Thursday, March 31, 2011

Fallen comrades

As one has said before the trouble with getting older is that you forget things. Memories become kaleidoscopes of colour and impressions that fade a little more with each passing day. Personally one doesn’t have a problem with this on some levels... actually most levels to be honest. He thinks it is good to remember things... a bit like exercise for the memory in some ways.

Oh don’t get one wrong, one does realise that most people remember their past, particularly significant events... it seems horribly overrated in some ways. Those boxes are there for a reason and yes the base level of mild anger that one operates from probably is unresolved grief, but one is not convinced that talk therapy works either. The trouble is that although a good time was had by all, some didn’t make it. Sue was one of those.

She was with Hobbit from an early age, a glorious redhead with an engaging manner and an impish sense of humour. Although he adored her they parted. She wanted marriage, children, a home and a white picket fence while he did not. In the end they went their separate ways though like most of his exes they stayed in touch... It was a bit like being a clan member in some ways, all held together by the shared experience of him.

We hung out together, vetted his new girls, sunbathed together and went out. One night a gentleman came up to us and asked to speak to Mrs. Hobbit. There was a peal of laughter and a voice quipped- which one? There are about seven of us in this room tonight. He wanted the original one; an interesting tale in her own right for another time...

Unfortunately living with Hobbit had given Sue a taste for a lifestyle she couldn’t afford. She decided to make the most of her assets and went on the game. The idea was to make her money and run. Of course she spent it faster than even she could make it... furniture, furs and a powder blue sports car that had an automatic roof that would never work when it rained.

When one met her it was ten years on... a long time on the game. She was still glorious, but the alcoholism was taking its toll. Her life was complicated by the fact that her mother had died of  Huntingtons disease. As there was a sister she had a 50/50 chance of having it. Sue wouldn’t get tested... she always knew it was her that had it. She drank to forget; unfortunately combined with her fondness of diet pills it made her volatile... fine and giggly to homicidal in half a glass.

We were home one night when she rocked up sporting a bottle and a black eye. The first she had grabbed on the way. The latter was from her then boyfriend. It turned out she had gone for him with a carving knife and it was the only way he could stop her. That relationship ended with her tipping all his belongings off the balcony of the flat, and her molotoving the lot.

She drifted off into her own world, lost to all of us. We would get the odd message. Like the time a taxi driver turned up with her beautiful silver fox coat. Apparently she couldn’t pay the fare and had told him to take it to Hobbits. She was kicked out of her flat and lived here and there. The last Hobbit heard was from her father; he had her in and out of rehab and care places, but finally she checked herself out.

Sue died alone in a park of complications from Huntington’s disease and exposure. She was 38.

And for years one was so pissed at Hobbit for his hand in all of this and at all of us for not taking better care of her, but the young are judgmental and the old know you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011


Out grocery shopping the other day one was happily engaged in apple selection when one glanced up to see Him fossicking in vegetables. It gave one an uneasy pause. He looked at one across the bins and noticing one had assumed a pose that probably resembled a prairie dog, a smirk flitted across his face. None of which allayed the sense of unease that was emanating from a certain part of the anatomy.

Scampering to join Him the heart sank when the worst fears were confirmed. He was handling cucumbers... and not in same way a cook does. Finally He selected one and popped it in the shopping trolley. It is amazing, but when one goes looking for a decent sized cucumber there is never one to be found. Unfortunately He didn’t seem to have encountered that problem at all... in fact the damned thing looked like it had been pumped with growth hormones L
Now you are probably wondering what this has to do with the knickers shot aren’t you. Well for the odd ghoul and ghouleh (yes they are gender specific) amongst you, it’s your substitute. Unfortunately when we hopped into bed... one of us with more trepidation that the other... we realised He was actually shattered and at that moment one’s blood pressure decided to take a nose dive. The end result was the two of us laying there making vague commitments to next week.

 Wonder if He would like to curl up in the car while one does the grocery shopping for the week... and more importantly... does anyone have a recipe that needs an enormous cucumber?

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Mirror, mirror

Peering in the mirror with a mild sense of dissatisfaction one turned and said the trouble with working out is you start to notice how asymmetrical a body is. He gave that blank look that women, regardless of relationship style, recognise. It is the one that says why are you talking in tongues? So with resigned patience one pointed out to Him that one side of the hips are noticeably higher than the other. He repeated the blank look. OFFS come here to the mirror.

He dutifully trotted over with the other look women the world over recognise. It was the look of it will just be easier to humour the mad woman. After one carefully pointed out the issue He repeated the blank look with a puzzled frown wrinkling the forehead... and the sideways look that signals He is obviously talking to a completely irrational person. And then it clicked why we were having a communication issue.

Not only was one standing there naked, but there was a bald pussy between the hips. So the process was going something like this; look at one hip, eyes move to the right and hit the pussy. Pause... now what was she saying... oh right... the hip. Eyes go to the other hip. By which time there is no memory of the original hip at all. See the truth of the matter is that men and women do not see a naked body the same way at all.

