Monday, January 31, 2011

Creative idea #2

From the man that brought you Vlad's Castle...

He has a weakness for anything that can be stuffed into small spaces and is subsequently fond of gags. Of course life being what it is there are some issues with them; in this case a small mouth... yeah, yeah for a person who opens it so often you would think it would stretch more but.... Over the years there have been some interesting ones; a nifty one that has a plug (the sink kind) you can put in it and ones with holes so you can breathe better (not to mention drool more) to mention but two. Unfortunately they just don’t fit... honestly we have a toy box under the bed for the assorted failures and there is more than a couple of gags in it... and those that do; let us just say that one can make noise around almost anything.

Now not put off by this He came up with an inspired design idea... no socks here... He thinks a stethoscope could be interesting. Pop it into one small slave’s ears, tape the other end in the mouth and off you go. A gag that operates like aversion therapy; the more noise you make the more you hurt yourself. Honestly that game is looking better by the second L

Sunday, January 30, 2011

He’s baaack

Sunday is a time of little rituals; gym after work, pizza and Him. It is our catch up evening before we transition smoothly cough into our weekend. Obviously feeling better He says I need to cum in your arse. Now being a pedant one questioned the word need... all to no avail might one add. So off to get the lube one scampered... which is where the discussion had come to an end really because He countered that one didn’t need lube. The trouble with Scorpios is that they like trump cards and will pull them to win a debate L

Arse up in the air He started to slide the head in. Tell me how much you want it He growled. To which one dutifully replied. Have you missed me? Yes Master. What are you? Your arse slut Master. He slid into his balls and back out, stretching the arse to accommodate his girth before starting to fuck it in earnest. Beg for it he said, while gaining speed and thrust. And one did beg fervently for him to use it and come... and meant it... because that first time for the week always hurts despite the butt plug. Sometimes it is better to suck it up and just do it...

Saturday, January 29, 2011


On Wednesday it was Australia Day, and as you ride along in the bus you can see discarded flags and bunting littering under bushes and along gutters alike. People come into work sporting the remains of temporary tattoos in the shape of little flags on their faces and arms... and probably other body parts that we mercifully can’t see. In fact everywhere you look there are vestiges of celebrations. It would seem that the sense of pride in being Australian doesn’t quite extend to cleaning up afterwards. That or when you spend the day at the beach with your BBQ's, children and friends, you just don't spare a thought for the locals who will be cleaning up long after you have gone L

Friday, January 28, 2011

Too late

This morning while doing the white rabbit He emerged, looking much brighter. Which is just as well because work has threatened death and dismemberment if He doesn’t show tonight. Darting past Him to grab something, a hand shot out to deliver a couple of stinging blows to one small slave. What was that for?

Call it a taste of things to come was the reply. For what? Oh you have to ask He said gesturing towards the computer. You can’t punish for the things written in a journal or a blog. It will stifle the creativity, and how will one be able to express how one really feels if there can be retaliation?  An eyebrow shot up to His hairline. It says so on Fet. See that time on there isn’t wasted... its research J

So you would rather I punished you arbitrarily? Nope, you can’t do that either. Otherwise you are doing it wrong. Thinking about making some of the contributors to Fet the Patron Saints of Slaves. What do you think?

He moved with the speed and quiet grace that so many big men possess and grabbed one in a close embrace. Uncomfortably close considering the climate at this time of the year. Before one had time to squirm, His hand rained down on the right arse cheek with fast precision. Well seems they are wrong He said smirking. I can hit you any damn time I please.

Sighs just don’t think He quite gets this at all. Maybe He needs a mentor. Do you think one of the Saints of Fet would take Him on?

Thursday, January 27, 2011


The fucker!

The sound of coughing woke one in the wee small hours of the morning. It is to be expected with someone sick... except it was the sound of oneself doing it. And there is a temperature. After the Christmas incident this is the last thing one needs or wants... ‘cos that is where this will head, straight to the chest. Whines was just getting on top of the fitness pile L

He of course, after being mildly apologetic, suggested that this was all one’s own doing. Blink! Yes, if you had worn the nurse’s costume like you promised... Hello was delirious at the time and it seemed like the only way to get fed. You can’t hold one small, out of her mind with fever, slave to a promise gained under duress like that... He smiled. There is a lot of evidence that nurses don’t get as sick as other people. It is just as likely that the uniform provides them with that protection. And if you had just worn it... who knows? You might not be sick now.

Contemplating the distance and the availability of a suitably heavy object one stood there. See this could also be your punishment He pontificated. This could be your body reacting to all the negativity and hostility you have been directing at me. Leaving the study one made a time honoured gesture, conveying what one thought of that theory. See that is what I mean about hostility He replied. If you had just worn the costume rather than planning a coup... who knows?

Again one saluted, though it was at a slightly different angle, and said that the only thing one knew for sure was that He had carried in an infection, like a rodent traipsing through London.  Then He trapped one in the bedroom at night, with the air-con on full bore, while incubating the damn thing. And now, to add insult to injury, He was blaming the victim.


Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Death wishes

There are some slaves that are very service orientated and one is sad to say... not really one of them. And it is moments of illness that make one realise how far one would have to travel to be one of them. See the sight of Him lying there, ill, helpless and fractious doesn’t stir those latent slavish/ maternal instincts at all... quite the opposite to be honest. It seems to alert all the predatory instincts instead.

In fact rather than eyeing Him with compassion, one eyes Him rather like the cat does a human target. There is a cool, measured detachment... and an underlying sense of annoyance. The leash has slipped, and one is measuring that feeling of freedom and power. And that power is largely where the sense of annoyance is coming from one suspects. Seriously, if one had wanted power it would have been wrested from His hands years ago... He really shouldn’t give it back, even like this... it doesn’t make one happy and it always gets ugly.

The other part of the problem is that we have a very different approach to being ill. As a person one will go to the doctor, take their pills and generally follow their advice. Back home one wants regular meals, bad TV and to be left alone... unless the shows are really bad... then you may come in and tap dance. Apart from that one wants sleep, lots and lots of sleep. Afterwards one will work like a navvy to get back on top of the health and fitness pile.

