Monday, February 28, 2011

Rough with the smooth

This morning one was hauled out of a deep sleep by Him grabbing the collar and using it to pull one into a kneeling position. Grasping one by the hips He pushed his way into the vagina with small thrusting strokes. At this point one came to enough to point out helpfully that the alarm had been set for 5.30am. Well it is nearly that now He said punctuating his comment with a deep thrust that made one instinctively try to get away.

His response was to get a firmer hold and pummel the vagina into submission until He came with a particularly vicious final thrust. Disengaging himself He went to grab first shower, leaving one to dab ineffectually with a tissues while wondering how close it was to 5.30am. Finally the need to know drove one to pick up the clock and peer at the screen. He had been 10 minutes early and had robbed one of precious minutes of sleep... bastard!

We dropped off the car and proceeded into the city by train. On our way to breakfast, we got adventurous and went somewhere new, we discovered a lingerie shop that stocked larger sized bras. After one finally convinced the fitter that one was the requested size, one was shoved in and out of underwear by Him with her acting as his co-conspirator.  For the record even with air-con it was way too hot to be trying on bra after bra... and let us not mention corsets. Finally one was released from the fitting room and we carried on our way.

After breakfast we went to a wonderful bookshop that we assumed had disappeared, where He spent way too much money with gleeful enthusiasm and little regard to the sheer weight we would be lugging for the rest of the day. Later as we stopped for a rest and a drink one suggested we clean off the coffee table at home to hold His newly acquired "Private Collection". He peered over his drink in a mixture of bemusement and disbelief.

You mean like a coffee table book He enquired. Well yes, where else are we going to put that enormous heavy book one replied. You do get that the point of a coffee table book is to show it off to others He countered. Smiling a small vindictive smile, it was getting close to lunch and the blood sugar levels were probably getting low, one said well we can invite our vanillas over to see it. Of course it means you are going to have to let her touch it...
This is probably a good moment to point out that there are people you should never lend books to. She is one of those people; she is a turner of corners, a breaker of spines, a folder, a creaser and these sins are often committed with greasy licked little fingers. Even at RPG night she gets her own PDF copy of things or the book is held at a safe distance from her reach.
He blanched at the possibility and the conversation turned to the location of lunch... a much safer topic J

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Crime and punishment

There is going to be pizza for dinner.
A voice call out from the study put the oven on. To which one replies (having just got off work and in a horizontal position on the couch) up you get. Pause. Slave put the oven on. Yes Master... off you go. Pause. So it is Zorbas (the most divine pizzas which unfortunately have soy in the bases and one is not allowed them often, if at all) for dinner then He asks. Pause. Ooooh, peers over the kitchen counter, the one with jalapeƱos on it one enquires hopefully. The look emanating from the study indicates that it is intended as a dinner for one.
The thought of their wonderful cheeses filling the place makes one twitch. The thought of watching Him eating it while nibbling on a salad tips one over the edge... fine putting on the oven L
Mutters this is so unfair... it’s not like one expected His half to have chilli on it and one even managed to skilfully fit in a yes Master as per the request. Honestly He is utterly unreasonable sometimes...

Where the wild things are

Occasionally you encounter people in power exchanges who are interesting, but you deeply suspect you are never going to understand them. They are so different from yourself and your relationships that you end up with more questions than you do answers. It is not that one thinks they should fit into a mould, as much as you are driven/ compelled to try to understand them on their own terms. The trouble is the gulf between views.

Extremely submissive people are one of those groups. In particular people that are so submissive that almost by default their partners are dominant. We are not talking here about dominant people who deliberately seek out a more submissive mate... though maybe they do on some level. It is more those that as they explain their power structure, the more there seems to be an absence of active domination and more a passive dominance.

To try to explain what one means is complicated... so one will try an example. Today you will do X. Yes master. This response is not because they are obedient, well trained or happy to comply, though they may be all of those things. It is more that any other response just does not occur as being submissive is what they are. They are compelled towards compliance by internal drivers, one struggles to comprehend, to be submissive and agreeable.

Maybe that is the issue... as a person one has no compulsion towards being agreeable. As a person one is anal, aggressive, hostile and prickly... rather like the cat... no wonder we clash. You either stay on top of one small slave or she will stay on top of you... and resent you for it. Not your submission, though it will probably alert all those predatory instincts, as much as there is a deep abiding loathing of all the work that is needed to maintain the power.

And it is work maintain dominance over people like us. It is not that we don’t want to be submissive and to be obedient, but that we will make a break for it every once in a while. Any chink will do... we’ll be there. It’s a bit like herding cats... mean slightly feral ones L

Saturday, February 26, 2011

On the road again

There is a discussion on Fet (in the group) at the moment about owning things and it has veered along the issue of pets as a side bar. Questions were raised about whether pets were welcome in the beginning and who owns them in the unlikely event of the dissolution of the relationship.
May one just take a minute to categorically and unequivocally state for the record;
He gets the cat.

There will be no mysterious boxes sent with or to one small slave.

Also the cast iron frog doorstop is going with... That is non-negotiable.
Thank you

Friday, February 25, 2011

Names and other places

People often say that names have power and while one doesn’t entirely disagree, one suspects it is more that language has power. Historically when the British invaded sorry... colonised countries the first thing they did was dismantle the other culture. They banned things like dancing... killjoys that they were.  They also systematically destroyed the native language by superimposing their English language over the top of everything. And they wonder why the Irish and the Welsh (to name but two) don’t love them like they could.