Women have a tendency to look at body parts in a disconnected from the whole kind of way. We run a critical eye over each part individually. Men on the other hand seem to see the whole. And if it is naked, they see the whole in terms of potential. And frankly the closer they seem to be to the naked whole, the less they tend to be critical. The obvious solution to this is that one needs to wear clothes more often... that should work.

Monday, March 28, 2011

The whole submissive thing

There is an ongoing debate on Fet about submission. While some would say that you have to be submissive to be a slave, others would debate that loud and long. Now generally one just doesn’t join in these debates... in part they are usually not in groups one wishes to be a member of and well... ones view on the topic is usually not warmly received. It would be fair to say it usually upsets people no end.
So for the record... why one will never be considered submissive by anyone who actually knows one small slave.
The whole submissive thing just requires a different type of person than one will ever be. As far as one is concerned submissive is a personality trait. It indicates a person who is malleable or at least docile and yielding. It is a sad fact the only time one even comes close to it is when He has jammed something so large up ones arse that it is temporarily taking one’s breath away. The rest of the time... well... one accedes to His wishes and not always gracefully, though one does try to curb the worst excesses. OK it is often mid stride, but at least one gets that behaviour is wrong and there is a desire to change it.
Even at work one tends to scrape along the edge of things. Just ask any manager that has ever had the pleasure of coexisting. In fact the only thing that saves the work relationship is that usually one works in corners of places they are happy to avoid. It means we have less contact time and they don’t get to experience how twooly difficult one can be. Even with customers that whole agreeable thing is used to up sales... it is a tool not a state of mind.
The school of thought that one’s persona is a way of hiding the soft inner side, that is just waiting for the right man to bring out, is almost as laughable as the Walt Disney version of "Sleeping Beauty". That is not to say one doesn’t try to be more agreeable for Him... one is acutely aware that He deserves the best one can be. Being in love makes one strive for this as much as any desire for harmony. Not to mention a whole raft of avoidance behaviours... there is a healthy respect there J
None of this makes one submissive though.... not even close. And He comes closer to inspiring it than anyone. Mind you as He says it is a bit like the concept behind "A Clockwork Orange"... you can make someone good, but if they have no free will are they really good or just broken? Submission is not some lofty goal for Him. Sighs you know one can just feel that good slave award slipping a little further away...

Sunday, March 27, 2011


At the moment they are doing a massive refurbishment of the local shopping precinct. The trouble with all the apartments going in is that the shops are a melange of 30’s and 40’s architecture. Small grimy places configured in strips along two parallel roads. Hardly the salubrious area needed for such luxury to nestle in.

So the council is doing its bit by ripping up all the streets and paving to replace them with cleaner looking concrete. It is going to take $20 mil and a year to complete. And despite all that expenditure there is not going to be so much as one extra parking space... something the area desperately needs. Which you have to admit is an impressive bit of planning, even for a council.

Travelling through the area is like traipsing through roadwork hell. Traffic has been redirected along impossibly narrow streets... which probably looked fine on paper. The dust settles everywhere and the noise is abominable. You can’t get to the shops without stepping through the rubble or walking out of your way to use the access points.

The area comprises of small businesses; ice-cream shops, outdoor cafes and restaurants, takeaways and boutiques and specialty shops. All of these rely heavily on the summer and tourist trade to get them through winter. So of course the council started the work just before Christmas. And of course rather than doing the area piecemeal, which would have allowed the businesses to continue, they have tackled all the area at once thereby maximising the damage.

The shops are doing their arse. When you see large handwritten signs in their windows extolling people to support their business you know that things are grim. By the time the council has finished we calculate the only things left will be The Coffee Club, The Hogs Breath, The Rustic Olive and the Wholesale Pharmacy. Mainly because they have an evening trade, which might be enough to offset the fact you can’t frequent them during the day due to the noise and dust. Mind you it hasn’t been enough to save one of the pubs... who ever heard of a pub closed on a Tuesday night in Australia.

On the bright side the area will have the cohesive appearance the council was aiming for. It will be a swish looking area, with an occupancy rate that will be equal that of the luxury apartments... somewhere in the vicinity of 30%. It will be the dawning of a new age for the area. An area that one whit has dubbed Deadcliffe. Perhaps there will be enough left over for a new sign...

Saturday, March 26, 2011


Lately they keep turning up everywhere... in fabrics and jewellery designs. With a steady persistence and increasing numbers they tap away at the psyche. The other day at the gym (which is on the second story of a shopping centre) was the first time one noticed them in person. They floated and flittered on the air currents; all glitter and movement.

Now the ground is swarming with them. You have to step through clouds of them as you walk to the bus stop. And as you walk it is impossible to distinguish between shadow and substance as they zip about in the dappled light coming through the trees. All you can do is trust that they will dart away at the last minute, thereby saving them from destruction.

