A Second Full-Time Live-In Slave?

Every week I receive several petitions from submissive male creatures around the world begging to become My full-time live-in slave.
In response I offer My standard boilerplate:
“Hi (fill in the name):
At present, I have a live-in full-time slave so I am not accepting new applications. However, My situation may change, If it does, I’ll post My requirements for a new live-in slave on this blog. So be sure you continue reading.
Mistress Leesa”
Translated into common parlance: Thanks, but no thanks!
Training My subby-hubby bob has been trying enough.
Allowing another male creature into My domain would be as welcome as an unwanted gift pet.
But unlike a wormy drag-ass dog that never stops howling or a clawing cat determined to unravel the fabric of My universe, dropping off My new slave at an animal shelter or the local ASPCA wouldn’t be an option.
Another live-in slave?
Forget it.
At least that’s how I felt until, in a teasing mood, I broached the subject with subby-hubby bob.
“You wouldn’t mind if I took on another live-in slave, would you, bob?” I said sweetly.
“Are you crazy?,” he exploded, face flashing red then blue then red again, like a humanoid ornament atop a Christmas tree.
I punished him for his disrespectful outburst, of course, but didn’t raise the topic again.
Silently, though, I started weighing the pro’s and con’s of a second live-in slave.
Pro’s:
*subby-hubby bob hates the idea; that’s all the incentive I need to consider it.
*bob can be witty and charming; I enjoy his company and wouldn't replace him. But bob is ancient, nearly ready for the glue-factory.
A younger additional slave could inject energy and fresh surprises into our tired domestic arrangement.
Occasionally, I might have My new pet play the role of loving husband, permitting him, say, to suckle My breasts.
Meanwhile, bob seethes in his sissy-maid suit, serving us cocktails and canapés.
*bob is a certified submissive, a born female-ass kisser. But he’s a wimp when it comes to pain.
Whipping men’s asses with all the force I can muster whips Me into an orgiastic frenzy.
A second slave who’s an insatiable pain-slut would solve My problem.
*Adding a second live-in slave might offer exciting scenarios for rewards and punishments.
For instance: I fantasize placing both slaves naked on their knees in front of Me, each with his cock in his hand.
At My command they masturbate furiously. The one who orgasms first is the winner and is privileged to suck his Mistress’s painted toes,
The loser licks the cum off his rival’s cock.
*Which raises the issue of feet fetish.
A second live-in slave would definitely have to be a foot worshipper. That’s My particular turn on.
I revel in having a male-creature supine before Me, polishing My leather boots with his tongue. Then, slowly removing My boots, he massages My feet feverishly using his fingers and mouth.
Unfortunately, bob doesn’t share this fetish; nothing below the female pelvis stiffens his droopy little penis.
*I’d make sure the successful candidate for live-in slave No. 2 was hung like a horse.
bob’s clit-sized pee-pee is laughable. I have to search for it with a magnifying glass.
Now for the con’s:
*If I post My requirements for a live-in slave, a significant percentage of respondents will be foreigners. I have no bias against foreigners, but My prospective new slave must understand English.
I don’t intend to carry a whip in one hand and, say, an English-Russian dictionary in the other.
Speaking English is less important.
All any slave needs to know is “Yes, Mistress.”
*For starters, I’d have to devise a list of nonnegotiable demands, beginning with perfect personal hygiene (no dirty fingernails, rusty skid-marked underpants or tobacco-stained teeth).
I’m particularly fussy about a slave’s anus. It’s no fun whipping a male creature’s butt when I’m staring at dirty bits of toilet paper stuck to his asshole.
Prior to each punishment session slave-hubby bob must bend over and present his joy hole for My inspection. If I detect one hint of filth, I order him straight to the shower.
Happily, bob finds this ritual deeply humiliating.
*Furthermore, the new creature must understand that he is committing to a lifetime of solo masturbation, on days and at times that I decree.
I’ll usually require him to spew his sticky spunk into a condom; I detest messy male orgasms.
Would a candidate for second slave be willing to tolerate My hygienic and sexual tyranny?
*Then there’s the financial issue.
When I married hubby bob I gained complete control over both his ass and his assets.
Mistress Leesa is not a charity.
Rather, I resemble one of those doomsday cults where you surrender your worldly goods to your Goddess of Pleasure Through Pain.
No dough? You go. Your application lands in My round file,
*Next comes the administrative/legal mumbo jumbo: personal references, a thorough background check (including employment history and academic credentials) plus a physical exam.
An applicant who passes these preliminary tests must then (at his own expense) travel for a personal interview during which his compatibility, character and (especially) his ass will be tested.
The applicant would have to sign a detailed contract drawn up by My lawyers, listing his financial assets (which I'd generously agree to manage), the terms of his personal servitude to Me and My right to send his sorry ass packing, without prior notice, the moment I decide he’s unworthy.
*And finally this:
At the end of the day, despite My careful vetting, I might end up wallowing in a sea of squabbles, having to referee My slaves’ endless petty tantrums over who’s getting too little attention from Me, who has the prettier French Maid outfit, who travels with Me on trips, whose turn it is to clean the toilets with his tongue. . .
The moping, the bawling, the whining . . .
Why, I wonder, should I subject Myself to all this bother?
But then I recall the benefits.
I’m still undecided.
Anyone out there with a suggestion?
Post your comments.
I welcome them.