In this relationship He has done a similar thing by imposing a more formal language over our existing one. He didn’t do things like rename one with a slave name, to be honest He rarely uses a name at all except to introduce one to other people (and there  is always this little moment when one has to think who is that). For everything else He just uses that functional word- slave. Often in that tone... you know the one.

In the beginning of the fall down the rabbit hole He simply became Master... preferably used in an acquiescent yes Master. Sometimes one used a more formal yes my love, ‘cos sometimes Master is just not appropriate. Mind you even that caused the odd unexpected complication. The first time our Tuesday night vanillas heard it they thought it was so sweet.

It was pounced on and held up like a trophy of romanticism. Actually it was about then that we decided it would be much easier to tell them the unvarnished truth. It was a relief... don’t think one could have got through another one of her demonstrations of how a man can get his own snacks. Though one will always concede that he is awfully well trained... he even knows which bowl to use and everything. Anyway one digresses...

Over time there was more using His name and less yes Master, and with it came a more relaxed attitude to the few protocols we had. To the point that He hooked a finger through the collar the other day, at the supermarket, and pointed out that there needed to be way more yes Master. It seems He thinks that familiarity breeds contempt... rather like the British ;)

Thursday, February 24, 2011

The safe call

No this is not a diatribe about the safe call... one’s views are well documented. Oh hell for the record; the only thing a safe call will guarantee is that the police might have a starting position to look for your body. Anyway back to this... and this is about natural disasters and family. Actually those two things do go together believe it or not.

In the family closet one has a baby sister and at about twenty years ones junior she is a baby. Now every family has a black sheep (one small slave) and although she gave one a run for the money, one came out victorious for that title. She matured into the responsible, socially accountable sheep family member... the one who rounds us up, insists on phoning during dinner and keeps us together via communication. Honestly she is exhausting to an introvert, and one has gone to great pains to try and explain to her why, if some horrible disaster should happen to one, it will be entirely her and her bloody chain letters that are at fault. Seriously who is one supposed to pass them on to?

She lives in Christchurch and as some of you know it has been flattened by a large earthquake. We were out on Tuesday when it hit, at Peter Sheppard’s to be precise, and we borrowed their computer to log onto Facebook (He has an account) to check that she was OK. Why you may be wondering? Well in times of natural disasters the baby updates her status to let everyone know she is OK. As one said she is the responsible one...

Personally one did no such thing when we were flooded out in this state. In fact one missed the “are you all right?” email from the family. And the phone has been out for ages due to the rain and humidity, which we haven’t bothered with as we don’t use it. No news is good news right? Apparently not and the baby sister decided that she was not going to be deterred by the absence of contact or the distance one iota.

The police turned up on the door step this morning to check on ones whereabouts. On the bright side one was home from work due to that upset tummy, otherwise one would no doubt have had to front up at their place to prove one was alive. Oh and one did send an email to the family thanking them for caring so much. Sighs and people wonder why one doesn’t have Fb... can you imagine what life would be like... hunted like a small furry animal.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

And the wasted Wednesday

Here was the plan... Get up nice and early, despite the late night yesterday, and go to the gym. Do the grocery shopping, make a tasty lunch, make out, snooze and tidy up while He slept. That was the plan. The reality was more spend a lot of time in the bathroom while the body protested something that was eaten yesterday, followed by sleep. Rinse and repeat; for the rest of the day.

He was most sympathetic.

Then He went to bed only to be woken at about 5pm with his body doing a similar dance.

Tomorrows plan is something like this... Get up nice and early and go to the gym. Scamper round like a mad thing and do a quick grocery shop before being picked up by Him on his way home. Make breakfast and go to work.

Here endith the weekend L

Reality sucks!

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

The lost Tuesday

We got up at the crack of dawn... literally... to put the car in for a few bits. The air-con had gone again, it needed a new gear knob, and of course one deeply suspected it needed new brakes ‘cos one hasn’t been able to hear Him arrive home for a week or so now. There was also that small matter of a fuel smell that He couldn’t detect. He works with the stuff... like He is a reliable judge on that.

So we struggle an hour and a half through stand still traffic, of course our car would be a type that you can’t just drop off to the local mechanic, to get it to the outskirts of the city. For the record those of you who live in LA you might have bad congestion, but you haven’t seen anything until you travel our motorways. We drop it off and go on to the city by train. Life being what it is one of the train lines was down, and the train was about 20 mins late by the time we got there... not bad for a seven minute trip.

Now we love the city... being as we like rituals it is no surprise. We do breakfast in our favourite place. He does the geeky things like comic and gaming shops, while one enjoys the range of merchandise not available in the suburbs. Not to mention one can actually get bras in the right size. There was also the bi-annual visit to Peter Sheppard for one small shoephile.

If you click onto the new catalogue on page 22 you will see the object of one small slave’s lust. The Waldlaufer “Want” boots... in the most glorious amethyst purple leather and suede. They were a perfect fit, even fitted the orthotics. The heart went oh gods yes! The foot went no! Walks off sulking and muttering dire threats to that damn tumour... it’s got to die.