The very first time one saw a dragonfly was a wondrous moment. Father was home and had been roped into some school excursion by mother and one was taken as well. There it perched on the bush as though aware it was a source of delight to one small child. It had a large striped body in orange and black, with clear blue tinged wings and it was huge. That dragonfly was built for distance and in hindsight one suspects it was not native to the area, but blown in by some freak air current.

Ever since then one has had a certain fondness for them... they are a sort of totem creature. Only a shoephile would choose a predatory insect... why settle for two or four legs when you can have six with a keen sense of the hunt. They have a tendency to turn up when life is in a state of flux or about to take an unexpected turn. Perhaps it is time to take a step into the unknown and dust off the resume.

Something closer to home would be nice. Something that doesn’t involve travel over that damn bridge, which has been condemned, would be smart... ‘cos one suspects that is going to cause delays in the future.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Situation normal

When you live something it becomes normal. You accept it, incorporate it and don’t think about it... well not much. It isn’t until you encounter others and their views that you look at your own. To one small slave our life is quite normal. Well it is our reality... how else is it going to feel?

It isn’t until someone starts a thread, like MT did about privacy, that you sort of stop and go... but everyone pees in a bowl don’t they? Just like everyone’s nails, hair and clothing are dictated by their owner’s preference. And all owners snoop through your mail, peer inside you with speculums and bright lights, take pics of you in compromising positions and enjoy posting them in semi-public places. Actually they don’t ‘cos it depends on what the person in charge is into, but it makes you stop and go- oh OK.

You might know in the rational part of the mind that we are all different, but it is often a surprise just how different we are. And it makes you feel a little more of a freak and disconnected from everyone. This sense of alienation is one of the reasons why many owners are in two minds about letting their property on boards. They are a double edged sword in many ways. Yes you get to reach out and touch others similar to yourself, but there is a price. It makes you question the nature of your reality and it sows little seeds of dissent and envy...

Whines they get to use a toilet all the time... L

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Odds and sods

Going past the office to the bathroom a voice says I like your post. What did you like... the bit about losing the capacity for speech? Yes. You know that was the bit one thought you might find rather disturbing. No, and it is much less messy than gags. Owners... everyone of them a bloody comedian L

As one steps in the shower He appears in the doorway. I want to see you pee and how it is coming on. Um wasn’t planning on peeing... having gone just before when He allowed one to use the facilities while cooking breakfast. Oh that is unfortunate was the reply... in that tone... you know the one. It was enough to produce an unsteady stream that proved one still has no directional aim whatsoever. See that whole peeing while standing is not easy for some of us... in this case made more complicated by the fact that the urethral opening is tucked a little further in the vagina than you see in those pictures. Which is unfortunate in a person owned by someone who likes watersports... and taking pictures of the process.

Later in the bedroom, where one had retreated to cool off after the shower... the aircon was on for Him in readiness for his going to bed... He pounced. Licking one to a quick and unceremonious orgasm, He hoisted one’s legs over his shoulders and forced into an agreeably wet hole up to his balls and proceeded to fuck in long deep strokes. Laying there pinned to the bed one started to go along for the ride. Right up until the pain started to make an incessant incursion into the process. Oww, fuck that hurts forced its way through the lips.

Still sore He enquired solicitously. Yes, and it is not getting any better doing this one grumbled in reply. Oh well He said cheerfully... He had already cum... guess you aren’t getting a second orgasm and with that He hopped off. Leaving one there in the wet spot, sore, aroused and starting to run late for work... again.

Later as one was scampering around tossing clothes into the bedroom so one can get dressed for work, He sings out that He would like a hand job before one goes. It seems that He sleeps better after an orgasm... though why it couldn’t be after the first one rather than the second escapes one completely. Oh right that would be convenient for one small slave. Mutters there is no fair in this relationship at all... er one has mentioned that horny doesn’t always improve the disposition... right?

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Nothing to see here folks

Move along...
Things are still swollen shut.
Though we did try a little vanilla sex... and as He pulled one onto him it was enough to make the eyes water. He sniggered like he had done a good job.

Pain is a funny thing; it is supposed to be the bodies way of warning you that you are doing it wrong or at least that there is something wrong. The trouble is that when the endorphins are kicking around all of that warning system gets a little screwed up. Those sensations get morphed into pleasure or overridden by it and you have no idea that you are being hurt. And even if one is aware sometimes the voice just goes.

There is the odd time when one is literally rendered speechless during pain. It is the strangest feeling. The mouth opens and all that comes out are little guttural sounds that are completely indistinguishable from pleasure. Now we don’t have a safe word and before you get al antsy about that it wouldn’t do any good. If one can’t say ouch that hurts, then one can hardly say fuck off... or whatever the word may be.

Meh, if this stuff was simple any fool would be doing it... ooops J

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

About last night

Well a picture paints a thousand words so...

