Mistress Leesa’s Smoking Cure: Part 3

Depressing news.

After My last blog entry (see October 23, below), My plan for curing slave bob’s wretched addiction to tobacco nearly . . .went up in smoke.

I found out yesterday that, behind My back, during the past month My hubby slave’s consumption of cigarettes sneakily climbed from eight a day to a pack and a half!

I was (and still am) in a rage.

For nearly an hour I spanked the betrayer’s bare ass so severely that I had to turn up the stereo full blast to keep the neighbors from hearing his howls.


How had My subby hubby managed to defy Me?

The truth is, for several weeks I’ve been preoccupied with a serious domestic problem.

Toilet-paper rolls, cleaning liquids, tissues, even My shampoo had started vanishing into that parallel universe where lone lost socks reside. Except that, unlike lost socks, no household items ever re-materialized to turn up under the bed.

Somehow My prima donna, overpaid maid had been harvesting the household goodies for her own private horde, walking them right out My front door.

I fired the greedy bitch.

Now I had to find and hire a new maid, one who would steal at a more moderate pace than her predecessor.

This tiring search for domestic help took weeks. Meanwhile, I had to clean the house (and guest house) plus manage all My other business, including financial transactions, investments, etc. (I not only own hubby bob’s ass, I own his assets, too).

I’’d become so exhausted that I’d stopped recording the number of cigarettes bob smoked each day, depending on him to give Me an honest count.

Fat chance!

The worm took advantage of My plight and turned into a human chimney again.

Now I’m exacting My revenge.

I realized: Why should I hire a maid when I already owned the perfect candidate for domestic servitude?

Why not transform My slave robert into sissy-maid roberta?
So daily now I force the slut to doll up in drag, don the curly blonde wig I bought her and do the daily drudgery that the maid used to do, from ironing to clothes washing to mopping.

When roberta/bob fails to perform flawlessly, I bend her over My spanking bench and beat her butt raw.

In particular, if I find dirt on the floor that she’s allegedly already mopped, I make her drop to her knees and lick the tiles clean with her tongue.

Not that roberta’s alter ego, hubby robert, is getting off easy.

This morning I resumed My smoking cure, delivering 35 enthusiastic strokes--one for each cigarette smoked yesterday--to his/her defenseless, quivering ass.

But, hey, don’t think I lack holiday spirit.

I’m going to print up some Christmas cards, featuring this photo (below) of My special gift to bob this year.


I'll mail these Christmas cards to all bob's stuffy buddies at the country club.