He is the opposite, resistant to going to the doctors until it is too bloody late, doesn’t want to take meds, won’t drink the copious amounts of water they recommend and wants company. Dude you are sick... what makes you think one wants to be in the same room as you? Hello, that’s how you got sick in the first place. And for that matter, what makes you think you are getting that food treat when you have high blood pressure? Yes you do have a headache... virus and high blood pressure... take the freaking Panadol and have a shower.

No, one is not going to take the command of show me your cunt seriously. Probably should, but no... And you are too sick to do anything about it. Hmm, yes you will get better... calculates odds of pain versus the joy of rebelling... here, see it looks just like it did last time you saw it. He says one is like Nurse Ratchet with PMS (sorry; and a tooth ache). Personally one thinks He is underestimating how close He is to a coup d’├ętat. He is weak and ... Bad slave... must stop having these bad thoughts... must stop  L

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Fertility rights

Before we became a couple we talked about everything. One of those topics was children. He said He didn’t want children, but one did have doubts. It is hard to go against the grain when you come from a clannish family. Besides He was only a baby himself and one always thought He would change his mind... when He grew up or met the right girl. See one believes we have a biological clock and love can’t stand in the way if that thing decides to go off.

Personally one never wanted children. Most little girls have dolls... one small slave had a model farm, with the greatest tractors that could dispense little hay bales as you moved them along, which was far more fun. It seemed that mothering gene was just missing altogether. In fact you have probably never met someone so determined to not get pregnant. We are talking about someone who would get the morning after pill if a condom broke... while on the pill as well.

So as you can imagine we had lots of long talks about the topic of family. At the time one was starting to have very strange periods... one went from a 35 day cycle to bleeding erratically. So after a round of doctors’ appointments and failing a round of hormones to stabilise the issue, it was decided that going back on the pill was the answer. Besides we were planning on having sex so it was sensible...

As our lives became more intertwined, people started to make strange little rumblings. Well they were strange to one small slave. One of the joys of living with women is that people don’t make certain assumptions about you the way straight people do. His family and friends were making those subtle noises about having a baby... before it was too late... said glancing pointedly in one’s direction.  It was an eye-opener. One had no idea how much pressure is put on a couple to breed and some of it wasn’t subtle.

All this time the pill issue raged as off we went on a chemical cocktail merry-go-round. Round and round with each of them failing more spectacularly, or producing more bizarre side effects, than the last one. The injection gave one morning sickness at 10am on the dot and as it turned out, that was the least of the issues for some of them. In the end we decided that we needed to investigate alternatives.

The first stage of this was a sperm test for Him. It was hysterical. You have to go three days without sex to get a good sample. We failed that at least twice before keeping off each other long enough to go the distance. When the results came back it turned out He had veteran sperm. They came in on crutches and there was a 20% chance for Him to father a child.

Well for us it wasn’t as bad as it could have been... though His mother was devastated to the point of offering to pay for IVF. An offer we hastily rejected might one add. So we stumbled on in the hunt for contraception... Did you know a diaphragm can actually rub someone’s penis raw? Neither did we, until it happened. They never put that kind of stuff in their handy little manuals now do they?

All this trial and error continued, while the periods were getting more erratic and longer in duration. To the point that one ended up with an 11 day cycle towards the end. In the end we consulted a gynaecologist who had tests done that confirmed that one had PCOS . We learnt that our chances of ever having children together naturally were marginally less than zero. And in that moment everything changed... ‘cos life is like that.

See not wanting children is vastly different from being told you can’t have them. Then that clock went boom. It is not a rational thing at all. And in that moment, one realised that one had finally met someone who one would want to have children with and it wasn’t going to happen. We both stumbled out of that appointment in a state of mourning for what might have been. If we had been different people and younger and, and, and...

And all the while people kept asking when are you going to start a family? We used to joke and brush it off. But some of them were like terriers. In the end we just told them the truth point blank and they were never the same around us again. We made them too uncomfortable... rolls eyes.

So here we are... all these years later... and we often look around our place with its toys sorry "collectables" and breakables and sigh in relief. We like our life and don’t have any regrets and we do have more spending money. It is just a different life from what might have been....

Monday, January 24, 2011

Nurse Ratchet... only worse

At this moment He is sick. It all started innocently enough; He couldn’t breathe which in an asthmatic does sometime happen even if it is only brought on by the cold or too many milky treats. So after 24 hours of the inhaler and no real improvement, one suggested it might be time to go to the doctors. OK it was more telling Him not to be an obstinate dickhead and just bloody well be responsible... there might have been more. It wasn’t pretty, but it finally got through and off He went.

Now the thing you have to understand here is that as a rule if you want to be a dickhead it is your choice. If you want to be a dickhead and it may end up at the hospital in the middle of the night one will get nasty. Sleep is a really important thing to one small slave who doesn’t drive. Besides just occasionally someone has to be the responsible adult and if you leave that big a chink, one will drive the truck through it. No control issues here...

Upon returning He has a fist full of scripts and paperwork. It seems His blood pressure is way too high and they need to check everything out... via copious amounts of blood. Later that night, after filling the scripts, it becomes apparent what is wrong with Him. The nose starts to run, the eyes start to glaze over, the hot and cold sensations appear and the whining begins. That’s right; He is coming down with the dreaded man flu.

Of course the ironic thing is that with the high blood pressure He can’t take the nice medication that makes all the symptoms disappear. Oh no He gets to have the flu experience in all its snuffling, sneezing and tissued glory. And one small slave gets to live vicariously through His suffering. Mind you on the bright side, there will be no beatings today... He doesn’t have enough air J

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Foreign language classes

Stirring this morning was all that was needed for Him to pounce. As He nibbled and nipped his way up one’s spine one noticed that He was experiencing difficulty getting a grip. It seems that there is a lot more muscle going on there than one realised... a victory for one small slave. He got his own back of course... for the record the jockey position is murder on thigh muscles that are still so sore one needs an assist off the couch L

Now in case you are wondering what we are doing in bed together on a Sunday morning it is simple. It was His belated work Christmas do last night so He had the night off. It was a BBQ at the bosses place, mostly due to the fact that the budget was too small to do anything else. May one just say there is not enough alcohol to ever make one of those better... there is nothing worse than a night out with people who have nothing in common with each other than work. On top of that they are mostly petrol heads and one doesn’t even drive... a topic we will return to at a later date. Anyway back to a night with the ‘nillas; more precisely their interpersonal relationships and conversations.