One down

Three to go

One left

Working on it

All done

The implement:
  • Rascal Strapping Balls;
  • The balls are hand-blown solid glass held together by a medical grade silicone strap which can also be removed for thorough cleaning. Both of these materials are durable, non-porous and phthalate free as well.
  • Approximately 15.25 inches in total length, 11.5 inches are insertable, with each ball being 5.75 inches in circumference and 1.83 inches in diameter.

  • It was the best sensation ever
  • Even that nasty cane thing wasn’t too bad
  • The balls pop out of the strapping for easy cleaning
  • Would so do it again and again and again
  • It made you feel stuffed to the gills
  • It hurt
  • Being fucked while stuffed with the balls was amazing
  • It was the most intense erotic sensation to date... bring on the colon snake

  • The arse was in no mood to let go so getting them out was fun... in the end it was easier to squat and let gravity assist
  • The way to do this was the red toy first in addition to an arse fucking... not a fast process
  • We didn’t get to try the red toy... it is going to be used later... much later one suspects L

Monday, March 21, 2011

Why the city is unsafe

Look what followed us home...

This is not going to be pretty...

Stay tuned...

Is nothing sacred?

Every once in a while they feel obliged to regurgitate some bit of one’s childhood. Occasionally they do OK, most of the time it just leaves a bitter taste in the mouth. Other times you look at it and go why? In this case it is more what the fuck!

We were driving along, to take the car back to the mechanics... again... when He turns around and says I must show you the new Wonder Woman. Whoa back up... what do you mean the new Wonder Woman... there is only one. Oh they are redoing the TV series... it is going to be darker and less camp. Though they are keeping the invisible plane. Yeah, sounds waaay less camp already. There are pictures up of the star wearing the costume... I’ll show you when we get home.

Now the thing you have to understand here is that while other little girls had pictures of rock stars adorning their walls and crushes on assorted male stars, one small slave was jonesing for Her. She was the most fabulous thing on legs... and a great pair they were. Plane not withstanding... that invisible plane thing just didn’t have wings even to a tweenie... seriously if we could see her sitting there flying anyone could have... she was a glorious creature. Your first crush always is... they become enmeshed in your psyche.

So it was with complete horror that one viewed this... On the bright side they did get someone tall... she is about 5 11. She is brunette... at the moment. From there on in... it is just wrong. For fucks sake what have they dressed her in? It looks like stripper 101... Shiny, tawdry, cheap... actually that is an insult to strippers. Why are her legs blue? And her bracelets are a different colour. OK the change in hair style, one can cope with... just. But what the fuck... her boots are meant to be red! Red dammit... was that so hard to get right? Were you hopping that we wouldn’t notice that her legs are blue?

Rocks gently... no good will come of this L

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Spare the rod

There is a school of thought in BDSM that corporal punishment doesn’t work and that if you can’t control your slave by any other means... well you are doing it wrong. And to a certain extent they may have a point... you always need more than one arrow in your arsenal. Besides some do have a thing for physical punishment and it can put you in an awkward position of how much is too much. Slippery slopes... you have to love them.

The thing is corporal punishment does have an upside... particularly amongst the non-masochistic. Unlike some seem to believe, you don’t have to beat the person into a bloody insensate state on a regular basis. In the time we have been together He has only delivered one serious spanking and it was done with his bare hand. This in hindsight is probably a testament to His incredible patience and capacity to take long view... ‘cos one can be kinda aggravating at times.

Now, one can’t remember what the beating was for. That is the downside of physical punishment, especially when combined with a capacity to forget... the mind will protect itself. It did leave an indelible print that if really pushed He is more than capable of going on the offensive. At the back of the mind that knowledge is there, and there is no desire for a repeat performance. Fear does breed respect... or at least a healthy level of avoidance which is all you need for behaviour modification.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Sting like a bee

Why one small slave will never qualify as a masochist...
Well apart from a natural dislike of pain of course...

A certain person, who shall remain nameless, started a thread in our group about marks. Reading the answers made one cringe... and that was before they got the knives out. No masochistic tendencies here. At all.

Now, He does the odd thing that leaves a bruise... there is a corker on the arm at the moment... right on the bicep and it hurts like a bitch. His response to them is interesting. He looks at them with a clinical, almost academic interest and denies causing them. To be honest one remains unsure if this is His way of protecting himself from the reality of what he has done, or whether He regards it as practise should he ever be asked by an outsider. And He won’t say... just carries on denying it was him.

Personally one is just relieved He doesn’t want to take more ownership of the marks ‘cos the gamut of sensations one doesn’t like is extensive... and added to on a regular basis. Sharpies and pointies... shudder. Stingy things... hell no. Being slapped... yeah not a favourite... which is a shame ‘cos He loves the sound it makes. That double handed slap on one small slave’s prone arse is almost a trademark manoeuvre L

Some of you are probably reading this and feeling the same way about anal sex and nipple torture. Hell some of you probably wouldn’t enjoy being in pain from going to the gym either. We are all different, so while one always identifies as not masochistic, it would be more honest to say that one is more masochistic than some. Him for example...

