Letting go

Some of the fantasies one has have been buried for a long time. They were never allowed out because one simply wasn’t living with someone whom they could be shared with, and to be honest the trouble with fantasies, when you share them and enact on them, is that they lose their power. They simply don’t work as well ever again. You inject reality into them and they become all about the fact that the human body won’t bend that way, or your body parts collide at the wrong time or someone goes left when in your mind they go right... it is always a bit of a let down on some level. Not to mention that you have to go back to the drawing board to find more mind fodder and hone and polish the idea. As you can see there are no control issues here... ahem.

So one can understand why, when you are contemplating living a way you have always fantasised about, it creates similar issues. On one hand it is important to have a clear idea of what you want. You need to understand yourself well enough that you are in a place to have a small checklist of things that are important to you. How else are you going to find a like minded person to share your life with and avoid the trap of sub frenzy... though one is still a little unclear as to why that seems to make some suspend all common sense, but that is another rant one suspects. Anyway, back to the fight of fantasy vs. reality....

On the other hand there is a problem when the list has become so entrenched that no one will ever come up to the bench mark of your fantasy. If you persist in looking for this person, even though you haven’t met them and time is marching on because you have faith and you know that your way is the right way, you stand a very good chance of ending up alone. When they have been built up into this all seeing, all knowing person who is going to respect all your boundaries, that you have spent years developing, you may be disappointed.

In part the issue is that these relationships just don’t work that way... mainly because they usually have very clear ideas of what they want and an expectation that the relationship is about them as the focus. What usually seems to happen is that you meet someone and they take over the bits of your life that interest them little by little. They pick away at your walls and boundaries until one day you wake up and find that you don’t have them... or what you have left are completely new ones that they have fashioned out of your bricks. You give them what they ask for, not always without a struggle one is the first to admit, and learn to deal with the fact that they go left when in your mind they should go right. That is what giving up control is all about.

Of course you won’t ever get to find this out if you do not step off the edge of the rabbit hole and just let go for long enough to try.

Vlad’s Castle

His whole family like games; board games, card games, they don’t seem to care so long as it is something someone can win. There is a whole cupboard devoted to this strange past time, and it is like an archaeological treasure trove of the ages that they as a family went through. There are games involving Mickey Mouse from when the children were younger, the 70’s phase that has “Jaws” the board game (complete with plastic shark) up to the “Trivial Pursuit” of later years. That last one is a fascinating family tradition as they make Him play round the board twice to give them a chance.

This past time is not confined to that cupboard of course... there is an even larger one in the flat. It has all sorts of games that He has collected over the years, often in the hope of tempting one to play. An offer one always refused because like most only children one has no concept of play, and to be honest, He and the family are rotten sports when playing together. Not so much bad losers, as much as poor winners. They gloat, they rub it in, and they are the epitome of graceless... a fact He relentlessly denies. So for nine years one side stepped playing games happily, until we changed the power base in this relationship nearly five years ago, and He misused the power to make one play RPG’s on a Tuesday night.

Of course He doesn’t stop at just playing other peoples games... oh no. He likes to create his own. The latest one is a table top game with a difference. A collection of suction dildos are attached to a table and you have to sit on all of them, both vaginally and anally while masturbating, and master all of them before you are allowed to come. He is still tweaking the rules, but one suspects the game will not be weighted in the favour of the player. That little logic voice is going this is going to hurt...

It’s life Jim

They have built a new house along the bus route and it is scary how fast they go up these days. It is big, beige and bland, complete with what they describe as architectural plants... which is code for long and spiky foliage. It sports a wealth of mature Dracaenas, Bromeliads, Philodendrons and the odd red Canna Lilly. That last one, unlike the others, is subject to an aggressive form of rust in this climate, which may cause them to come to regret that choice in the near future as they end up looking terrible.

So far, so predictably pedestrian... until they moved in the elephants, pandas, zebras and the giraffes. Yes, that is right. A life-size fibreglass (one assumes) herd, complete with a couple of waiters bearing trays to look after them. All of this is capped off with a smart brass name plate on the gate proudly stating “The Zoo”.

Which leaves us, the passing passengers, to wonder if this is his business, something to amuse a child or a response to beige. Whatever the answer may be, none of it explains why there is a zebra peering serenely out of the upstairs window, or why on a sunny day they open it and push him forward so he can get a better view. In fact in all these design choices, the only thing that makes any sense is the Christmas hats.



Update 04/12/10

They have added a sign saying "Santa Please Stop Here" next to the door. Please, please, let them have children. Otherwise they are going to be up for the "Strange Neighbour Award".

Adjustments

Well this foot has put the kybosh on more than His preferred style of dressing. It has completely spiked our plans to go to America next year. Whether the operation gets done privately or publicly, we will not have enough holidays to go and one doesn’t mean we in the royal sense of the word. In all of this future planning the sad reality is that He is about to become nurse maid.

Personally one feels this is going to be interesting and not in a good way. Apart from the fact that His cooking skills involve anything that comes in takeaway (most of which one has allergy issues with, not to mention no human should actually eat that kind of food) there is the small issue of Him responding poorly to commands, requests or orders. A trial run one instigated last night ended up with an icy cold Pepsi can being buried between ones thighs and genitals while He did it. It was not quite the caring professional attitude one was hoping for and it did lead one to wonder if our fridge needs to be turned down.