In one corner was the host who spent the night fending off sniper attacks from his wife. It seems when out shopping, he made an executive decision to get crackers not chips to go with the dip. A decision that was loudly supported by his male work colleges. Oh not that he got crackers... more that he had made a choice she didn’t approve of. Judging by the amount of times she returned to the topic... the curse of good hearing... he won’t be getting anything other than shit from her for several days to come. That or they like angry sex and this is how they drum up the emotional energy to get their jollies.

The other corner was held by the young man who is the partner of the hot chick from work... a title bestowed by the other men at work. He has an interesting approach to interpersonal relationships, as he believes everything said to him by his partner is a trap designed to make him fail. To compensate for this he resorts to the most blatant displays of passive aggressive behaviour one has ever witnessed. Of course he makes up for this by buying her flowers... with her money as he doesn’t work.

It was like watching a movie... one that they forgot to put up subtitles to. Not only could one not imagine under what circumstances you would want to share your body with these people, but one couldn’t understand why they were together. Why would you want to marry someone if you couldn’t respect their decision to buy crackers let alone anything else? For that matter why would someone who clearly thinks of himself as a ten choose someone he clearly thinks of a six... at best?

Obviously we have been doing this too long. When you get to the stage that you can no longer understand your fellow man you have obviously been brainwashed. And you know something... not only is it OK, it is preferable. Later over Sunday morning breakfast, the cost of getting a lift to work (a price paid happily because it is still taking 2 hours to get there due to bridges being out), one smiled at Him sweetly and said damn you are a lucky man... that could have been your life.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

On orgies and voyeurs

Orgies are those things that people read about, have ideas about, views on and dream of. The thing is the reality is never quite the way anyone imagines them. The very first orgy one ever went to, at about 17ish, is a case in point. In case you are wondering how one ended up in so much strife and mischief it was simple... one didn’t look like jailbait. Actually one did, but one didn’t act like it and that is the secret of doing anything you shouldn’t be doing.

A friend dropped by to see what one was doing that night and if one would like to go to an orgy... he needed to bring a partner to get in, so off we toddled. He was a part owner of a rather unusual massage place. It was an academy that taught massage as well as being a front for a parlour. All the girls actually had to be able to massage, (parlours were but a thin cover for brothels so this was a rather quirky thing) as they got the odd punter who just wanted a massage.

The place also had another secret. There were internal corridors that ran throughout the place and alongside all the rooms. And all the mirrors in the rooms were two way mirrors... See many of the customers were voyeurs and the punters, and often the girls, were the unwitting performers. Concepts such as informed consent were a completely foreign idea then.

On arriving there was a room full of people with drinks, all looking at each other. Now, one had never been to an orgy, but this was not quite how one imagined it was done. So having no qualms or concepts of etiquette, one stripped off and plopped down next to a man and proceeded to chat him up. Poor bastard didn’t stand a chance...

We ended up drifting off to one of the rooms to have the kind of sex your parents probably warned you about. The good kind, with a complete stranger whose name you don’t know and don’t think to ask. Well we were until this woman, who was quivering with rage, came storming in and slapped him fair in the kisser. It turned out she was his wife and they had a communication issue... no idea what; one went to find less encumbered game.

The next one was a house warming party at the love of one’s life (17ish remember?). He was a great guy of about 30 something and we had a fun time together. When one found out that he had never had a party there, it seemed like a perfect excuse. The theme was pimps and prostitutes and everyone was having a great time. There were bodies everywhere and so many sprawled on his bed that it was a little hard to keep track of things... well one of us wasn’t trying.

He was getting a blow job he was really enjoying, until he looked down and realised it was Dave doing it. He freaked, an attitude one doesn’t understand to this day. If it felt good what the fuck was the problem? Honestly the man was a complete downer at an orgy.

See now these two incidents did teach one some valuable lessons about people. Firstly they do react in strange ways and secondly most of them have way too many hang-ups. Mind you at the time one enjoyed sex with strangers way too much and could probably have used a few of them...
Looking back one is staggered that one remembers Dave’s name... though one has no idea who he was... or who he was with.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Celebrating the past

Writing about the past is a strange process... far worse when depressed. The people and the events push and clamour to get out. The rest of the time they don’t exist. They reside neatly in their little boxes; where they belong.

To be honest one suspects what makes this so easy is not celebrating special events. The dead don’t stand a chance when the living, who are right in front of you looking for gifts, barely get remembered with things like anniversaries. We usually quibble over the year count... thirteen? No, think it is closer to 14. It has to be... run to get the movie that started it all to check the date.

Yes, that right; all of this started with a movie. We were friends... OK we pushed the boundaries, flirted, poked and prodded, but to be honest that is what we are like... no fun in safe games. Often we used to nip out to movies; the dark depressing art house kind that no one else in our lives wanted to see. So off we went one night to see Chasing Amy 

He wanted a lesbian perspective on it... personally one has always suspected His subconscious motives weren’t so pure... though He denies this is the case. There is this great scene in the movie, where they are sitting in the car while it is pouring with rain and he says I love you. One of those moments that could go either way. Just as we could have when we got out of the movie and ended up sitting in the car in the pouring rain. Of course our direction was probably more predictable... not to mention our outcome was way better.

So here we are about 14 years later and He has bought the Blu- ray copy of it for us to watch. See while one of us never remembers anniversaries, hell one of us barely remembers His birthday some years... yes, yes bad slave... the other one of us is romantic enough for two. Which is just as well...

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Asking for it

Well it is Thursday again... the weekly meet and beat has been commuted due to it being a completely fucked up morning. Have you ever noticed how electrical appliances like to go out on strike together? And that three really is the magic number?

The motor on the garage door opener needs to be replaced, and one small slave who was appointed temporary acting garage door opener will be most grateful when it is. To be honest one is starting to suspect that it has been put off for so long because He gets a perverse thrill about sitting in the car, while one is sent out in torrential rain and scorching heat to do the job manually. So on to Him...

The fan in the living room needs to be replaced because the blades are starting to separate under the pressure of heat and centrifugal forces. Last and not least the amp in the bedroom is intermittently on the fritz... though that may be due to the extreme levels of humidity we are currently experiencing (fingers crossed ‘cos one does like the sound of TV while drifting off to sleep). All of this meant that He was busy trying to convince the GALMI’s (get a little man in) that they really did want jobs so small... with moderate success.