He doesn’t like pain at all, in fact one suspects there isn’t an endorphin produced in his body. Which is OK, ‘cos the extra probably got sent to one small slave. He hates having his arse slapped... or any other part of him for that matter. The difference is that when He says no, one is supposed to respect it. Grumbles which hardly seems fair... ‘cos while one might not be much of a masochist, there are sadistic tendencies... lots of them.

Friday, March 18, 2011

A tightening grip

The collar which was removed a while ago due to the weather, is back on and it has developed a death grip. The trouble with putting on muscle is that it goes on in strange places. Put on shoulder and you get neck muscle as well. Even with back to back programmes and high reps the body is slowly increasing in girth... the joy of that bit of extra testosterone in the body thanks to the PCOS.

So this will be the second collar in the last two years alone. It will make a total of three to date. Not quite the glamorous, romantic notion portrayed by statements like “collared for life” is it L However it is the reality and something to think about when you select a collar*. If your slave exercises you might like to hold off on that expensive custom made job in favour of something a little more budget conscious.

Meanwhile the damn thing is choking one small slave. It is like having His hand wrapped permanently around one’s throat...err no it doesn’t make one feel more owned in case you were wondering. And it is not the least bit sexy... well maybe a little sexual if one thinks about it... very hard. Mostly though it is annoying and the overwhelming desire is to find an Allen key. Bad slave, must stop having these thoughts, must stop having...

* Generally you buy these types of collars ½-1 inch bigger than you need. An inch is preferable for anyone who exercises... you need room to flex a shoulder and the attending neck muscles.

Thursday, March 17, 2011


He got one in the shower this morning... pulling open the door and standing there masturbating while He watched one liberally applying soap to the body. Grabbed by the hips one was pinned against the wall. Please be gentle was forced from ones lips like an involuntary exhale. No, I don’t think so He replied as He roughly forced his way in one’s arse. All the squeals of pain were to no avail as He took what he wanted. He came with one last vicious upward thrust and left one propped against the wall... too stunned to move.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

For MsSparkles

Although one was not dragged out in the wind and the rain like you hoped...

It was pre-mouse...

So you will understand when one says this is for you... it is a tad literal

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Vanilla and bratty

The plan was to watch a movie rather than RPGing... mainly because one of our group is insisting on being a pain in the arse in regards to their character... there is always one L The idea was to use the movie as a training tool to get everyone on the same page. Now we knew that she would be difficult... part of the issue is that she hates playing a male character and she is utterly incapable of playing a strong one. Her lackey, instead of being useful, has ended up hopelessly in love with his master and phobic about breaking a nail.

Needless to say one knocked him unconscious last game because he was a danger to us all. This does not bode well for the rest of the game. So movie... some subtle prompts... they needed to see what the  riding at zero they all took, to trade up on other skills, was going to look like... it looks like a jostling sack of spuds with wings for the record... before they get clever ideas about their abilities. There were some fabulous examples of failed acrobatics and firing as well... and all of it reinforces why you really want to be a male character in this game.

She performed like a trained seal. First she openly declared she wasn’t going to watch it... not a great movie watcher so we had anticipated that move. Then she was going to talk all the way through it. A declaration of bad intent was made... it went on for ages. Honestly this is from a 30 something woman with two children... and she is bright... scary bright. So one ignored her and laid out little treats to nibble during the movie, made sure they were in easy reach of her husband (a huge movie buff by the way) and we started.

Eventually she came out of the study to join us... food treats work for almost anything. She lay on the couch pretending to sleep... we ignored her and chatted about the relevance of the movie to the game. She tossed and turned... we ignored her some more. Her husband looked worried. We ignored him too. He got with the program and settled into snacks and a fun movie. She pouted quietly... the way a dog does when you won’t go to bed on time.

Honestly the whole thing was an eye opener. For starters one can’t imagine living with someone who is so resistant to trying things. Secondly it is exhausting... utterly, utterly exhausting to deal with someone who is like this. How on earth do you live with someone who acts this way? Oh right you deal with them by giving in and taking the path of least resistance or you enjoy it in some way. You would have to; they have been together for as long as we have.

The thing is through the lens of this relationship... because it does colour everything... you can’t help but wonder why people get off on brats. Hell you can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t take charge of this behaviour and corrected it permanently. LOL... one did say living in a BDSM relationship colours everything right? Everyone is fair game, even your Tuesday night vanillas.


In case you have ever wanted some insight into what He is into and like a visual medium... He can be found here. It gives you an idea what He finds interesting and a glimmering of how twooly geeky He is J

Monday, March 14, 2011

Up with the lark

There He was, as one stumbled past, in sneakers all ready to go walkies and enquiring if one would like to join. Unfortunately having used a face preparation the night before, that needed to be taken off before sunblock could be liberally applied, there wasn’t enough time as the sun was coming up... how terribly disappointing. So as He shot out the door one scampered back to bed for another hour of snoozing. It was blissful and surprisingly guilt free...