Mind you He is nothing if not adaptable; not only has He decided that a Thursday morning flogging is in order, He is planning on what underwear one is going to be wearing. The idea of one scampering down the road to work with an abraded arse rubbing against work trousers tickles Him in a special way. As does the idea of ordering one some knee pads... it seems He wasn’t joking about the idea of the crawling to fetch things. Most of all He is happy that this surgery, unlike the last round which was a hysterectomy, is not going to interfere with His carnal desires.

A theory He put to the test last night by coming in and dealing out the most wonderful slow arse fucking while ordering one to stay as relaxed and open as possible by masturbating. Not that one had any hope of an orgasm because it was day two of a migraine and there were enough drugs in the system to disconnect the brain and the body. He patted one on the arse when He finished and said see, nowhere near your foot. I didn’t even need to get on the bed to do it. Sighs this is going to be some holiday.

The strangest of things

In our work place you have a choice of skirt or trousers as part of your uniform. Either way the legs need to be covered so if you choose a skirt you have to wear pantihose or stockings. He decided that one was not wearing trousers, even though in a job where you are often up ladders and crawling around on floors they are far more functional. Add to this His antipathy towards pantihose and one small slave has been stuck in skirt, stockings and heels for the last three and a half years.

Now this wasn’t such an issue when one was only working one day a week. It was kind of erotic being shoved in clothes that were uncomfortable at best, but as one now works four days a week there have been some unexpected problems. In our very hot weather the stockings, which are the stay up kind, have often left large itchy raised welts on the legs which leads one to suspect that there is a latex component to the elasticised bands in them. You also go through a pair a week and the annual stocking bill is nearly $700 dollars a year.

Add to that the cost of dry cleaning, new skirts and the bill for new shoes every six months, one literally goes through the soles in that time running on a concrete floor, being at work is damned expensive. So after sitting down and doing the maths one presented Him with the incontrovertible truth, that we could not afford to do this and eat in the same week... especially as those cost were coming out of a part time wage that hasn’t gone up in nearly two years, despite escalating food costs.

The foot issue sealed the deal as the only shoes that will fit those special metatarsal pads are some very functional Sketcher work shoes, which are as ugly as they are comfortable. Strangely enough one has the shoes in a mesh and diamante form that is cute... unlike their full leather cousins. So off one went to work in trousers and flat shoes. Now you would think this was a win for one small slave wouldn’t you?

Of course it is not that simple. The girls at work were shocked to see one in trousers and all asked why one hasn’t worn them before because as one of them said, you have a great arse. Gotta love the women at work. Strangely none of this helped the feeling of being frumpy and not very feminine. Most of all, none of this helped the feeling of having disappointing Him. See the trouble with these relationships is they get inside your head and cause so many subtle changes that you don’t notice them, until you do something you know they are not happy with.

And worst of all those ugly shoes are not going to go with a thing in the wardrobe... So do we dress or do we walk? Wibble, wobble, flip, flop...

Proof that the universe has a sense of humour

Well it was nice to wake up this morning, put the foot down and realise that they were going to be one short at work today. It seems that bit of shopping one did yesterday, ironically for little gel pads to protect those ungrateful metatarsal’s, has been repaid in full. So off to the doctor we go. And wait. And wait. And wait for a freaking hour, to which they add insult to injury in the form of a $60 fee.

He pokes, prods, asks questions, looks thoughtful and then applies pressure in a spot that literally makes one lift off the chair and utter a string of expletives. He smiles. Yes, most likely a... rattles off some obscure Latin name. We will need an ultrasound.  Looks thoughtful for a minute... applies pressure again. Are you sure there is not radiating pain down the toes when I do that? He lunges in for a third stab, which one gracefully avoids while giving him a hostile look.

So what is it, one asks, other than bloody painful? Oh it is most likely a small fibrous tumour. It will have to be removed if that is what it is. Strange how there is no radiating pain; it usually feels a bit like being electrocuted. Maybe it just hasn’t got big enough yet. Just occasionally one gets a glimpse of why his wife left him.

So off for an ultrasound one goes because the gods have a whimsical sense of humour and there was a cancellation today rendering it possible.  So one takes a seat in their foyer and waits.  And waits. And waits some more. Meanwhile getting a good idea why it is normally almost impossible to get an appointment locally... there is no staff. Eventually a charming man comes out and one trots dutifully after him.  

When one has hopped up on the bed, he asks questions and strokes and pets the metatarsal pad of the foot while slathering it in gel, and squeezes it gently making the toes pop in a very pleasant way. Honestly if that man ever needs another career... masseur, that or demonstrating to doctors how to find something without hurting the patient. He looks at his screen, pressing the equipment against the foot, squeezes thoughtfully and goes well your doctor was right.

So there we are. The upshot is one is to carry on... there is nothing else that they can do for now.  All one can do is wait. And wait. And wait some more for a hospital appointment. With the way the luck is running this will go one of two ways; this time next year one will still be waiting or one will be celebrating this Christmas with green jello... which is the worst flavour of them all and the only one they seem to serve in our local hospital.