Anyway He graciously decided that the Thursday thumping could wait until Monday. Of course the amount will have to be doubled to compensate for the delay. Have you ever noticed down the rabbit hole that concepts such as fair have an odd twist to them? So for your amusement today one brings you Master's Choice in knickers...

Mutters it is wrong to hate the one you love. It is wrong to hate...

Why private boards fail

When you are on public boards you often get to the stage where you have to make choices. Do you want to be the group member who takes time to explain things to the newbie? Do you want to get caught in endless circular debates, with people who just don’t get it; often because they are in a different place? Do you want to go online to defend a position that makes you bone numbingly weary? Do you want to be the person who tries to pull topics back in line, keeps the topics flowing or asks the right questions to stimulate debate?
Eventually when you do it for long enough, you start to dream a little dream of a quiet place that you can go to, thereby avoiding all the hassles of a public board. Eventually someone starts just such a place and invites people along to join them. Usually they are people they have had conversations with outside of the board, people they find funny or entertaining. Often they are people who feel as embattled and weary from leading the charge on the stupid and the ignorant. More often than not they are the people who are just like you on some level.
And there is the first critical mistake, but you don’t know that yet.
So off you go forming your secret clubhouse, giddy with the joy of being free from the masses. You talk about the things that matter in your life and mock those out of the loop. People invite other people, who are acceptable to you, and each one is a quiet victory against the insanity of the outside. Before you know it you feel safe with each other and share your darkest thoughts, trusting them because they are so much like you.
And there is your second mistake, but you don’t know that either.
You’re so close and all agree with each other, to the extent that you can predict people’s answers often before the question has been asked. After a while you start to run out of hot topics... at least ones that don’t involve gossiping about other people... or ones that aren’t stolen from somewhere else and carried in like the cat bringing home a trophy mouse. The quota of life stuff starts to creep up and before you know it, there is more off topic stuff and recipes exchanged than anything else.
Then, once the euphoria has rubbed off, you start to notice things... and this is where you have reached the critical stage, but you might miss this one as well.
You start to notice some of the people you hang out with are not quite as fun as you first thought. In fact you discuss this with others quietly behind the groups back. Before long someone, somewhere, says things that are not flattering about people you admire outside of the group, and you are stuck in the awkward position of having to choose who your allegiances are to. Quietly and steadily people come less often because well... there are only so many ways you can cook a steak and it is getting too quiet for comfort. And you feel bad that they wouldn’t let so and so in because they were not just like you.
Before long the private sanctuary has become a burden to you. You feel obligated to the person who started it all, but it is dead in the water... torn apart by infighting, leaks, boredom and ennui. In fact you have turned outwards again, led to the fray by a really hot debate elsewhere and before you know it you are back in the public domain... all the while wondering what went wrong. You were all so close...
And the answer is very simple gentle reader.
In choosing people just like you the stage is set for a homogenised group; a place that has no friction nor any of the necessary ingredients for debate. It is also a sad fact that the contentious people who are fun to read, are often not good at starting threads. That takes a different type of person altogether... you need a thinker and the chances are they are not just like you at all. In fact while they may have a quirky way of looking at things that allows them to promote your thinking, they may also vehemently disagree with you on a raft of subjects.
You also made the mistake of thinking that because you exchanged a bunch of stuff with people online, that they are your friends... and sometimes they can be... but oft time they are just people with all the flaws that can entail. They have agendas, they lie, they disseminate, and they have egos, allegiances and desires all of their own. See the unkind reality is that although we meet people in this life that we have things in common with, no one is exactly like us. It is the differences that make us individuals and uniquely ourselves.
Now you are reading this and probably thinking one is the most cynical person on earth... and you might be right. But the sad fact is one has been on a few private boards and they all go this way. It doesn’t matter if they started out as refugee camps from other places, or they were a response to the rough and tumble of public boards. The sad truth is that unless you have a domain that you make big enough to include the people who aren’t exactly just like you, while still keeping the integrity of the spirit of the place, you are doomed to failure.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Masochism in action

So at the crack of dawn... literally... one crawled out of bed... also literally.... scarfed some coffee and porridge and committed the ultimate act of masochism. That’s right people, one caught an early bus and went to the gym. Now being sensible the plan was to just do a bit of the work out; a couple of sets of each exercise on the program. That way one could ease back into it without having to drop the weights.

And to be honest that was all one did. The only problem was the last sets of tilt ups, they are like a crunch done on an exercise ball. Mid way through them one realised that a strange phenomena was going on... the alien feeling of wanting to throw up. See not all of us have that reflux muscle that seems to work so well. There is no ability to burp and to throw up requires serious food poisoning.

Every day brings new experiences... this is what it feels like to exercise until you want to puke. It’s not good for the record L

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Long term butt plug wearing

This is being posted because it is one of those things that people ask about frequently and this is an easier way of doing it... for one small slave at any rate. Some of this stuff is common knowledge and some of it is from trial and error so may not be universal. It is also worth mentioning that some of it is less than glamorous so you have been warned. 
Err... that means stop reading now if you are squeamish...

  •  Stainless steel is best for long term wear and there is plenty to choose from.
  • Be aware that as your body gets used to them you may need to select a larger size, particularly if you are doing this to make anal sex easier. As they are expensive you might want to give this some consideration before ordering that cute little one.
  • If you are wearing them 24/7 give some thought to the shape of your arse and the handle. The gems are pretty, but are wider than the Njoy.

  • Don’t be shy; use it, particularly in the beginning
  • Get a good silicone based one rather than water. It lasts longer and doesn’t wash off so easily. “Back Door” by Pjur is the best one has found to date.

  • Be sensible... work up to it. Don’t just ram the thing in and hope for the best. Wear it for a short time and increase it.
  • If it hurts take it out and try again later

  • Your body produces a lot of it and you don’t realise how much until it can’t get out easily.
  • If it builds up you will get cramps. Take it out for a while or wiggle it so the gas can escape.
  • As the body gets used to the plug it will learn how to work around it. As the swelling goes down it will get easier.