Later that morning one drifted past the office in search of a shower. Come here He said from behind the desk. Stand there, He indicated with a point at a space within easy reach. Pinch your nipples. He slapped the legs apart with nasty sharp little blows. His fingers probed between lips, sliding back and forth. As one tried to wriggle away He said swap and applied a vice like grip on the nipples until one begged to be let go.

Scampering off to the shower with relief proved to be no refuge. One of those horrible cum enemas with soap as a lube, that sting like a bitch for hours afterwards, was administered while one was happily preoccupied in the shower with the art of getting clean.  For the rest of the day we slothed around, delighting in not having to go anywhere or do anything in particular. In fact the achievement for the day was that a little housework was done in between catching up on some TV.

Unfortunately it was also concentrate on the nipples day. At one stage they were reefed from His grasp with a firm no. He pounced, countering that His yes trumped any no. And for the rest of the evening the breasts were squeezed, pinched and slapped along with the nipples. So much for that consent shit that people keep going on about. Sighs people are such liars... L

When the movie finished He sighed with exhaustion and said He was going to sleep... He has been bounced in for a short early shift at work tomorrow... leaving one plugged, aroused and more than a little miffed. Sexual arousal doesn’t always improve the disposition at all for the record. In fact it can make a girl downright crabby.


Sunday, March 13, 2011

Breakfast... and not a Tiffany’s in sight

Seated at the usual table for breakfast, tackling bacon, eggs, toast and coffee, one watched the other regulars trickle in. People are creatures of habit and most have preferred seats, breakfasts and companions. And the odd couple are no exception. If people were dogs they would be the greyhound and the English bulldog. She is all soft grey and caramel colours, long lean muscles and graceful form. He is short of stature with a pugnacious jowled face, broad shouldered and lean of hip, and carrying the fat around the middle that is common with that body shape.

You couldn’t get a more disparate couple if you had picked them at random and shoved them together. And they are together and have been for some time is one’s pick. They have that familiarity of long acquaintance... there is no consulting of the others needs as they know them. Watching them one also surmises that it is a good relationship. Talking to each other in an animated fashion over breakfast, there is a lot of encouraging body language and mirroring going on... all positive signs.

In spite of all these indicators of togetherness one can’t help but wonder, what made her look down at him from her lofty height and think there is the dog I want to share a kennel with. There are theories that we choose people who will compliment a gene pool; they bring something to the table that is desired or lacking in some way. If that is the case then what made squat and pugnacious desirable to her? Maybe he has hidden talents or maybe she chose him for the same reason we do any family pet... he had an engaging manner and a nice nature.

Saturday, March 12, 2011


Age is a funny thing... it might get us all, but it does not have an even hand. At work one meets a lot of octogenarians and there is often quite a disparity between them. Two examples are women that cruise one’s aisles at work on a regular basis. As examples they could not be further apart.

The first one, well two really as they are sisters, come in dolled up to the nines. Both are as tiny and frail as little birds under their dresses. And the makeup is plied with a generous hand which can be attributed to failing eyesight. Yet they are with us as testimony to modern medication and aides... and a keen interest in others.

The other customer bristles with vitality. She doesn’t look a day over 60, is on no medication, walks every day at a pace few can match (mall walkers), and still plays tennis regularly. She never watches TV except in the evenings, and does volunteer work because as she says- it is good to have an interest in something other than yourself.

The major difference between these two examples, other than slightly superior genes, is exercise. The sisters never really did it, except shopping which they should get a medal for... they are keen shoppers. Unlike the other lady who has been physically active all her life. Her list of past physical interests is long and varied... actually it is a little exhausting to listen to, and she must have been damned hard to keep up with J

Now what has this got to do with this relationship you may be wondering. Well the weather is getting cooler and before much longer He is going to be dragging one out of bed... literally... to go walkies in the pre-dawn light. So when one is scampering along... pre-coffee mind you... one is going to try and keep that second woman in mind. It has to be more positive than the slightly homicidal thoughts that usually accompany one small and frankly under caffeinated slave.

See sometimes being led by example is not enough... you need to find inspiration in other places J

Friday, March 11, 2011

Binary states

Why obey or leave wouldn’t work for us

Ultimately the biggest problem one has always seen with an “obey or leave” dynamic is that it is a binary state... an either or option. It hangs there over the relationship rather like the Sword of Damocles. Failure on the slave’s part will result in the demise of the relationship. It puts an awful lot of onus on the slave... and it means the slave can effectively terminate the relationship... with one simple act... disobedience.

Now, one can see the appeal of such an arrangement. It means that the owner does not become a slave to the enslavement process. And for a slave it provides the security of knowing that the buck stops with them. It is like an honour system in many ways. You make a commitment and you keep it.