Oh yes, and to add insult to injury the cause of this. Bloody high heels...

Bigger is better

It is the persistent myth of some men that bigger is better and to be honest one is inclined to agree with them to a certain extent. Like all things though there is a point of diminishing returns. He enjoys seeing how big an object He can fit into a small space... like all collectors He seems to have a spatial relationship issue... and sex is no different. This is why one found oneself being fisted while He tried to see if it can be done as a double penetration thing. For the record it has limited applications on a human body... well this one at any rate.

It does give you an interesting orgasm though. One that feels strangely as though it is not being done by your body. Normally, when you orgasm, all the muscles of you genital region contract in waves that sync up with your heart beat. It is a pleasantly coordinated sensation. When someone has one hand in your cunt and several finger of the other one in your arse, the muscles can’t do that and although you are having an orgasm, it is like something is missing.

Afterwards you are left with the sensation of where the hands have been... well one of the knuckles to be precise. You can feel the muscles regrouping themselves into their rightful place. The endorphin levels drop and you become acutely aware of all the different parts of you that feel bruised. This is of course the time the He decides to relieve the tension... well His at any rate... by fucking you in the arse.

So there you are, on all fours like a good little slut, while He plunges in and out of you. An act that is causing a thousand different sensations of pain, that make you cry out and tighten up, and your body try to get away. He responds by tightening his hold as He keeps you in place and thrusts in more vigorously until He comes... Leaving you sore, bleeding, and dripping cum and miles from the nearest fucking tissue.

How does it feel?

Some women enjoy the whole Pap smear experience... apparently. Not one of them, so one will have to bow to His wisdom on the matter. Personally one is just happy that they only have to be done every five years... the upside (one of many) of a hysterectomy. Conversely He of course enjoys jamming unnatural objects into ones orifices, especially ones that can be cranked open. He likes to see things that are in secret places or hidden from view. Needless to say gags and speculums are some of His favourite things.



Lying on the bed while you are lubed up, a speculum inserted and cranked open is an alienating experience. It feels like it is not your body, which is rather the point of it. Having someone kneel between your thighs and ejaculate into you is even more so. It is impersonal, dissociative, isolating. You feel used small, insignificant, unimportant.

Just as him pulling it out of you, taking it way, leaving you alone does. It makes you feel like a toy... played with and discarded. It is very erotic this sensation of having been used and discarded with no thought. But then one has always found the strangest things erotic...

The art of orgasm denial

Most people have sex with the idea of achieving orgasms... otherwise it is a lot of work for no real payoff and for some even then it is not worth it... a view that Lord Chesterfield summed up as sex; the pleasure is momentary, the position ridiculous and the expense damnable. For some of us though not achieving orgasm has a payoff of a different kind, but it is a fine line to walk.

Too much sex without orgasming leads to one becoming turned off from the idea... one becomes less interested and it gets harder to actually achieve an orgasm. It is almost like the body forgets what to do. Conversely achieving orgasm makes one more affectionate (apparently), but it also means one tends to lose interest in you rather fast. Not coming all the time makes one more focused and a lot more obliging... a state He rather enjoys.

He has been playing around with the mix for a while now and it was one of the reasons He switched over to anal sex. During vaginal sex it is far too easy for one to come and most of the deterrents like pain just get overridden by the body in its pursuit of happiness. During anal one can’t come without external stimulus and it does take longer to achieve. He has a lot more control over one’s body... and to be honest He likes anal more... all those years of reading classical literature about sodomy have perverted his sexual views :D

Now some of you are just wondering where one small slave is in all of this aren’t you? Well it’s complicated. Given a choice between vaginal and anal sex one would chose anal for the simple reason that the orgasms are so much better... that arousal/ pain thing always creates better orgasms as does the slowing down of the process. Orgasm denial just sucks sometimes, but overall it is erotic to not always get what you want... and it makes you more grateful when you do. It certainly reminds you who is in charge... if you control someone’s orgasms you control the person.

Scorpio... very Scorpio.

At the moment one can hardly walk... stepping on the ball of the foot is causing excruciating stabs of pain... ironically not in the high heels it seems. So one is resting it in the hope that it is just bruised from the pounding it gets trotting around at work. To that end one asked nicely if He would hang out a load of washing. It was black washing so it just needed to be put on the line under the back porch.

Now, one is the first to admit to being a little finicky about laundry hanging... if you don’t put socks out in pairs how else are you going to know to look for its missing mate? He trotted back in to enquire about the best way to hang out a couple of items and then the voice floated in saying I’m going to have to put a couple of these t-shirts on the outside line. Now in QLD if you want to have black clothes longer than a couple of weeks, outdoors is a hard limit. Besides one knew it would fit ‘cos that is the sort of shit a house slave knows.

If one can get all that on the line you are in charge of lunch one replied. He quibbled awhile as we negotiated and in the end one hobbled out. Just tell me how to do it He says. By the time one has done that it will be quicker to do it... no control issues here... and in under a minute it was up with room to spare. Smirks

What’s for lunch bitch? one enquired sweetly. Well He says I can offer a gently toasted bun, with a flame grilled meat patty, crispy onion rings, shredded lettuce and BBQ sauce. We are not having Hungry Jacks  one replied. How about Italian... gently risen dough with a smear of... No pizza one interjected. Well I could get out the wok and toss noodles with a medley of seasonal vegetables and slivers of seafood and meat. That last one was an act of bastardry because due to food allergies, soy to be exact in this case, that last offer would lead to a two day migraine. Wails and one just adores Asian food of any kind... especially the noodles from down the road.