We took ourselves off to our traditional Yum cha where one was consoled with steamed dumplings, rounded off with the divine egg custard tarts. Might one just add that while the tummy was mollified the heart was not. We rounded the day off with a little more shopping and caught the train back to the mechanics, where we received the good news and the bad news.

Yes the air-con is fixed again. Yes the brakes did need doing. Yes there is a reason why one of us can smell gas... there is a crack in the fuel tank. It is booked in for next Monday. Maybe one can self torture and visit the boots again L

We then sped to the Bendon Outlet Shop to pick up a few sale items of lingerie and hit the motorway for the return trip. We arrived just in time to sling off bags, change clothes, rush to the supermarket and go out for the Tuesday RPG night. We did well... we even managed to completely generate characters for this game. Even if one of us did lose interest and slope off for a snooze on their couch...

Monday, February 21, 2011


The candles flicker fitfully on either side as one writes this laboriously in longhand. It gives one a new appreciation for all those who gave their eyesight in small garrets, to bring us what sometimes went on to be great works of literary merit. To be honest one will not be subjecting you to anything that meretricious. This is more a dose of unpleasant reality about 24/7 relationships.

Today was hot. It was even hotter than yesterday. So bad in fact that we decided to go out. For the record the IGA at North Lakes has the best cooling in North Brisbane. And it stocks NZ treaties, so the fridge is now filled with assorted biscuits. Which will no doubt be doled out like the boy did his manners. For one’s own good of course as they are laden with soy  L

We were happily mooching around after a late lunch, when we happened to glance up at the skylights. Overhead the sky had turned into a roiling mass of dark petrol green clouds that foreshadow hail. Making a run for it, we kept just ahead of the storm and as we hit our garage the skies opened. Big fat drops of rain pelted down and started to increase in momentum.

Retreating indoors He made the interesting threats and promises that constitute foreplay in a BDSM relationship. Leaving Him in the icebox we like to call a bedroom, one ventured into the outer waiting room of hell one calls a kitchen to make dinner. Dancing back to the bedroom bearing food, with visions of a movie followed by mayhem, one parted the curtain. There He was... snuggled up with his beloved doona. Sound asleep*.

That was the moment our little home, along with 55 000 others, lost power. So here one is alone, in the dark, aided by candles writing to you. Might even do a little candle lit folding after this....

*See the reality of working a graveyard shift, is that on the days off your body doesn’t understand that 6.30pm is too early to go to bed. Just as 3.00am is too early to wake up L

Sunday, February 20, 2011

The hot house

We are expecting a heat wave starting today; a steady 35C (95F). With any luck it will be enough to burn off some of the humidity, which is a vile thing. It is the humidity which sucks the life out of you not the actual heat. The thing is heat is a relative thing to what you are used to and although one comes from places that snow (a cold one loved to be honest) the heat is definitely preferred.

There is no joint or muscle pain at this time of the year. The hip doesn’t freeze up during sex. For the record there are some types of pain that even this body can’t process into a better orgasm. That hip going just stops everything... dead. You end up collapsing into a screaming heap of coitus interruptus L

Of course there is a downside to all this brilliance... isn’t there always. When one first came here it was like walking around in a hot house. And just like one of those exotic plants one bloomed into a perpetual state of arousal. It was short lived... rather like those flowers (which are modified leaves and often appear similar to their origins).

Now 22 years on, and thanks to the damned PCOS nearly 30kg heavier, it feels less exotic and far more unpleasant. Oh the arousal is still there, but it is tempered with the knowledge that touching another person is slightly repellent. Humans are not so attractive when they are moist all over... and hot to touch. Shudders and scampers off to the air-conditioned comfort of the bus ride to work.

Saturday, February 19, 2011


Horse riding at thirteen gave one a lasting memento. A spectacular... is there any other kind... fall without a hard hat gave one more than a black eye. Which is a misnomer by the way as it went every colour of the rainbow. It bounced the brain hard enough to cause epilepsy and frontal lobe damage. 

The epilepsy was not big deal in many ways. Oh there were tonic clonics, or as they used to be known grand mal seizures... never understood why they changed the name on those... and one always managed to have them somewhere public. But as an adult one can go years without one. Mind you if you listen to doctors; you can’t drive (sensible), use power tools (yeah kind of inconvenient to someone who renovated houses... so ignored completely) or swim alone (water... ugh... no worries there). Honestly those guys could suck the joy out of any day.

On the other hand frontal lobe damage is way more interesting stuff. Probably the most interesting known case is Phineas Gage. For the rest of us... it depends. It manifests itself in different ways though the most common is poor impulse control. Oh and one can’t do higher maths for shit or remember patterns very well. So you can teach one to dance or play cards, but you are going to have to do it again the next time you want to do it. That is improving over time though... but don’t tell you know who... otherwise one will be playing some nasty little game in the evenings L

In one small teenager all of this combined to cause some major personality changes. As a child one was quiet, withdrawn and a loner. As a teenager one became the proverbial wild child. Most people have a little voice that goes do you really think that is a good idea? If there was one it was on mute... permanently. The difference was that one was as secretive as hell... think that was when the secret squirrel tendencies developed to be honest... and had this rich double life; teenager by day and roaming feral thing by night.