The trouble with all of this, as one sees it, is that if for some reason the shit hits the fan... there isn’t a lot of wriggle room because ultimately the slave has to make an either or choice. They obey or leave... and often choices aren’t that simple. Mainly one suspects because honourable people are honourable across the spectrum... not just to one person alone. Somewhere along the line things are going to have to be prioritised... and someone has to lose.

In all of this the other problem one has with “obey or leave” is that it just pushes all the wrong buttons. When confronted with an ultimatum one will walk. Even if it means surgically removing a body part to do it. There is a long history of severed hearts (usually theirs) to bear witness to that fact.

Personally... if it works for the people concerned more power to you... one will stick to the “can’t leave” spectrum. It might not get you perfect obedience, it might get bloody, sometimes one might have the odd suicidal moment of “make me” and you might have to up your game occasionally. But dammit you have a lot more possibilities. Besides... flutters eyelashes... it is never dull J

Sad... a lot of us have it

We lived in their relationship vicariously through their blog and posts on boards all over the world. At what may be the end, we are left to ponder... mainly out of self interest might one add... where did it go wrong? They seemed so happy, so together, so in love. It serves to remind us all that relationships are the fragile things that bind imperfect beings together. And it makes us all the more grateful for what we have.

May you make it back.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011


Oooh gotta show you these one cooed, flitting through the study all clean and on the way to bed. Pulling a pair of the new knickers out of their box, while He sat there eating breakfast, one tried them on for his approval. He hadn’t seen them when they were bought because... well... don’t laugh... one never remembers to put knickers on when going out, so you can’t try them on. Honestly you have no idea how many times one is going out the door to work and have to stop, turn around and put on a pair. It is a miracle one actually makes it to work some mornings.

Oh those are very nice... what does the bra look like? Sort of the same... only a bra one replied helpfully. Put it on. So it was dutifully put on and one twirled so He could see things, before taking it off and scampering to bed. About half way through the nesting rituals He came in and sat down on the edge of the bed. Touch yourself. He watched while He stroked himself and then He stood, and came all over one small slave’s breasts. Dammit they were clean breasts!

Tuesday, March 8, 2011


So after a mediocre dinner and some rather good Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc we wended our way home... RPG night had been cancelled due to illness which is why we were having a spontaneous dinner out... and it was on that return leg one made a critical error. It was a simple thing that countless women have probably done after being plied with wine; one mentioned the desperate need to pee. Out of the corner of the eye one saw a radiating glimmer from Him that did not bode well for one small slave. We crested the hill which the house sits on and kept going... not a good sign.

Pulling up near the beach He led one down the stairs. Strip off He said... it was blowing a gale from the beach... pulling a camera out of his pocket. He amused himself taking happy snaps of the new underwear. We did spend the time in the city on some functional items... updating the bras and knickers being some of it. He has banned the practical bras one favours... things that give a smooth line under a t-shirt and strap you in to give good support while minimising the appearance of them. The trouble with big breasts is, apart from finding tops to fit, you feel like a walking set of tits... people actually talk to them rather than you. Now He thinks that is fine. He also thinks they should wriggle and jiggle a little more when you move, be a bit pointier and look like...well breasts. So the bras were ruthlessly culled in favour of more feminine garments... it is the reason why the credit card is in a foetal position keening and rocking.

When He had finished one hastily redressed... the wind was nippy and one still needed to pee... worse than before if that was possible. If you need to pee you can do it here He said indicating the platform. Reluctantly one pulled off the new knickers and peed on the spot, feeling for all the world like the family pet, while He watched. Very nice He murmured, and as one stepped to the side He came up the stairs and crowed one against the rail and unzipped himself, while forcing one down to suck his cock. When it was coated in saliva one was spun around and roughly pushed up against the rail, while He lifted the skirt to expose ones buttocks. There in the semi dark with the wind whistling around naked skin He proceed to sodomise one roughly, until He came with a groan.

Later, all clean and safe... cough... He repeated the act in the comfort of the bed while making one beg Him for more. An act that has left it sore and less than enthusiastic about further use... in fact even sitting on it makes it twinge. Unfortunately one knows He will probably use it again before going to sleep this afternoon. He will probably enjoy every single yelp of protest as He drives in harder and faster as well.


We are sitting over drinks while waiting for dinner, and He turns and says we should watch “The Sound of Music” next week. Hard limit one replied while making a frantic warding off evil sign. The sign is supposed to work for witches and vampires, why not owners? Actually you said one could use a safeword... you just wouldn’t say what it was. There is a week... so one will just keep tossing random words at you for the next few days... Edelweiss? He smirked in reply.
This is going to be a long week L

Monday, March 7, 2011


We spent the day in town wandering aimlessly while frittering money. For the record it is not the car repairs that are the real cost, it is the wandering in the city while you wait. The credit card is curled in a foetal position, uttering a keening sound while rocking backwards and forwards... it is distressing the other cards. And to be honest one is mimicking it, but for other reasons.