This is so going in the blog one said. Why not? He replied. You only put in the mean stuff. The other day  I even let you come first, and that was glossed over as you focussed on me beating your arse. It is a blog about a BDSM relationship you know one pointed out laughing. If you are going to keep making me look mean and petty, He says hand on brow... that drama degree was so not wasted... I’m going to use the last 600 MB of downloads and then where will you be... dead in the water.

Yeah, nothing mean and petty about Him at all... after all He does occasionally let one come first

All things bright and beautiful

This gorgeous Goth, tall and ample breasted with long black hair and a fringe of magenta and sapphire blue got on the bus the other morning. She was adorned with swathes of colourful flowers inked across her chest, down her arms and up her calves. What caught ones eye was not the riot of bright colours against her sombre clothes, but the fact that her feet were shod in the little flat cousins of the TUK shoes one bought the other day. Occasionally one suspects the universe is conspiring with Him to keep one crippled rather than comfortable because the flat option was not on offer the other day.

Telling Him about this yesterday evening He turned around and asked why didn’t you hop over and ask her where she got them, invite her back here and introduce us? Sitting there for a second considering these questions one replied is it bad that only two of those scenarios occurred? In ones defence one does have only child syndrome and sharing... well it is neither the first thought... nor the second or third to be honest. Hangs head... bad slave.

Safe harbour

Winter in Queensland

Coming home it was blowing a gale with great gusting curtains of rain. Peering out of the window of the bus one decided to listen to the body’s litany of complaints and go straight home, avoiding the gym. By the time we hit the regular bus stop we were ahead of the storm, but our bay was grey and choppy rather than the idyllic blue it normally is. To be honest it gave one a perverse thrill to drive on by the stop.

Slipping in quietly one was surprised to find him awake and on the way to bed... poor bastard had to do Grandma’s 90^th birthday. We were too strapped at work due to Schoolies  for one to be spared... well that is the excuse one is sticking to... there need be no mention of the undignified grovelling one performed for the manager so she would say the lie, so one could quite truthfully reiterate it to the people involved. See the truth can be a wonderful flexible thing in the right hands... We ended up having something that strongly resembled vanilla sex, which He blamed on the 19% vanilla component one scored on that stupid BDSM test that floats around the net. Whatever the reason it was rather nice; no pain, no denial and only minimal begging. That came later...

Later in bed, having completed the nesting rituals and laying prone about to reach out and turn off the light, He came in and sat on the end of the bed. Slipping his hand underneath and grabbing one by the pubic area, and proceeded to slap ones arse until one cried out in pain. Now one just hates that grab... you can’t move... well you can, but it hurts and every time you flinch from the slap it hurts. He laughed at the squeals of protest and pain. How else are we going to beat the 19% out of you He asks? It was only 18% one protested. I think it is on the increase He replied.

Bastard... it was only 18%

FYI

In this country we do not have unlimited downloads as yet. We have the biggest plan available and it is woefully inadequate for two geeks... actually it is next to useless for one. This means that any day now, we are at 80% of our data allowance, we will be as good as dead in the water until next month. This means that the blog will go quiet for a few days... it has not been abandoned... and we will resume transmission on the stroke of midnight.

Chivalry is just another word for

Crossing the road to the bus stop one was thrilled to see that the local colour was out in force. Evening, one of them chirped enthusiastically, grinning to reveal all of his twelve teeth wreathed in tobacco smoke. To which one smiled politely in a non-committal response. His friends must have said something because he replied it doesn’t cost you anything to be polite and friendly. As we waited for the bus one pondered this. See from a bloke’s point of view being polite, like most acts of social pleasantry, doesn’t cost anything. It is an opening gambit; you might win, you might not. No hard feelings.

From a woman’s point of view it is much more complicated. If you reply it might be nothing or it might be taken as an opportunity for him to become the biggest pain in the arse, as one did witness on the bus the other day.  It is a bit like them smiling at you... just a smile or is he disarming your natural wariness? See our little simian cousins are much smarter, a smile is an aggressive act... everyone knows where they are. In humans we use it to convey a lot of things including I’m no threat... and believing that message has probably got a lot of women in deep shit over the years.

A simple act like opening a door for a woman might seem chivalrous, but it also creates a power imbalance as it manipulates their response. If you don’t believe this, try it and see how some women will speed up so they don’t inconvenience you. It also means you control their trajectory as they have to come past you. Harmless you are thinking? Think about the view the average bloke gets as he looks down your top as you go by... still contemplating? Then let us not forget if you really want to do someone some damage there is nothing like a nice big door or even a door frame... and you passing by so close.

Many of our social conventions or acts of chivalry instigate an unwitting power exchange, particularly from a woman’s point of view. It doesn’t matter whether it is opening a door for us or ordering a meal, on some level these things say let us take care/ control of you and in accepting that unwritten invitation, you have just handed over a smidge of your power without any thought about what you might be consenting to. Which does make one wonder why we always shoot you a grateful smile when you do these things for us... maybe we are closer to our simian cousins after all.