Leaving home at 16 did nothing to improve this at all. There was no thought of consequences. As a teenager and a young adult one partied for days at a time, slept around indiscriminately, hitchhiked everywhere and disappeared for days at a time. All of this was done to the incessant drum beat of just do it, do it. If there are guardian angels... well let’s just say that they got the short straw. There are full time jobs and careers.

Friday, February 18, 2011


You often hear people say that they aren't allowed underwear because their owner wants full unrestricted access... well a c-string is for you

Thursday, February 17, 2011


Standing in front of a stand, wondering what the hell the merchandiser was thinking when they had put some of the items back, a voice from behind says excuse me. It was in a tone that is almost guaranteed to get anyone’s hackles up. Smiling with teeth gently barred and an eyebrow raised in curiosity of both the question and the tone, one turned to greet the customer. She looks embarrassed and flummoxed.  I am so sorry she says obviously thrown. It’s just from behind you look 18.

Now let us pass on the obvious insult implied with that statement... and the fact that as always one’s arse has got us into more difficulty... and let us dwell on the content of that statement. It is OK to speak to people like that because of their age? You go around being a rude obnoxious cunt because people are young? And you wonder why people don't want to serve you? From your apology you obviously understand that your tone is unacceptable so why do it?

So for sales assistants everywhere one got a little revenge. She was charmed and graciously assisted into feeling younger. And her purse was much lighter for the experience might one add. Oh and sweetie... you absolutely can wear that bright metalic blue eye shadow  J  

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Odds and ends

At the gym the other day one was watching a rather muscular bloke training his particularly slender companion. He drops to the floor near a stack of 20 kg weights and says now put one of those on my back while I do the push ups. She looks at the weights nonplussed turns to him and says I can’t lift those in a clear whine. Well how about those he says pointing to the 10kg stack. No, she says... I can lift those she offers helpfully pointing to the 5kg. For one malicious moment the image sprang to one’s mind of him looking to all the world like a human ladybird ... covered in 5kg spots.

Oh and speaking of muscles; for those of you who have such a keen interest in the welfare of a certain bit of anatomy... it is still not happy. In fact when He asked when it was going to be operational one replied never. So tomorrow He chirps. No, like as in never again. You know... no. So we are doing rape fantasies now? Stalking out of the room one didn’t deign to reply. The voice sings out from the bedroom- I can be into that.

Sighs...  the moral here gentle reader is choose your partner wisely.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Creative idea #3

More from Mr. Creativity

We are in the produce section of the supermarket and He turns around and asks what vegetable do you use for sore puffy eyes? Usually cucumbers one replies, distracted at that moment by blueberries. Clicking back into the conversation with undivided attention the connection is made. Jamming a cucumber up there is not going to make it all better. How do you know comes the calm reply? A nice soothing cucumber might be just what your arse needs... I’ll even peel it. What that poor little orifice needs is for Him to stay the fuck away from it...

Monday, February 14, 2011

The best laid plans

We had plans for Valentine’s Day... a rare thing because the cosmos has a tendency to fuck with them at every opportunity. The plan was a simple one; gym, shower, a little light lunch, sexy lingerie (you know stuff without instructions on it), great sex and settle down and watch a movie (Chasing Amy for old time’s sake), probably a little more sex and some sleep. That was the plan. Of course the reality looked way different... more like a reflection in a crazy mirror.

Staggering out in the morning one realised that the place looked like a bomb site... yesterday was wiped out due to a migraine and everything had been dumped everywhere. First one had to do a quick tidy up of the bench to make enough room to make coffee... never a good start to a day. Both of the portable fans packed it in. They have worked just fine for the last 20 years they choose the most humid moment to go heck no. Have you any idea how hard it is to find a fan at this time of the year, particularly after flooding?

It turned into the fan equivalency of a man hunt that He got to do while one was at the gym (now running late might one add). We get home to find an email from His old school chum who is leaving the state and will be in the area... can we do coffee? He writes back, while one makes a quick late lunch, in the hope that it will be too late. His friend, being the spontaneous type, turns up as one is trying to find the couch under the clean laundry that was dumped on it.

We shovel him out the door and go out for coffee. Despite his protestations that we have been to his place and know that he is the worst housekeeper. He might be the worst, but his place usually has the basics for a meal... we had two steaks picked up hastily after the gym. And no sugar because we don’t use it... the friend likes sugar in his coffee.... lots of it.

Crawling home, His asthma playing up from all the talking, our dreams shattered by time constraints, we settle for sex. We are a practical couple. So there one is, on the knees, lubed up and something very large is shoved up the arse. Um what is that? A toy is the smug answer. Yes get that... which one? Does it matter? As it is burning like fuck... yes. It’s one of the black ones. You mean one of the ones that there was that rather bad burning sensation with the last time we tried it? Yes, but I thought we should try it just in case it was a one off thing. Well would you mind pulling it out... the burn is getting rather bad.

He removes it and replaces it with Himself... no need to waste a perfectly nice stretched opening. Besides you want to makes sure whatever allergen is causing the burn gets to as many nerve endings as possible... don’t you? He came with a satisfied grunt and the other one of us repaired to the bathroom to get rid of the sensation anyway one could. The body also assisted anyway it could... brutally efficient cramps as it worked on expelling the irritant. It is now swollen closed and has hung a do not disturb sign on the entrance... which is unfortunate because one suspects the body will not respect its hard limit L

So happy sodding Valentine’s Day gentle readers... and you can stop laughing now. Oh and for those of you who enjoy figging... what the hell is wrong with you people?