  • Are fun things to do but you don’t have to do a full one every time. It is much kinder to the body in the long run as continual enemas can strip out the natural lining of the bowel and you can get a lazy bowel... it stops contracting to expel.
  • Use a bulb type enema (rectal syringe) standing up to give a quick flush where you need it and cause less problems
Diet and exercise:
You thought you were safe didn’t you J

  • It is in your best interest to keep a good diet and exercise program with plenty of water. You want nice firm stools that come out cleanly rather than leaving a mess you have to clean up every time.
  • The best way to do this is make sure you eat plenty of fibre and drink plenty of water.
  • Stay away from foods that upset your stomach... it is a kindness

  • Do take the damn things out somewhere safe. If you drop one of them down a toilet they will crack the bowl
  • They are heavy and slippery when removed and come out faster than you think...
  • Stainless steel can be washed easily and they can be sterilised... do it on a regular basis
  • They cannot fall in or out if they have a good base
  • If it is cold, warm it first under some hot water... it cuts down on cramping
  • The 2.0 is not for the faint-hearted or the novice... there are some issues with both the length of the handle which renders it hard to sit on, and that even with the fluting on the side venting gas is difficult. Strictly for the size queens in our midst L

Monday, January 17, 2011

Pussy footing

The sound of the neighbours bloody Alsatian woke one this morning. Its deep barks were persistent, as always, and one lay there contemplating its imminent demise... it was a happy place. Then one noticed that He had turned off the air-con that He had insisted on the night before, and the room was shut up, warm and stuffy. Rolling over the clock confirmed what one suspected... it was too early to wake up and there was no chance of going back to sleep L

Like a mouse one slid out of bed. It might have been more like a cat... no mean feat when you tink and clank when you walk. Mind you one had a cat that was still a ferocious and successful predator, despite an assortment of collars with bells. It was an assortment because he developed this neat trick of backing onto a short branch and moving backwards until the collar was hooked. He would then duck his head and twist, and the collars (because they have a bit of elastic to stop them hanging themselves by accident), would give enough stretch that he would be free. Sighs one suspects that won’t work for one small slave

Anyway back to hunting... One morning while sipping coffee one spied him in action. He was stalking along a branch and he was a big cat... the size of a small dog. The bell was neatly nestled on his chest fur and he had it balanced between the muscles of his chest. It effectively deadened any sound the bell made without slowing him down. After that one gave up on the collars... again one suspects that won’t work for one small slave, but one did learn a valuable trick.

Sliding out of bed, collar held just so, one stumbled to the kettle; muzzy headed and cranky. It was going to be a two morning mouse kind of day. Might one just say that although the caffeine relieved some of the fatigue, it did nothing for the surly disposition. And being ordered to present ones arse to His morning shower so that He could use it, did nothing to improve it whatsoever.

Looking like a condemned person one reluctantly fronted up and slid in the shower. He picked up the soap and washed one gently... OK not necessarily concentrating on the bits one would have chosen, but... He slid his hands along the shoulders and neck, kneading with strong fingers and making one groan involuntarily with pleasure. The hands slid down further, squeezing and stroking with sudsy fingers, until He reached around and slid them between ones thighs.

At that moment He thrust the fingers of his other hand into an arse, which due to the recent removal of a butt plug, had no defence against such an invasion. A fact one protested citing unfairness... sighs not the best opening gambit. Squirming, one lifted up on tippy toes as He drove in, all the while rubbing the clit with insistent fingers. The muscles of the legs got rigid as the body braced for the inevitable orgasm and as one fell into it, His voice crooned in one’s ear that should make it nice and tight for me.

With one braced against the shower wall He forced his way in. Holding one firmly in place, He drove in and out, picking up speed as He became more aroused. Unloading himself with a satisfied groan, He disengaged, cleaned off the soap suds and left one feeling alone and violated. With stinging parts from all the soap L

Later, when one was clean, re-plugged, and sitting in front of a fan drying off (in this climate it is the only way you can get completely dry after a shower) a small light bulb went off. Turning around one said, you only did that to see if it would improve one’s mood. He smirked and asked has it worked? Not yet, was the smart arsed and completely candid reply.

Later He again asked how the mood was. Better one replied. Is there more improvement with an orgasm? Well no, one said, gracefully shooting oneself in the foot. Hmm interesting He murmured to himself. At that moment one could feel those spontaneous orgasms getting further away.  Sighs you do get that one is quite smart and would evade these kinds of holes normally right?

He makes one feel like a lab rabbit sometimes... does this coat make one's tail look fat?



This is how our bay currently looks after the floods. The colour is from the dirt and silt that has flowed out of the river into the sea. This stretch is normally the dark azure blue of deep water and this section is predominantly used for boating and surf skis... it has boating ramps and no beach at this part as it was man made for this purpose.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Breakfast menu

It is an eerie sight to see a closed Maccas. The “golden tits of America” offers succour to hundreds of hungry and thirsty customers a day in this food court alone. Not today though, and probably not tomorrow either because they have no supplies. Yet all around them are other vendors offering their usual fare. Why is this you may well ask?

It is because despite all the advertising proudly implying their place in your community they, like most big corporations, use centralised processing plants. Even their meat comes from another state. So here it sits dark and deserted, disappointing small children who rush in looking for their saturated fat fix. Hark, the sound of crying... Guess not everyone wants to make a healthy choice... probably why those menu options didn’t last.

Saturday, January 15, 2011


Well here we are... fooled by the transport gods and stranded on some godforsaken train station. There is not so much as a stale chip or peanut to be purchased on this arid platform. The day started innocuously enough; the tail end of the body’s period experience made complete with a migraine. All made more unpleasant by having to go to work with only a skimpy breakfast.

As some of you are aware 75% of our state has been covered with water. To give you some idea of the scale of this Australia is roughly the size of America, but only divided into six states. While we missed the floods here, their effect is starting to be felt. Many supermarkets have few staples in the way of potatoes, milk and bread (though the white stuff one can’t eat due to a soy issue seems to be getting through) and emergency supplies such as water and candles are non-existent. It is bad enough that even some McDonalds are closed because they can’t get supplies... as one of the babies at work found out this morning when he went to get breakfast.