Too slavey for you

Mooching around on Fet one often comes across people grumbling about some people being too slavier than thou. In many cases the cause of the friction is that you have two people who are in very different places, trying to communicate in a medium that is fraught with issues. The written word is open to various interpretations because every one reads things with this little voice in their head. Unfortunately that voice, rather like your eyes, is not to be trusted. Personally one thinks there is an easy answer to this thorny problem.

We need to have standardised testing just like any organisation does when it wants to promote an image. To that end this company has even created badges. You can imagine them on a sash... one thought a waist sash, more like the Egyptians used, rather than the traditional chest one... breasts always make them stick out on odd angles. This way there will be no more argument... you will be able to look at their sashes and go oh, see you got the violet wand badge... that is such a tough one to get. Or you will be able to look at them, smiling sympathetically, and go oh still only got the fisting one, as you mimic this wide with your hands to a nearby friend. Mind you there will always be the exhibitionist that will have them sown on to the skin directly but... it is a competitive field.

Of course there will be some one hopes to never get... anything to do with electricity... but that well documented dislike will not be enough to protect one... hopefully the prohibitive cost of the equipment might. Perks up at that slim hope...

Cornered

Our bathroom is miniscule; in fact any room was sacrificed so that we could have a shower that would fit two people in it... snugly but nevertheless, both of us. It is nothing for Him to slip in as one is about to finish and on the odd occasion even massage ones shoulders. Not long enough to have real therapeutic use, more enough to give one a taste of how things could be, if we were in a different relationship... well more if one small slave had possession of the crop. The upshot of this is one didn’t take much notice of Him opening the door.

That changed as He pulled one out from under the water, pushed one into the cool wall tiles, thrust into ones arse up to his testicles in pretty much one swift motion, while telling one to say please until He came. Afterwards He rinsed off and meandered back to the study leaving one feeling hot, wet and violated. How are you feeling, He solicitously enquired after one emerged. Horny one snapped back. Oh well if it gets too bad you will just have to nip off to the ladies while you are at work. Fat chance one thought, our place is like a war zone and worse in the lead up to Christmas.

As it turned out it was one of those freak quiet days where time dragged slowly, and all one was aware of was the wetness between ones thighs and how stockings create this really erotic sensation as you walk. After a couple of hours one gave up and nipped off the floor for a few minutes to finish what had been started in another bathroom earlier. The orgasm took about five minutes flat, but the sensation of where He had been lasted much longer. It is a sad fact that post orgasm the feelings of pain come back with a vengeance, and what had been a comfortable awareness morphed into the feeling of having been reamed. Sighs damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

For the record

You whiney little bitches... you will not get bulky wielding a one kilo weight in a gym. The only muscle you are exercising is your jaw as you bitch and fret. In fact unless you up the weight at some stage, you may as well go and have a latte. It will do your bones more good. And more importantly you won’t be taking up valuable space on the exercise floor. The weight lifters aren’t standing around watching your skinny arses for pleasure. We are trying to get some space and use the benches you are resting your towels and bottles on.

It is important for women to do weight bearing exercise because it helps lay down the calcium that you need for healthy bones. As you age it becomes more essential than ever. All the milk drinking in the world will not help without the weights. For this reason it always gives one a thrill to see one of our older citizens in the gym. They are doing the smart thing that will help prevent breakage when they have a fall... and they will because as we age we get a raft of issues that increase our chances; poor eyesight, deteriorating hand eye coordination and generally being more unstable on our feet.

Those women one doesn’t mind helping and waiting for...

Tuesday night special

Normally Tuesday night is RPG night, a night of playing the wrong sort of games with our lovely, very vanilla friends (who we will return to at a later date because their relationship is just fascinating). We were however, stood up by them due to a household of illness... we keep telling them that children are two legged plague carriers, but they seem strangely attached to them... and by 7.30 we were relieved, as all we wanted to do was veg out and not move. By 10pm one had given up any pretence of being awake, and was drifting off and rolled over to assume the position for sleep. He of course assumed it was an offer and made one assume a different position altogether, sliding out the butt plug and replacing it with something much larger. He held one in place with the flat of his hand between ones shoulder blades and made one beg for more until He came.

Lying there afterwards, butt plug back in place, awake, sexually aware and aroused one asked for permission to come.  We lay there together masturbating until He was ready to use his favourite hole once more, making one beg and call oneself derogatory terms while He gratified himself. When He finished the butt plug was put back in place and one was given permission to recommence masturbating. He amused himself by pinching, squeezing and pulling at ones nipples, while one whimpered and begged for release, until He ordered one to come in that voice that brooks no argument. Drifting off to sleep that little logic voice said you know that is going to hurt... That voice needs to die.

Doing the time warp

Over the last few weeks we have been acquiring a collection of red corsets and assorted things to go with them and, as luck would have it, one simply didn’t have shoes to go with them so we went on the great shoe hunt. Stopping off on the way for some lunch, we visited this brilliant shop that always has the most eclectic things; clothes, accessories, bags and shoes. It isn’t a big shop, but it takes ages to find things because of the layout. It is a bit like a treasure hunt with things sticking out from foliage and under bits of furniture, and just when you think you have seen it all you turn around and spy something you missed.