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Ships in the night

Message boards are a bit like shipping lanes. We travel along them and occasionally meet people we feel we have a lot in common with. And sometimes we do. There is however another type you meet and what separates them from the rest of the field is intent. The process is similar to how people go about making friends one suspects, but their motives are completely different.

It would be nice to say that being one gender over the other gave you some mysterious protection from this, but it would be a lie. People are pretty equal in this fallible quality... this capacity to believe.  The trouble is that unless you have actually met the person anyone can be anything that they say. And even then some can walk the walk for a while. Now this isn’t a problem unless you have become invested in them emotionally or let them into your lives. Then they have the ability to create havoc and you have given them the power to do so

Getting in through a computer is ridiculously easy in some ways... if you are a bit of a con. You emphasis the things you have in common with the person; oh you did x... me too. The trick is to keep repeating this commonality, especially in the early stages. You want them to feel like they have found a missing link.

Then you move to gifts... they don’t have to be big ones. In fact it is better if they aren’t... less cost to you after all. This establishes a sense of reciprocity... and if you are lucky, well good at your work, the person will send you far more in return. You can drop little hints as to what you need or want... little crumb trails that the other person will scamper along in hot pursuit of.

Now a good con will keep pushing the limits in incremental steps... until you are primed for the big score. By then you are ripe for the pickings... this person is your special one and the only one who can help them is you... and we have all read about the end results of that one. In fact most of us know how the game is played... even if it is on a subconscious level.

The other type of con is a far more insidious one, mainly because they aren’t after you wallet. They want into your life. It fulfils a deep need to be admired, valued and integral to your existence. In truth they probably have some sort of disorder that can be found in some little diagnostic manual.

Their methods are far more calculating... they start as friends. They use little gifts to reinforce the friendship and show that they are benign. When you have a problem they are there to listen and offer sound advice... rather like the parent you wished you had. What they are really doing is undermining your self confidence.

They make you forget that before they came along you were coping just fine. This is done by a subtle means... they offer you strategies to make it better. What they do by this process is transfer your reliance onto them. Before you know it you have a mentor you didn’t know you needed... in fact you aren’t sure how you managed before they came along.

Now obvious issues aside with this type of relationship, where they cause havoc is when they up and leave... often for no discernable reason. In truth of course you have become more work than they are capable of sustaining over time. That or there are so many fires they have an iron in they are just starting to burn out. What they often do is regroup somewhere; sometimes taking a few of the chosen with them... every god needs worshipers after all.

Now all of this is terribly cynical (and in part one is, but also one makes up that tiny percentage of the population knows as INTJ . This stuff is why we creep people out J), but the truth is you all have a magical protection within. It is called a little voice. Listen to the damn thing. Nurture it. Let it out to do its job.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Asking for it

His sense of humour knows no bounds L

Friday, February 11, 2011


People often wondered why a 17 year old would move in with someone in their 60’s and the answer is very simple. He opened the door and the alley cat strolled in. In trading some of the precious youth, which one was squandering shamelessly anyway, one received a high standard of living, world travel and comfort. Living with Hobbit also gave one breathing space and a chance to confront the odd demon.

He was an entrepreneur and ran restaurants, nightclubs and brought the odd show/ performer into the country. All of this is code for he was a bit of a con and knew even more disreputable people than one small teenager. It meant late hours, hanging out with the wrong people (honestly they are the only ones up at 3am) and alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

The drinking started at an early age... the christening to be precise. It was a late christening and probably done at Aunties insistence. That’s what happens when you have C of E god parents; they take it seriously. Anyway at the party everyone put their drinks down on the ground, and one crawled around and imbibed. Not too many people can say they got drunk at their own christening.

By the time one left high school one probably drank too much. In fact one sat more than one final exam drunk. On the bright side it did mean that one was utterly unperturbed by the fact one hadn’t opened a book for the last term. Though looking back it does occasionally make one wonder what would have happened if one had applied a little more... it would probably have been a lot more dull.

At 18 one looked in the mirror one memorable morning and said if you don’t stop drinking you are going to kill yourself. The reflection acknowledged the truth of this and we didn’t touch a drop for two years. It gave a certain clarity to one’s life and made one re-evaluate a lot of things... Sobering up caused the realisation that one didn’t always make good choices... Not that one had any idea how to make good choices, but that is another story.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

On your back

He came home, the clink of the gate alerting one to his arrival. Scampering from behind the computer one slid into a kneeling position near the front door, just in time to greet Him and remove his shoes. Damn that car must be due for a service... it’s running way too quiet. His face had the quietly shattered look of someone who is not well and still unable to get enough oxygen... and withdrawing from a massive Pepsi Max habit to boot.

No beatings today it would seem... which is why it seemed pertinent to enquire if there was compounding interest on this moratorium ‘cos it seemed too good to be true. His face crinkled into a smile as one was informed that indeed that was the case. Sighs it seems so horribly unfair... only one of us is out of action and she is the one getting punished. Oh that’s right... He has the big M so...

