, I assembled the spreader bar, driving an eyebolt into either end.  I then proceeded into the panic room, sinking a few eyebolts into the floor.

Then it began.  The monkey was ordered to strip.  Blindfolded.  Ball-gagged (and he looks so cute in it).  His hands were attached, over his head, to the eyebolts at just beyond shoulder-width.  Ankles were locked into a spreader bar.

And then, she was lathered, and her crotch shaved bare.  I did 90 percent of it, and left the other ten percent to her, in the shower, later.

The rest of the day is a little fuzzy, honestly.  We did a lot.

That night, however, she had a punishment coming due.  She knew it, and unlike regular scening and bedroom play, this one was to be severe.  She was stripped naked , and her wrists cuffed to a ceiling bolt (the same bolt from the famous 6/16 incident).  The spreader bad went on her ankles.  I stood in front of her, looked her down in the eyes, and asked if she knew what she had done wrong.  She was well aware.  I asked if she was ready to accept the consequences of her actions, and once again, she answered in the affirmative.

I put on her blindfold and buckled her gag as tightly as it would go.  Then it began: nine strokes with the crop.  She didn't cry, although she flinched noticably.  Once it was over, I held her and told her she was, once again, a good slavegirl.


As I was leading her upstairs, we talked about what harder object she could be hit with...when it occured to me, that I was carrying a 1" diameter by 42" long wooden rod.

I had her brace herself across one of the basement support beams, and gave it one or two cautious whacks, before I dragged her to another support beam where I had full room to swing the thing, stickball-bat style.  I took one shot at him, and his back arched like mad, gasping.

The bruises still haven't faded, as of 7/2, but he's quite proud of them.