Needless to say work was quiet enough to do stock orders... not that one expects them anytime soon. At 4pm, having checked out mentally several hours ago, one scampered off out the door with illusions of a snack and coffee at the other end of the trip home. The bus pulled up and the driver informed us that we will have to catch the train for the next few stops as the bridge has been closed again, leaving us with no other way of getting home except a train/ bus ride. Of course it is an hour wait for the train as we have just missed it L

At this rate it will be 6pm before any of us get home. On the bright side the trip is free... one suspects their mainframe is under water somewhere. That or they have found a way to ensure that people don’t complain about the delays or mention bus drivers, that were running shuttles from our stop the other way, who could have passed on the information earlier and saved us the hour wait. Either way money is not on corporate generosity.

Oh super, one of the great unwashed (literally, one can smell him from here) is now pushing at the info buttons and ranting his dissent.  And telling everyone that trains are cunts, and like women you always end up waiting for them. Bad comedy and no snacks... Life doesn’t get any better than this... though a piece of toast for breakfast could do wonders.


At the moment one has the opening volley of what is probably going to be a three day migraine. It is the dreaded “period” migraine and the body’s way of letting one know just who is in charge. And for the moment, it ain’t Him. May one just take a moment to say that He is a fair and just Master and one really should stop muttering “All Hail Glorious Satan”* when He walks in a room.

See everything is relative beams

*TM Little Linnet; on a board far, far away.

Friday, January 14, 2011

The King of Strip

When living in Sydney, many moons ago, one got a blast from the past in the form of a phone call from an old friend of Hobbit's inviting one out to lunch. Donning on a posh suit, heels and a rather fetching hat one fronted up to a grand old hotel. One of the last of a dying breed in the trend towards sleek, functional modernism. It was a place that still had starched tablecloths, silver service and deep plush seating.  In short somewhere that you could conduct important business and discrete affairs.

Down the grand staircase he came as one entered the lobby. He was replesent in leather trousers, ponytail and diamonds, one of which was imbedded in a tooth. On his arm he sported the latest in a long line of very young looking blondes dressed in an identical outfit... though one wouldn’t put money on her diamonds. See the rumour was that he couldn’t get it up for anything too far over the legal age... unless they didn’t look it. The smart ones tried to stave off the encroaching time with endless rounds of waxing and bleaching, but it is hard when you work in a business that chews you up and spits you out in favour of the newest and freshest.

Now the thing you have to understand was that he had a voice honed by years of standing in the back of his clubs, yelling encouragement to the girls over music and mayhem. Affectionately known as the King of Strip he started clubs in the 60’s. At the time his girls were decked out in star pasties and merkins to get around nudity bans. As time progressed so did the nudity levels of his show, but he didn’t let up for a minute.

To this day one can still hear his voice yelling do spreaders girls... a thing that was illegal at the time as no pink bits were allowed. The trouble was that although he aspired to class, he was invariably hoist by his own petard. Even his home was mid century brothel, with its flocked red walls and zebra print furniture. In fact one has suspected that some of it might have been furnished from a business venture way back when.

So there we are ensconced in our booth while we catch up on people past and present. As we carry on with lunch one realises that people are pausing mid bite to listen to our conversation. In fact a hush has descended across the room. And there is his booming voice going do you remember so and so that used to fuck so and so? Well they got done for X, Y or Z! It made for a memorable lunch J

It is strange how we end our days though. He married a lovely Thai girl and they opened a little cafe together. It was far from the noise and the spotlights, but everyone has to retire sometimes. By all accounts he died a happy man.  He will however, always live in one’s mind as the insane character that was superstitious about the colour green to the point of paranoia. And so paranoid that he took a loaded gun and a body guard when he went out the door... but then sometimes they are out to get you.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Safety first

The bridge one has to cross to get to work is closed, and to get round it means bussing and training it to work. Unfortunately as this is the late shift it means one is going to have to be at a not very safe station latish at night, and there is no guarantee that the trains will be still be running. So one did the sensible thing and phoned work to say one wouldn’t be joining them. Sometimes the smart thing is to stay at home... you will notice one said smart not safe, ‘cos as it turned out it wasn’t.

As one has mentioned before our bathroom is miniscule. The toilet is between the glass shower wall and the wall and though snug, it is a more than adequate space as the glass prevents any sense of claustrophobia. So we are watching a TV show and one is dying to pee, but the story was at a good spot so when a break came on one asked to use the bathroom. He said yes, but hurry I need to pee as well. Scampering off with dancing visions of using the facilities, one had no inkling of what was to come.

No sooner had one settled on the seat than He appeared blocking the exit. Move back He said. Um don’t think there is room for both of us one said dubiously, while obligingly spreading ones thighs and scooting back until hitting the cistern. Oh there’s room He said. The tone made one look up from the penis eye view one was enjoying.

At that moment He started to pee; washing one small, unsuspecting slave’s thighs, breasts and cunt with an unrelenting stream of warm urine that splattered over arms and neck. Might one add He was a lousy shot... very little of it went in the hole one had made, other than runoff. He finished, shook himself and washed his hands and obligingly turned on the shower as He left. Leaving one to dab franticly with paper and wish one had just peed in the bowl.

Later back in bed, showered for the second time, as He is getting ready to sleep He says masturbate for me. As one floats higher and higher He growls come for me, but one is too high to come back. Grabbing a breast in a vice like grip He applies more and more pressure until the orgasm if forced out of one in a long, continual keening sound. He hauls one onto his erection as one is still coming, each thrust rubbing along the butt plug and banging against the bruising from the speculum.

The pain trips another small orgasm which makes the muscles contract and causes more pain. And the body is caught in a loop of pain and orgasm until He finally stops, after giving one last thrust for the sheer joy of making one cry out. Crawling off one grabs a sheet, snuggles into pillows and floats off for deep post coital snooze. Definitely beats working J

The postie is Satan’s helper

We have a strange house... it doesn’t face the way it should. Well not as far as the contractors for the postal service are concerned. Each time their contracts are up we have to train another one that just because our post box is on one street, doesn’t mean our entrances are. In fact thrusting them through the gate on the post box side only delivers them into a rose garden... you would think the scratches from the thorns would be a giveaway wouldn’t you?

The trouble is that when you have trained them they then diligently deliver stuff to your door, and sometimes they are things that might be best left in the rose garden. None of this receiving reluctance is improved by the fact that He can find nasty things from all over the world... and often does. They never ban the things they could ban oh no... They ban things like the vinegar one loves and can’t get in this godforsaken place (the stuff here is too weak to crawl to the edge of the bottle). They seem only too happy to let in nasty arse toys and implements of torture.