Instead one got to offer a small orifice for His pleasure, so lubed up one scampered to the bedroom. Walking into the room He said touch yourself. He stood there near the doorway watching as one spread open and slid a finger along a wet clit. Touch yourself. Put two fingers in it. Touch your breasts. The commands were fired across as the whim took Him. It is a strange and slightly alienating experience to have your body used for someone else’s entertainment like that.

Finally He moved to the bedside as one begged him to be fucked. As one went to roll over He said stay on your back, and grabbing a pillow He pushed it under the hips to raise them to a more convenient angle. Moving one’s legs over his shoulder He manoeuvred himself into his favourite hole. Despite Him moving slowly one let out a yelp... that position is always hurts. He stopped for a minute to let the muscles adjust and one braced against the headboard as He resumed his penetration.

Put your fingers in your cunt He said. As one did this He started to fuck in a slow rhythm. A hand reached down and squeezed a nipple with a vice like grip. How is it that He always manages to hurt them in a way one can never do. Of course that pinch set things in motion and one begged to come. He smiled and said no. Unfortunately He also pinched even harder at that point. Too late, one groaned, as the orgasm rose over all the different types of pain and surged through the body.

Later as we lay there one realised it was time to get ready for work. A fact one bemoaned out loud. He laughed and reached for his beloved doona.

The bastard L

Wednesday, February 9, 2011


A cautionary tale for Dina’s entertainment...
Yesterday the plumber came back. He was here last week because we have ongoing issues with tree roots getting in the plumbing, and eventually the pipes block up and everything has to be snaked out. In addition to needing its annual snaking, the toilet had been making a funny noise when it was flushed... it was the sound you normally hear when you flush a plane toilet. A sort of whooshing sound and half the water disappeared. Apparently what usually causes that noise is one of those toilet fresheners going AWOL in the system, but in this case it was... you guessed it... more tree roots.
This time he was here so that we could get a new toilet installed because the other one had a mysterious crack in it. Oh, not that we didn’t know what caused it... more that it was a large, hard to explain one. There really is no delicate way to say well the x-large rosebud butt plug was in the overhead towel rack, and one forgot it was there and hauled a towel down... and it came too. That was the first crack.
It got much larger the other day when one nipped in to use the facilities (while cooking breakfast), peed and underestimated how much force the body bears down with. The damn njoy shot out like a steel missile and managed to hit the same spot. The crack grew... in a rather alarming manner. The toilet also started to leak... just a little. We took it as a sign from the great plumber in the sky and coughed up for a new one.  All the while looking incredibly vague as to what might have caused the damage.
The moral of this story is that not only is it much safer to pee in a bowl, but that you should hold on to the damn things... they really are slippery little suckers :(
May one just take a moment to also point out that this property doesn’t have a single tree on it...

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Vanilla and geeky

Well it was RPG night and we finally made it. For the first time since before Christmas we managed to get together without one of us cancelling due to illness. Hell we even managed to get a Christmas drink in there as well. In fact the only RPGing done was to decide that the Dr. Who game, that we got as far as rolling characters for, was going to be scrapped in favour of “All for One: Regime Diabolique”.  Who knows we might even get past character generation on this one.

So as we nibbled and drank, the conversation turned to more important matters... an insightful discussion about the merit of Next Gen over DS9 . Topics ranged from why Picard was the best Captain, how the characters were better written, how having someone with acting skills made the rest of the cast up their game. It was agreed that the Ferengi were the best characters in DS9, that Ezri Dax was no match for Jadzia Dax and that the only thing that saved her character was that she was cute, and there was that hot scene with her and bad Kira . Oh it was also agreed that it was nice to see such a loving and warm father son dynamic being portrayed by Sisko and his son.

The Doctor out of Voyager was voted the best Pinocchio character and the least annoying. Seven of Nine and Jadzia were voted the two you would most want to have a threesome with and that lead to a discussion about how much padding was in their costumes.... which lead to a discussion about the effect of the beauty myth on this generation... Seriously this is important stuff... it must be, it filled nearly two hours and some of it was hotly debated.

Personally one is going to do them a favour and lend them Bab5 because they need to see what really good Sci-Fi can look like...

Monday, February 7, 2011

Ruffling feathers

The electrician turned up bright and early to put up the new fan. It looks rather like a large insect flying around, until you realise the blades are made of a wire that is reminiscent of a fishing rod and they have a sail attached to them. It produces the most wonderful breeze and is whisper quiet. See some American companies still produce awesome products, and Hunter is one of them.

When he left there was time for an assortment of meals and we made plans to go to a movie. Seizing an opening, one of us scampered off to bed for a snooze... growing muscle is a serious business. At some stage He must have slipped out leaving one with the worst shows in history and at a volume that was hard to ignore... one kept surfacing to hear snippets... and got glimmerings of why He had left. Though why He hadn’t changed the channel or lowered the volume remains a mystery... one of us is not a bit deaf. Grumble, grumble.

He woke one up by pouncing on one small recumbent form and licking skilfully until one had a nasty, quick little orgasm... they always feel like they are coming out of the back of the head. It is like they don’t get time to come out where they should and just choose the nearest exit. Leaving the bed hastily in case there was more to come, one staggered to the kitchen in search of a caffeine pick up... actually maybe there is method in His madness... it did get one up rather than drifting off repeatedly. After a hasty shower, one threw on some clothes and we were off... to see “Black Swan”.