PRPL/GRN LEO SKY HI A7837L



Hidden amongst the racks was the most whimsical pair of shoes in the most lurid green and purple. TUK’s homage to  Coop's Bride of Frankenstein it would seem. As one went past them they lunged at one small slave and refused to let go... as shoes do sometimes. Of course one has no idea what one is going to wear with them, but since when has that ever stood in the way of ownership. Best of all they were a very good price.

Driving to the next destination we had one of our slightly odd conversations. Odd in the sense that He speaks girl, far better than one will ever do in some cases. We were talking about his Nigella fetish and how his tastes have changed. To which He replied that the brunette thing was not exactly new, in fact one had been brunette with long hair when we had met. To which one laughed and asked what it was about men and long hair. He replied that when people meet they are often younger and the woman is more likely to have longer hair. It gets cut as a practicality as time goes on... rather as one’s own has.

Bordello- TEE27/BR

We drove in silence... one of us praying to new found gods that He wasn’t going to order one to grow it long again. In this climate, combined with the gym, it would be unbelievably hard to maintain without dying of heat. We carried on in this fashion until we made it to our actual destination, where everything one fancied, one was after red shoes in either glitter or crystals, was unavailable... there are going to be some very disappointed elves this Christmas. In the end after about two hours we found something that we liked and a few more things besides... as you do.

Now some of you are probably wondering what sort of a saint would go shoe shopping for two hours like this... The thing is He actually enjoys shopping to the point that it is almost annoying. You will be looking at something quietly and He bounces over carrying things and saying did you know they had this? And it comes in all these colours, and I really like this and it would look good on you. You are starting to get a glimmering of why He likes to control ones image aren’t you?

Anyway, after trying on this and that He moved to the wigs cooing oh this one looks just like your hair used to. The heart sank. Here try this on He says thrusting it in ones reluctant hand. One pulled it on... it was even in the natural hair colour, a shade one doesn’t wear for a reason. Oh lord one looks like Elvira one exclaimed peering in the mirror, poking at the strands as they wriggled around the cleavage. He leaned across from the chair declaring I like it. It does look exactly like it used to. See you aren’t too old to wear it long or that colour. One small slave stopped breathing. We’ll take it He declared. The breathing started again... for now.

A comparative study

For those of you who are contemplating stainless steel butt plugs... ahem N you lucky thing... this might make things easier...

At the top is the njoy 2.0 going clockwise is an extra large rosebud and a large njoy. It is a stock standard golf ball in the center for comparison.

Njoy yourself...

Last night we were both tired and fried and in need of an early night so about 9.30 one tottered off to clean the teeth with nesting instinct to the fore. As one went back past the office He said you are to go to bed and masturbate and I will be there shortly. Talk about nestus interruptus, but one toddled off to comply.

He came in and stood at the doorway watching. That looks very hot He said coming to stand by the bed. He reached down pinning ones arms above the head as He knelt between ones thighs and dove in without any preamble. Now a strange thing about having the njoy in, particularly in that position, is that during vaginal sex it gets rubbed, pulled and pushed through the wall. It is like being fingered by several fingers and it feels fabulous. For both parties.

He came without thought of anything but his own pleasure, patted one on the arse as He moved to his side of the bed, tossed his pillow into a suitable arrangement, gathered up his doona and fell asleep in a matter of minutes. Leaving one lying there feeling used, wide awake and turned on. Inequality sucks sometimes.

And the award goes to...

In a flurry of excitement caused by the promise of lunch, one had just finished selecting the perfect shoes to go with the little black dress, spritzing on perfume, putting on a rather nice black bra trimmed with red ribbon in readiness for donning on the dress, when He walks into the midst of all this girly fluttering and announces his toenails need cutting... One stood there for a minute and wondered how much one actually wanted the good slave award as opposed to how much gratification would be achieved by bludgeoning Him with a shoe.


For the record waiting until a girl has almost finished primping is not the best time for a request for a pedicure. Black dress + perfume = sexy. Pedicure does not. In fact pedicure equals the death of sexy.


Of course one would love to say that one complied graciously with dignity and regal calm. It would be a lie. So we left home, one of us in a black dress and one of us with a pedicure, and only one of us happy.  Sighs and although He wasn’t bludgeoned one of us is not getting the good slave award after all...

Food fetish

When we first met He liked his women small breasted, cute and Goth. What was odd is that He ended up with one small slave because one hasn’t been small breasted since high school... and then only barely. Not to mention one tends towards well cut clothes and to be honest, cute is never a word that has been applied to anything other than ones arse. Anyway, we were in bed and an advertisement for "Nigella Bites" came on. He made this... what could only be described as a purring sound that caused one to express doubts that it was a sudden interest in cooking.

 It seems He has this whole secret daytime viewing habit that includes Nigella Lawson and Kirstie Allsopp. Somehow one has serious doubts that He has any real interest in either cooking or real estate, particularly as He rated them as his favourite fantasy duo, but one is left to ponder what happened to his perceptions of attractive. They are both gorgeous, curvaceous women, who dress well and are as far from Goth as you could get. Is this a case of tastes evolving to suit who you are actually sleeping with, or is this a case of as you get older comfort becomes of paramount importance?