The new speculum arrived the other day and He was just quivering to try it out. So yesterday, as one lay on the bed, aroused, wet and very compliant He produced it from nowhere and slid it in. Cranking it open with a speed that made one gasp, He peered at it from all angles and then grabbed a camera. The damn thing wouldn’t focus due to lack of light as the curtains were closed.

Close your eyes He said, as he flicked on the bright halogens that make up some of the bedrooms light sources. It is very hard to stay focused on sexual thoughts with bright lights shining on you and someone shoving a camera where it doesn’t belong. As the arousal levels dropped one became aware that the speculum hurt like a bitch. It was a protest that fell on deaf ears.

Roll over He said cheerfully. As one started to comply the speculum bit back and one uttered a shriek of pain and screamed get it out. Note to self do not roll over with that in you and cranked open. It opens a different way from the other one as you can see here and it renders you immobilised on fear of pain... lots of it.

Afterwards, when He had finished coming in ones arse, He slipped the butt plug back in and as the arousal levels dropped one realised how sore it was. It felt like someone had kicked the damn thing. Every time one rolled over in search of a new sleep position, the butt plug nudged against the walls of the vagina and you could feel the bruising. Mutters still don’t believe women have children by choice...

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

The message of support and solidarity

If you are one of the owner types then this is invisible to you...

OK N is in charge of the insurrection and his code name is pixie cat... it seems innocent enough that no one will suspect him.

We await a message from our leader...

Update: It has been five hours since anyone has heard from him... um pixie cat are you OK?

Update: It is with a sad heart that one reports pixie cat was last seen under a swarm of fellow slaves. Bribed by his owner with the promise of shoes, to be bought with the proceeds from the sale of his beloved Ducati, they went mad with the smell of leather in their nostrils.

It is a sad day for insurrections every where.

RIP pixie cat

It started with a kiss

Well one did intend to go to the gym... honest. What happened was that He kissed one small slave. Now you are just sitting there thinking so what, aren’t you? Well some things you need to understand. Firstly He is not big on kissing... though not sure why as there is something about the way He holds you in place, as his tongue impales you that is very... Let’s just say it works shall we?

Secondly one isn’t big on kissing either, though the ex who is deceased was damn good at it too... but one digresses. It is hard to explain... without coming across as the biggest germaphobe on the face of the planet. Have you any idea how dangerous the human mouth is? Seriously, while that is not the reason, it does sort of flick around in the back of the mind.

Really it has more to do with the whole psychotic ex who used to try to smother one with a pillow as one slept. There is something about things near ones face that although not a trigger, are subconsciously avoided. Well one blames him, but it predates that even if one thinks about it. The guy before him was the first guy to kiss one small teenager.

 It was completely unexpected, and one was left with the overwhelming feeling that it was an unpleasant sensation to have someone loom out of nowhere and dive on you. See like most things one did everything backwards; first came sex and then came kissing... honestly they need to give out guide books for this stuff. It is a nightmare to negotiate this stuff at 16 and from what one sees it doesn’t get better.

Anyway back to Him and being pinned to the bed with his tongue down the throat, one hand on a nipple and the other buried in a small wet cunt. One couldn’t breathe. And as one is thumping Him on the shoulder in an effort to escape, the wheezing starts and then that bloody coughing begins. Fortunately He had released one by then... ‘cos while one still hasn’t nailed the whole kissing etiquette thing, one deeply suspects coughing into someone’s mouth is not considered good.

As the breathing comes back one says you know that whole kissing thing works. Why don’t we do it more often? Hell when was the last time we did it? He shrugs and says well to be honest I doesn’t want to encourage that 19% vanilla thing. For the last time, it was 18%. The upshot of all of this is that one realised... OK admitted to oneself... that if one couldn’t get enough oxygen to kiss, with then one was probably not quite ready to go back to the gym.

On the bright side He did let one have one hell of an orgasm while He fucked one in the arse with long, deep strokes. As one tumbled over the edge screaming thank you, with a lot more fervour than one normally employs might one add, He came with that lovely rhythmic pumping that feels unbelievably good as you spin along the orgasm. Of course it killed any remaining vestige of resistance one might have been harbouring to not going to the gym... You see all that is needed to upset the best laid plan is a kiss... and an orgasm.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011


Our little group on Fet has spawned more splitter groups than any other and today yet another one was formed. Why? Well we didn’t make her feel special enough; despite pointing out that interested people were welcome. And you know what, that is OK. We have no issue with her stomping off and starting her own group, in fact we wish her well because it will give us somewhere to send those people who do not fit our group’s definition.

What makes one shake the head in disbelief is the way they go stomping off whining to anyone who will listen about how we made them feel. Actually the venting part isn’t so bad, it is supposed to be good for you, it is the way they never tell the whole truth that bugs the hell out of one small slave. They omit to mention that they joined a group primarily for co-habiting relationships, despite the fact they clearly state on their profile that they will never be living with their owner (and rarely see them as far as one can tell). The small issue of them being in a poly relationship is cited as the reason that they were rejected... which if that were the case, is going to make membership for those who are in poly relationships somewhat difficult.

They whine loudly about how we made them feel less than (insert adjective here) and that we discriminated against them. The first part... if it is that easy to give your power away then sweetie you need to be owned for your protection. The second... yes we did. We do it so we are not overrun by people who feel that they are X, Y or Z. Since when did feeling that you were something, make you something?

Is this a by-product of living in an age where we use personal pronouns and emotions to take ownership of an event? We live in an age of psycho babble and talk shows that encourages us to feel and own things, but one is a left a little unsure how we started taking it to the next level. When did our feelings start shaping our reality? Is this just an online phenomena or do people do this in their real lives as well? If that is the case then we are doomed to never get off the analysts couch and become the Prozac nation that people have been warning us about for years.

The reality is that you can call yourself Princess Pinkie-bluebell and feel that you are next in line for the throne. It doesn’t mean that you are going to get the damn thing, nor does it mean that people are going to bow down and call you Your Majesty. And lastly while we are on the topic... it doesn’t mean we have to want to play with you either. The sad fact of life is that feeling like you should belong, doesn’t make everyone agree with you.