Now this is a movie that has polarised audiences... mainly one suspects because it is Art House and got a commercial release. To be honest it is more one of those movies that is on the cusp... It is not arty enough for the AH aficionados’ and it is too gritty for the commercial audiences. Nevertheless it is superb, if somewhat confronting and bloody. The only other complaint is that in the dance sequences Natalie Portman has elbows. Do you know after nearly 38 years one can still hear the dance mistress saying dancers don’t have elbows... it is scary the stuff that gets stuck in the back of the mind.

The other complication was that He insisted on carrying out sneak attacks during the movie. You would be entranced and suddenly a hand would be up your skirt while you were pinned in the chair. He was being deliberately annoying because He could... it was like going to the movies with an octopus. One that dealt out three more of those quick little orgasms while one was trying to watch the movie. Honestly He could have done it during the blood scenes when one would have welcomed the distraction, but oh no... That’s not how it works at all.


Sunday, February 6, 2011

Sunday morning

It is 5.30am and a balmy 26 (78.8F) degrees with 94% humidity. By the time you have had a shower and got dressed you are soaking wet... it feels disgusting... and the only relief in sight is the air-conditioned bus ride to work. That has to be the very definition of sad.

Mr. Dapper got on the bus, his sleeves rolled up so one can finally see the brightly coloured tattoo... it is a phoenix. And one noticed that his arms are shaved like his head. It is a bit like Jadzia's spots... you wonder how far the shaving goes. And when did men get so fastidious about hair removal?

Even the baby at work shaves his legs. Well Veet’s them... it’s smoother he assures everyone. It is sometimes on the tip of one’s tongue to point out that hair removal is not going to improve his pasty white, scrawny little chicken legs, until one remembers his natural hair colour. Blinks and calls for eye bleach. Stat!

When did we become so obsessed with personal grooming? Or were we always like this and the advent of American talk show culture has just eroded our boundaries enough, that we have no qualms about sharing this stuff with each other; either by word, picture or show and tell. Honestly one has seen more body parts of the young co-workers than you would expect. Shins, thighs, tummies, backs of necks, tops of bottoms and chests... all these things are covered by your uniforms for a reason. And no, one is not a prude in case you are starting to wonder J

The problem is that just as this generation have no sense of boundaries, they have no qualms with complaining about harassment, if you make them feel uncomfortable. Work has become this intricate dance of stepping around these potential traps. So when they say look at this, as they start hauling up, down or sideways on some item of uniform, one usually says no thank you. Which is, of course, summarily ignored. Maybe one should complain about them... it might stop all this sharing. See that is what is needed; less sharing and more decorum J

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Humour in adversity

Coming home on the bridge (still down to one lane each way and will be for a while to come) you cross over the river that caused so much damage to the local area. The water has finally receded to normal levels, revealing a small island on one side of it made out of smooth rounded river stones. Some wag has put up a set of patio furniture, obviously retrieved from the river judging by its colour, in a friendly little tableau upon it. All that is needed is a couple of eskies and it will be complete.

It is this manifestation of humour that has gotten Australians through some horrific times in the past and will continue to do so now. We have places that are water logged, flattened, without power and economically devastated. There are people who are homeless, destitute and now unemployed as people are getting laid off left right and centre due to businesses going under, literally and figuratively. This is just the beginning of what is going to be a very grim time for all Australians because the flow on effects will be felt by each and every one of us in some way.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Goodbye inspiration

Chatting to one of the guys at the gym yesterday morning, it came up that he was leaving to move to another gym. As he has been a long term member one was intrigued enough to ask why he was going. It seems he doesn’t like the way the ethos of the place is developing... too much emphasis on bulk and too much steroid use... including use by one of the trainers. Now making an educated guess as to which one, it is no surprise.

Honestly you don’t bounce back from that much injury and in his chosen branch of interest (sports) any other way. Well not and keep studies and a job on the go at the same time. So knowing all of this information one was a little surprised at his stance... he’s not naive. Chatting more it turned out his concern is the amount of young people in the place who are going too far, too fast. He thinks seeing all the muscle around them encourages them to make poor choices, with no thought to the long term outcome*. They just want instant gratification and to see big results.

Purists... you meet them everywhere... and to be honest one is inclined to agree with him on this point. Mind you one is also disturbed by the advent of the exercise anorexics. You see them doing hours on the X-trainer as they hunt down the last molecule of fat in their body. Seriously, your upper arm is not meant to be the same size as your wrist, when your wrist is that small.

The thing is one will miss him. Occasionally you meet someone who truly inspires you... At a gym you meet the strong, the fit, the agile, the muscular and occasionally someone who is so fit and strong they are marvels, and he is one of them. Anyone who can do push ups while balance on three dumbbells is worthy of a little respect. To be able to do his gruelling workout and then run on a X-trainer for an hour, while holding a weight at an angle, is impressive. To be able to do this in your 60’s is gobsmacking.

The reason he does this? He does long distance touring on a bike... the peddle kind. To have that much working muscle, as opposed to bulk or the lean muscle usually found on distance riders is rare. Usually the body eats everything in its relentless pursuit of fuel. The man is testament to good genes and hours and hours of hard work... and probably an enormous food bill.

