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We have been together for a couple of years now, and it worked, as long as i stayed in line, it worked. I love him and he loves me, but i know my place.

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His rules and regulations were clear from when we first got together, and they haven't changed since, i don't mind them though, i did at first, i used to be the 'wild' one, the rebel in the crowd - and i loved it, i didn't care.

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I was stripped of my old lifestyle, and life in general when we first got together. I used to live in torn, baggy, ripped jeans, tight tshirts, dyed scruffy hair, piercings, tattoos, i had it all, a bit of a tom-boy really. Now it's plain, pastel pleated skirts (just below the knee) frilly blouses, buttoned right to the top, stockings and flat shoes. No make-up, definately no piercings (no jewellery at all - unless it's a special occasion, and i might be allowed to wear a pearl necklace or something...) and if he sees any of my tattoos, i get punished. I don't get punished as much now as i did when we first got together, i found it difficult to change myself so quickly...bad language, disobediance, a bad attitude, all that sort of thing is and will not be tolerated. I get spanked usually, occasionally i'll be punished in other ways, like a child, sent to bed early, or with no dinner. It could be worse.

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He lays out my clothes for me every morning, whatever he wants me to wear, i will wear. Then he will inspect me. Buttons done all the way up, stockings pulled up far enough, nails neat and clean, everything is inspected with a fine tooth comb. Especially hair. My hair, to him is his main priority. When we first met, it was "scruffy" "needed a good combing and tidy up", it was a mis-match of vibrant colours, long and i loved it! Be as soon as we got together, like everything else, it had to change.

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He has complete control over my hair, and has always made that clear. He washes it everyday, combs it twice a day - or whenever he thinks it needs to be. He cuts it as well. Occasionally, he'll take me to a friend of his, not a hairdresser as such, but a friend. Margorie, a 70-something year old lady, who lives not far from us. He'll take me there, normally if there's a special occasion, a wedding or whatever, and i'll have to have it cut and permed by this old woman. I can't stand it.

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So anyway, he's fanatical about my hair, and he cuts it himself, because he knows (as well as Margorie i suppose) how he likes it. It'll be cut normally every two or three weeks, and trimmed whenever he likes. I've always hated having my hair cut, even more so now, and he knows it. He'll look me up and down or call me for inspection - put his fingers through my hair or brush it out of my face, tutting, he'll say something like, "I think we need a little haircut don't we?" or "your hair needs cutting" - to which he will usually drag me into the kitchen, where he'll have me first bend over his knee to have my bottom smacked, then forced into the chair (now i try not to struggle, to save being tied) and caped with a towel. Then he'll start. I normally have to have a basin cut, with an extra short fringe - cut back to the ears. He'll cut it shorter, above the ears, if he feels my hair has grown too long or longer than he would normally allow (which ends up as being my fault).

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He sort of dresses me like an old woman (or the mature, respectable look as he calls it) but cuts my hair like a strict parent would their child's. Needless to say I absolutely hate it. But as I have been told, more than once in fact, if i attempt to touch, change or do anything with my hair, it'll all be coming off. Having some hair's better than none i suppose. Im never sure though, when he sits me in the chair, he'll sometimes mutter, "the best haircuts, are the haircuts that leave more hair on the floor"....

To Be Continued....

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