Dear Abby

"Dear Abby: I will check the laundry thoroughly before putting Her clothes in the wash, to assure that Her whites and Her darks are not mixed together. I sincerely apologize to Ma'am for being so careless with Her wardrobe. Signed, slave Peter"

I'd just finished writing the above passage on a yellow, ruled legal pad for the 43rd time. I set the black, Bic ballpoint gel pen down even with the edge of the pad for a moment to rest my aching hand. Beside the black ballpoint was a white colored artist's pencil. 43 down, 207 more to go.

Making it worse, I'm compelled to write all the words except "whites" with the blue gel ballpoint. "Whites" alone to be written using white colored pencil, all 250 times. Yes, that's two hundred and fifty times I have to write the above passage. No, I'm not kidding.

And each passage shall be numbered with its respective, sequential numeral (i.e, 44 of 250), like a list or legal contract. And neatly too, printed rather than cursive, without a single type or deviation from the passage's admonishing text.

Worse yet, any typos or mistakes "voids" the entire sheet, which must them be torn in two, crumpled, marked VOID in all capitals across the page, and then tossed off to the side. Have you any idea how frustrating it is to have written that above passage perfectly say 3 times on a single page, yet on the 4th forget to pick up the white colored pencil for "whites" and have the entire page tossed away, only to start again all over? The punishment is the worst monotony imaginable, coupled with constant stress and vigilance of the damned white pencil word. It requires the most irritating amount of focus. It's especially irritating when the Superbowl is playing on the TV in the room right next to you, and you've been forbidden to watch it (or even really hear it).

I hope my already-aching hand can finish this punishment without falling off, or cramping too severely. No doubt I'll need some Advil tomorrow. My naked ass is getting sore too, as my "writing chair" is wood with no cushions, and a 6 inch butt plug is shoved cruelly up my backside, which gives me full feeling that leads to a pleasant (if very frustrating) horniness.

To say nothing of my rock-hard cock, a cock I can see but not touch. Abby, my wife and Dom, relishes "written punishments" for infractions of Her ordinary household rules, which naturally include the laundry chores. Being rather old school, she feels that repetition is the best technique to instill memory. And she has a rather severe way of doing it:

When given a writing assignment as punishment, I'm fastened to an "special chair" that has been relegated to the spare bedroom. A wooden Adirondack chair with a pull-out ottoman, Abby (my Dom wife) compelled me to create several interesting "modifications" to same.

For starters, across the arms of the chair is a mostly square sheet of clear, thick Plexiglas. But a curve has been cut into one edge of the Plexiglas that butts up tight against my stomach (when I'm seated in the chair), to which has also been attached a curved, flexible foam-rubber "bumper" that seals the curved plexiglass edge tight diyarbakır escort against my torso.

Basically, when I'm seated in the chair, the plexiglass becomes a flat "desktop" across the chair arms, with the edge towards my stomach specially cut to conform to my stomach's curve so that I am effectively "trapped" and sealed in the chair. Two locking pins then drop through holes in the sides of the plexiglass and then through the wooden chair arms, secured below the chair arms with bolts tightened with a small wrench.

Below the chair's arms, 2 additional pieces of plexiglass are then attached. Triangular in shape, these pieces prevent me from reaching underneath the chair arms to access my cock from the sides. I can look down through the plexiglass "desktop' and see my desperately-hard boner throbbing inches below, but all avenues to touch it have been effectively sealed off by the plexiglass "box" created by clever utilization of the chair's unique geometry.

To say it is frustrating would be an understatement.

Completing my awful predicament is a wooden leg stock which attaches to the base of the ottoman, leaving my bare feet immobilized and exposed like a naive, medieval maiden from a fairy tale. My legal pad and the two pens are the only items allowed on my desktop, along with the corrective text passage above which Abby had typed and printed, before folding and standing it up like a wedding seat's placard. She placed it before me for "reference" and of course to prevent any errors in my written text.

What's especially torturous is that these writing assignments are one of precious few times I'm allowed out of my Jailbird chastity device, which mostly I wear 24/7. Since the plexiglass box of the chair prevents me from reaching or touching my cock, there is no need to wear it while secured in the chair. But in many ways it's worse, since I can see thru the glass my giant, yearning boner, yet do nothing but gaze at it as I again pick up my pen to write.

But before I write that miserable passage for the 44th time, I should explain a bit about why I am in this situation, and "back things up" a bit...

Earlier that morning, while hauling a still-warm load of laundry up from the basement laundry room to the kitchen, the bright overhead light of the kitchen chandelier showed a glaring mistake that make me heart drop. A new, jet-black lace bra had somehow gotten mixed in with Abby's also-new white blouse from Talbot's (purchased with my credit card of course), and ugly black streaks crisscrossed the stiff white fabric as if a charcoal briquette had been rubbed across it. There was no doubt about it- the blouse was ruined.

Immediately I knew I was in for it. Abby has a strict rule that I am to separate all colors before putting them in the laundry. I'm also to read and memorize all care labels for her wardrobe, hand-washing certain items if necessary and hanging them to drip-dry. She of course cannot be bothered, she generally tosses her worn clothes down the stairs into a pile, or simple drops them outside the bathroom door in a heap. As her slave, it is diyarbakır escort bayan my job to handle all of the laundry, as well as other household chores like cooking, cleaning, vacuuming, and scrubbing.

Generally I'm kept naked at all times when in the house, except for a set of police handcuffs clipped on in front and a metal Jailbird chastity device constraining my manhood. Abby delights in the humiliation of denying me any modesty, and especially loves making me scrub the floors on hands