So one will mourn his moving on; though one understands only too well his reasons. He was an inspiration to those of us who don’t want a quick fix solution. Those of us who admire how far you can push a human body, fuelled by protein and the liberal application of caffeine... your starting to see why this guy was a role model aren’t you? Says the girl sipping morning mouse...

*In case you are wondering what the big deal is...
Steroid aided growth in a man has a similar effect to pregnancy and breastfeeding in a woman. When you grow that fast, the skin doesn’t have time to stretch and that is how you get stretch marks. Also anything that gets built up has to be built down afterwards. Either way you need to do a lot of work to mitigate the side effects otherwise you run to flab, or worse the skin collapses. There is nothing less attractive on a man, than a chest that has collapsed downwards because there is no muscle holding it up and out.

Now the peacocks know this and accept it. Most of them have been doing it a long time and have shaped and reshaped enough to know the issues. They also have the time, they are not about to be hit with the complications of life, jobs, relationships and children. Time suckers, each and every one of them that conspire to mean less time to go to the gym and / or play sport for these fledgling users. If they are still in the gym 30 years hence more power to them but... shrugs

Thursday, February 3, 2011


He is still as sick as a dog and opted for breathing over beating this Thursday. Must not appear too gleeful, must not appear... Anyway one thought instead one would bring you a sneak peek into the inner geek and introduce you to the very first crush one ever had...
Of course one had no idea she was having it off with the blonde bitch in blue...

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Getting off

We have boxes of toys under the bed, many of them used once or not at all. The reason is that He likes to try things and often buys them faster than we have time. Also, vibrators kinda leave one cold. They always seem to buzz at the wrong speed, even when it is variable, they don’t touch where they should (we are not all anatomically the same), they feel nowhere near as good as the real thing... you are getting the idea. Mostly they are just noisy and annoying.

The notable exception to them is the Hitachi Magic Wand, which can do no wrong. Except to get one to work here it has to be attached to a big arsed transformer which goes with it everywhere... it is like the third wheel on a date. So He found a little Aussie cousin, the Medisil Magic Touch which needs no such accompaniments, and comes with a generous 2 meter power cord. Now it is damn near identical to its Hitachi rival, though one suspects it vibrates slightly differently. It is not enough to be off putting, more one of those things you notice when something is jammed up against your genitals... all those nerve endings can’t be wrong.

So after He had cum in one’s arse with a brisk efficiency (while one was in the shower), it was a nice surprise to see it on the bed when one wandered in a bit later seeking the air-con. It was sporting its little blue g-spot stimulator no less (which we hadn’t got around to trying before). See sometimes good girls are rewarded... well it was the hope at any rate. No guarantees around here... no trust issues either.

Before one could check the terms and conditions, it was slid into the vagina and buzzing merrily away. And with similar speed one was face down with Him mounting up from behind. The last thing one heard was Him saying that the vibrations felt very good... Then all one could hear was the sound of one begging Him to fuck harder, and really, really meaning it.

As He rose to the challenge, no doubt driven on by the begging and the vibrations, one launched into a screaming orgasm that came in waves that synced up to the vibrations. To be honest it took a while to have the brains to turn the damn thing off... it really needs some sort of failsafe on it. It’s not like you are exactly responsible enough to be in charge of machinery at that point.

You know sometimes one does wonder what people think when they pass our place... they probably just run, wishing to assorted deities that they hadn’t chosen that route back from the beach.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Free to do what...

Yes gentle readers the collar is off. Why you may be asking. Well in this climate, at this time of the year, it hits about 89% humidity and it is like walking around in a steam bath. Not quite raining, but there is a permanent mist all around you. Everything grows some little member of the fungus family including your leathers and skin (if you don’t keep on top of it) simply because it is moist the whole time. Now as a person one doesn’t have any reactions to any type of metal, but just as rings will give you a rash underneath them so will the collar.

So here one is... uncollared. And it is very freeing. There is no being grabbed by it, there is no sound of tinking, there is no weight reminding you continually, you can put on moisturiser unimpeded... it is bliss. Sighs in luxurious pleasure.
For those of you who lust after a locking collar one has compiled a little list of things to think about before one snaps around your neck and it is too late.
·         They are heavy; about 225gms (8oz)
·         When worn long term they will leave an indent on your neck just like a ring will
·         Some people can have an allergic reaction to the nickel components of the stainless steel
·         They get in the way of simple things like applying moisturiser
·         They need to come off for things like x-rays of anything above the nipples
·         They have to come off for MRIs
·         Yes a drop of glue in the locking mechanism is hot... getting the damn thing cut off is not
·         You will never be able to sneak anywhere ever again... without a lot of practise
·         They are way too easy to grab and people will not save you... don’t underestimate the Bystander effect
·         They are hot... But you can wear one in a sauna unlike silver
·         They mean that you can kiss off most of the contents of your jewellery box... you know how they always say take off one item before you go out the door? The collar is not that item L
·         The public has no boundaries and you will get every BDSM reference they can think of, and they think nothing of making a grab for the damn thing
·         In a subtropical/ tropical climate they can be miserable at certain times of the year

Viva la revolucion!