If that is the case then why the hell is one spending so much time in the gym?

Oh right... that addiction thing L

The end of days

It is Sunday morning here and the very favourite day of the week. Not only is it a mere five hour shift in the mines, but the end of the working week for us. It is a day that is celebrated with little rituals; second breakfast (porridge first thing followed by bacon and eggs at the cafe, where the man starts it as soon as he sees one coming), He picks one up after the gym and we go home together, shower and have pizza. Oh yes, and one is bent over his desk while He inserts the butt plug back in.

The plugs are a kindness on his part as they keep his favourite orifice open and ready for him. Even so, He still makes one whimper during sex. To be honest though one rather thinks He enjoys the sound, as He grabs the collar to keep one in place while driving up to his balls, just as He enjoys one saying "thank you Master" after He comes. At any rate the sound never seems to stop him or even make him pause. He just tightens his hold and carries on to the end.

Peaks and perks

Sitting here after the gym one contemplates why any sane person would do this level of self abuse. Most days you just hurt and who in their right mind takes up a hobby that hurts? The only answer one has is masochism and an addiction to endorphins. That and living in a warm climate. The last one has a peculiar positive side effect in that you don’t hurt as much as you could because the muscles don’t cramp up as badly. Winter, such as it is here, was shocking as there were some days that one could barely lift the arms up, but you persist because of that addiction thing.

You know you are addicted when you are running on the cross trainer in between sets and you find yourself smiling. And humming. Even after the logic part of the brain catches you and passes little observations like you are going to hurt in the morning. For the record that little logic voice is really prissy and annoying. This is where the masochism comes in. Anyone committed to weight training has to like pain on some level. Not the nasty sharp stingy kind, but the deep persistent kind that comes from muscles being damaged and rebuilt on a regular basis. It is the only logical explanation... well that and the endorphin high is pretty spectacular.

Raindrops on roses

Sexuality is a strange thing. If one had to describe one’s sexuality it would be omnivorous. Growing up one always knew one was a little odd. All the fantasies were dark and the things that attracted one were unusual. While other children had pictures of rock stars on their walls one lusted after Wonder Woman, and to this day one still prefers brunettes. As a young teen one used to sneak out to go and see the Rocky Horror Picture Show because Tim Curry drew one like a moth to a flame. Dressed as a woman, not the abomination that they tried to turn him into, might one add. To this day one likes women who are rubenesque or boyishly dykey and one has always had a weakness for cross dressing men. Strange how one ended up with a strapping six foot blonde.

Ambushed

Hovering in front of the open fridge, distracted by the eternal question of what’s for lunch, mentally pondering if there was something that was supposed to be in the work bag that one might have forgotten, if the bus pass in still in the gym bag, and wondering if it wouldn’t just be easier to use the gym bag as lunch would fit better, one absently answered the innocent question of have you got a minute with a distracted yes, sort of. Before one has time to add an assortment of qualifiers one was unceremoniously frog marched into the bedroom and thrown on the bed.

Now women are strange creatures. We are not the walk up starts that many men are. We like to be in the mood, the head space, the... right frame of mind. Damn it we want to be wooed. Well at least have more than 15 minutes before we have to scuttle out a door. To be blunt we want a chance of having an orgasm... well two would be better if one is going to be completely honest. Then there are the added complications of whether you are actually going to get permission to come, or for that matter whether you are even going to enjoy it at all... sighs it’s complicated.

So you can imagine one’s delight when He dove in tongue first. Just for the record everyone has some special talent in bed... well they should if they are ever going to get another chance... and then there are the truly gifted. Just like some people can dance with grace, rhythm and an innate ability to sync up to a beat so some can do oral. As one abandoned oneself to the music it seemed pertinent to ask if one was actually allowed to come. Hell at that stage one would have almost begged. A muffled no is the reply, to which one hurls timeframes and obscenities and tries to get away. He laughs and grabs hold of a nipple, tugging and pinching viciously.

Now the nipples and the vagina have always had an odd relationship. One of mutual convenience, pleasure and, one deeply suspects, shared nerve endings. Apply pressure to one and pinch the other and there is no sitting on the edge, there is no build up... you just crash over the other side in a screaming orgasmic heap. Not elegant, but very efficient. As one lays there in that floating surreal state, where there is no thought or feelings of pain, He loops the legs over his shoulders, pins one against the bed and dives in with long brisk strokes. And one falls over the cliff again.

Laying there afterwards, as reality returns and one can work out which way is actually up, it suddenly occurs one of us has to get up and go to work. Bruised, bleeding and feeling less inclined to be nice to people than usual, one scrambles to get ready while screaming on the inside- I’m late, I’m late. A manoeuvre one performs most mornings, referred to as doing the white rabbit. He on the other hand will be going to bed, curling up and watching TV and going to sleep.

Again one says- Bastard!