Monday, January 10, 2011

Sex therapy

Well it is pouring... again. At the moment we make a fabulous couple, for once our feelings of depression have synced up. Normally He goes walking in the early morning. The light at that time emits a particular frequency that seems to offset SADs, not to mention He gets an inordinate amount of pleasure out of dragging one out of bed at 5am to go “walkies”. Needless to say that route is out of the question at the moment... see every cloud does have a silver lining J

Personally one rarely has depressive episodes, but then one spends an immoderate amount of time chasing an endorphin high through exercise... so not too surprising. What has happened this time is that the complete lack of light (how the hell do you people across the pond cope with a state of perpetual grey without killing yourselves?), getting over that whole illness thing and dwelling on the past has combined with the body pretending it is having a period. Every once in a while, despite having a hysterectomy (they left the ovaries), the body likes to have the period experience.

You bloat and the breasts get painfully bigger; all of which can be controlled by exercise (it is hard to have fluid retention when drinking 4 litres of water on days when exercising) and you eat. More specifically you eat carbohydrates. Preferably drenched and slathered in high fat content NZ butter. Hell even a potato chip will do... but only the nice ones by Red Rock.

To combat this we have started to embark on an unusual cure. The findings of a study done quite some time ago, suggests that sperm acts as an antidepressant in women. Now for Him sex does seem to help with the depression because He becomes hypersexual, which is probably hell in a normal relationship. Not too many women want to be intimate with a partner that is withdrawn, but still wants sex... though why is beyond one. It seems a win, win; great sex and they don’t want to chat to you afterwards... sighs did one just fail girl 101 again?

So if you will excuse one small slave, she is about to embark on a day of sex. Lots and lots of sex because the short course last night produced very promising results... and like all good scientists we need to see if the results are able to be replicated.

And tomorrow one goes back to the gym... we need to find out exactly how much oxygen is needed to exercise.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

CHABbing... again

Writing about the past is a strange thing, it pours out of you like a burst water main. And just like that main it is wasteful and causes damage. See so much of the past has been tucked away in neat little boxes marked do not disturb. It is done and forgotten and the mind doesn’t discriminate... it puts away everything; the good, the bad and the ugly.

Now He thinks the boxes should be unpacked. He doesn’t realise that with all the good stuff comes the bad. All the dead, the destroyed and the lost... they chase you round in your mind. Meh. This grey weather is killing one on the inside. By about two hours into a shift one asked a co-worker how she felt about assisted suicide. She giggled in a nervous manner, making one wonder if perhaps she was a poor choice.

This rain has been continual now for days. Everything is wet... even the lungs and the ears feel waterlogged, and we have been promised at least another few days of it. The ground is so wet trees are laying down, having lost their hold in the soil. And despite the protestations of the roofing guy that it is fixed, the roof is leaking with a steady drip, drip, drip sound.

Frankly one feels a little gypped. All the travel posters promise you sand, sun, clear blue waters, palms waving in a gentle breeze and sun. Did one mention sun? Lots of the bloody stuff. And where is it? Off visiting some relative... it didn’t even put in for annual leave.

Mind you all the pictures of Holland’s tulip fields are sunny too and one is damned sure some little man spent days waiting for that shot L

Saturday, January 8, 2011

For the fans

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away... before they made the really crap prequels... there was a movie that inspired a whole generation. He wanted to be Luke Skywalker, which is ironic because the dark forces are strong in him. It also spawned a huge range of merchandising... some of it which has taken an interesting cultural flavour.

Geek, geek, geek, geek alert...

Ways to brighten your home and pay homage  J

Friday, January 7, 2011

Things past

The thing about having a misspent youth is that you meet some fascinating people. Originally one wasn’t going to write about them because well... it’s complicated. The mad person who used to hang out with these people has achieved a veneer of respectability... that’s code for old and not as much fun people.  The thing is these people were part of growing up and they have ended up as dry little footnotes, in boring little tomes, in dull little libraries. Besides most of them are dead now and it is safe to write about them J

How one ended up meeting these people is probably worthy of a long winded explanation in its own right, but again... it’s complicated. For the benefit of this one will just say that the late teenage years were not done the way most do them. After leaving home at 16 one ended up moving in with a complete psychopath who... well that is a story for another time. Let us just for the benefit of this say it was an unusual route to living with a rich, elderly gentleman who saves one’s life (looking back in hindsight) and he had some very strange friends as did one small teenager. In fact it was how we met.

At the time one was staying at a friend’s place, after one had just walked out on the love of one’s life. She was an interesting person with a love of money and not working that is the hall mark of any madam. Looking at one over the morning paper she said what the hell are you going to do with your life? To be honest... no idea one replied. Well you need somewhere to live. If I get raided having you here is not going to look good.

We need to find you a home... and I know just the person. How do you feel about old, fat and very comfortable... nice home, swimming pool and central heating? Not a lot one replied. Don’t be silly people have got married for less she said reaching for the phone. And that is how one ended up in the place one came to think of as home for 2 ½ years. Apparently one stalked in like an alley cat, sniffed in the cupboards, settled on a couch and said this will do ... the young can be very cold blooded.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

The shopping cure

Lying in bed the other day He asks are we going to do anything this week? Well if you have some shopping to do one wouldn’t mind hitting the sales... will buy you sushi for lunch, one proffered as a bribe in a coaxing tone. Now He is a rare creature, a man who likes to shop and as it turned out He did have a small list of geeky things and Christmas money burning a hole in the wallet. So on Tuesday, which turned out to be a vile hot day, we trotted off in the pursuit of air-con on a larger scale than we possess. Unfortunately every man, woman and their snotty nosed child had the same idea.

The place was a seething, teeming mass of people, all wandering with an infuriating aimlessness. Their numbers made you feel like you were wading upstream and produced an uncomfortable, claustrophobic sensation that even He didn’t enjoy. Though some of them sported bags, you got the sense that really all they were doing was staving off the inevitable and avoiding going back outside. Which was ironic because the heat combined with the sheer volume of people meant that the air-con was struggling to cope and it was barely cool.

Normally this would not deter one small intrepid shopper, but He had a contingency plan. Before leaving home the butt plug had been put into an already tender arse. By the time we had fought our way through to the desired destination it was starting to rub. As we started to go back the rub was an excruciating burn that could not be ignored. When He suggested going home one almost sobbed with relief and gratitude. He smirked!