A life of rituals and little joys

People often think that living 24/7 is impossible and one has often found that they have this idea of some huge scene that stretches off into infinity. Sorry to break this to you but... The reality is that most people in 24/7 relationships are very low on protocols and rituals. After this time we are down to a bare minimum... something about them making more work for Him rather than enjoyment. Now personally one loves rituals and protocol. They appeal to the highly ritualised person who lives inside just waiting to have a systemised life. Sighs sadly she ended up with a person who hates regimented anything. So we are basically down to one little ritual... on a Thursday morning, which is the only morning our paths cross on the working part of the week, one is to greet Him kneeling and naked at the door ready to take off his shoes. So if you will excuse one small slave it is that time...

Nesting and other instincts

On a Wednesday night He goes back to work for the week and one sleeps alone. Now some people hate this, some just take it as an excuse to colonise the centre of the bed... His stuff (really the secret of harmoniously sharing a bed with a 6' man is separate doonas, it ends all the tussles which He is going to win) is pushed unceremoniously to one side and a crispy sleep sheet is laid out with a small doona in case it gets cold. The TV is put onto something suitably droning (Law and Order is ideal), the timer is set and one does some of those little girly rituals, like plucking eyebrows, before settling into sleep. It is ritualistic and organised and the beginning of quality alone time with the king sized bed.

He comes in on those incredibly quiet feet... He sneaks in like a thief in the night... and wallops one’s naked, exposed arse with a two handed slap that makes enough noise to wake the dead and stings for ages after. He flips one over with casual ease. Pins one to the bed as only a big man can... love big men... grazes a nipple playfully with sharp teeth, murmurs obscenities in the ear and then gets up and casually saunters to the door, while one hurls abuse after him. Whereupon reaching the doorway He casually turns and says- well you can always masturbate if you are horny.

Now you are all looking at this thinking He is kind and generous aren't you? Well you are wrong. While He was sleeping one was at the gym lifting weights and as one mentioned earlier, it is hard on a 46 year old body. You hurt most of the time. And more importantly, you sleep like one of the damned. He knows one will be lucky to barely make it into a comfortable position before one is out like a light.

Bastard!

If life was a simple equation

According to all information about weight loss it is a simple matter of the calories going in must be less than the calories used. It sounds so simple and for many it is. For the rest of us... not so much. At about 35, after having been 5kg underweight most of one’s life, one awoke to find one had been trapped in someone else’s body. After endless rounds of bleeding, pills and an assortment of doctors it was finally diagnosed as PCOS. Now the long term prognosis for many with PCOS is obesity, so one did the sensible thing and embarked on a lifetime commitment to diet and exercise. Well what else is a control freak going to do if not control it?

For a while there it worked admirably, even the dieticians were impressed, but nothing lasts forever and as one approached 45 the weight had slowly crept up to hit around the 82kg/ 180 lb mark. This would be fine if one was tall like the rest of the family... somewhere, someone sullied the gene pool with short genes and one ended up 164cm/ 5’4”. Short for a modern woman and depressingly short in comparison with other family members. More importantly, it is completely inadequate for someone hitting the scales at that weight.

So of course one did the sensible thing... one looked at the diet and realised that nothing more could be pruned out of it while still maintaining good health, so the only option was to go back to weight training. Even the most resistant fat has trouble withstanding that kind of onslaught.  Actually so does a 46 year old body, but one digresses. And over a matter of months one has lost inches... quite a few of the damn things, but not one solitary gram. Oh well at least one wasn’t gaining weight so it could have been worse.

Snuffling around the net looking for ways to maximise the workout, one happened upon this groovy little calculator that works out how many calories you need to maintain your weight and subsequently what you need to be below to lose it. Spending a few seconds inputting data one hit calculate and a figure came back that was so staggering one immediately redid it. And got the same result. According to the calculator to maintain a weight of 82kg one needs to eat over 3 000 calories per day. This was almost double what one had been eating for the last 10 years.

After blinking at it for a few minutes one considered the implications. We know that if a body thinks it is being starved it will slow down a metabolism. Well if that was what it was doing there was a way to find out. So one embarked on a program of adding more protein, good oils and including a small chocolate milk (a peculiar thing that we will get back to at a later date) after a workout. Basically one tacked on an extra 500 calories a day. The other day one got on the scales and low and behold one had actually lost 2kg... not much one the scale of things, but it was the first time it has gone down in ten years.

So the moral of this story? Well yes eat more, but more importantly the next time some bloody doctor peers over his spectacles and utters the words you need to eat less, one is going to ram something down their gob. Why you may ask? Well it is sheer laziness on their part. They assume because you are big that you eat too much, or you eat the wrong things, and for some of us it is not that simple. Besides one has all this extra strength now and it seems a shame to waste it :D

Names and other exercises of power

We live in a society that uses names for everything and nics are no different. Master's piece is a play on words 'cos not only is Master a gaming geek, but one is (in many ways) his creation. Where it gets more entertaining is when you sign up for something like this. For years one has been Masters piece because most places don't recognise punctuation marks and for years it has annoyed him... strange the things that bug people. So when we came here... you can almost imagine his joy can't you?

Him: Oh good! We can spell your name properly. Can I put the apostrophe back in?

Slave: But the name doesn't have one

Him: But now it can

One small caffeinated slave bouncing on self righteous toes: No. No, no, no.

He smirks and puts it in anyway

Sighs and mutters good help is soooo hard to find.