He happily wandered around replacing some DVDs with Blu-ray copies... there were some deals where the third one is free. One of the things He picked up was “Showgirls”... probably the worst movie ever made. Now there are movies one is proud to say one has never seen... “The Sound of Music” and “Showgirls” are two of them. Upon seeing the odd scene out of them one has always fled to the safety of another room.

This was a state He decided to rectify by ordering one to watch it. Now He says it is because one needs a benchmark of truly awful... it already was even after only five minutes of an earlier showing... which led one to believe it was a punishment for some horrible deed one couldn’t remember. That or it was a complete abuse of power... which one still suspects was the case. So as one sat there over lunch contemplating which transgression had led to this, He laid down the viewing rules.

As a person one has a tendency to watch things while doing other things... wandering out to the kitchen for snacks, plucking eyebrows, checking on Fet, snoozing if it is really boring... you are getting the idea. He wanted undivided attention and it seems He was paying more attention to one’s inattention than first realised. One small slave was threatened with bondage for noncompliance... and the heart surged with hope. There is nothing nicer than a snooze while tied up.

That was not the plan... He had a contingency plan. A plan so awful one sat there in stunned disbelief. The idea was that while tied up the TV would be put on an annoying volume, thereby rendering sleep impossible, and He would come in periodically to test one on the dialogue... failure would result in the movie being put on from the start. He figured it would take hours and hours of repeat screenings before one had the dialogue down pat. It is worth noting that He was not planning on being present during the repeat showings... that should warn you how bad the movie is.

So we watched it... and it was horrid... and all whimpers and attempts to burrow under covers were met with a stern command to watch the movie. All those breasts cannot overcome excruciating dialogue and no talent. It is the law of diminishing returns... when confronted with more of a good thing eventually the mind starts to want something else... anything else... an intermission would have been good... hell an end to it all would have been better. And worst of all one can see where this is going... future bad behaviour is going to be met with “Showgirls”. This was just the aversion therapy stage L

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Sunday bloody Sunday

You know what they say about the best laid schemes o' mice an' men... gang aft agley. Why, we often ask. Well the universe has a perverse sense of humor that’s why. Well that and humans are capricious creatures...

This weekend is shaping up to be a shemozzle already. That bloody car is still having fuel tank issues so there goes Monday. A dental appointment for a tooth one has managed to partially shatter... on a piece of toast for fucks sake... has taken care of any free time on Tuesday, and Wednesday is going to be taken over by all the jobs that won’t get done on the other two days.

So to counter some of this one made plans. Now plans are what caused all of this in the first place. We had plans for this weekend, all of which involved not leaving home. In fact we didn’t plan on leaving the bedroom except to forage.  Anyway one looked at the time this morning and thought let’s catch the later bus... the one that just lets us squeak through the door in time for work... and surprise Him.

So one cooked breakfast for one and put on a little bit of extra bacon for He who will do anything for pork products and lay... well more kneeled... in wait for him. He of course came home late... bearing an illicit Benedict bagel from Maccas. Needless to say with high blood pressure He did not get extra bacon with that, and one did not get the fast and furious quickie one was hoping for... though one did get a lift to work. Actually that was not a kindness... the car smells so badly of fuel that it is like being in the bloody tank. See misery does love company and He didn’t like losing that extra bacon L

Saturday, March 5, 2011

An oriental palace

He looked frail and harmless, but as you listened to him interrogate the stranger before him you realised that there was a mind like a razor behind the mild blue eyes. The questions seemed random and disconnected in amongst the chit chat about the weather, sport, politics and economics. Though the breadth of topics should have sounded every warning bell, his hapless victim chatted away not realising how much he was telling; everything that was needed to verify that he was who he had claimed to be. At the end of it the frail man granted him entry into a glittering paradise, where the girls were well educated, attractive, attentive and immaculately dressed.

Watching him work over drinks you realised why this man had never been brought up on charges although his place was the worst kept secret in the capital. Oh they had tried... just not succeeded. It was in part his natural cunning and in part that the accessing the place was like storming a fort. The house stood on three tiers cut out of the rock, and was built on the side of a hill so steep, with a road so narrow, that it was a testament to the determination of the builder.

It had an entrance foyer with deep chairs and an enormous window overlooking everything from the bay to the surrounding hills. It was not just for show. After climbing the two flights of impossibly steep stairs, most people needed somewhere to collapse before tottering to the bar where he kept court. It also meant that you could see who was coming a long time before they struggled to the door.

On one memorable occasion they had tried coming over the back way. They burst onto the top tier, which had a large summer house and larger inground swimming pool, scrambling over high fences and through trees and shrubs, to find a rather sedate pool party going on. Apparently wool uniforms make rather bad climbing gear... they were hot, grumpy and bitterly disappointed. Not to mention that everyone had been able to hear them coming for 20 minutes...

Despite all this entertainment, there was another reason to hang out at his place. Occasionally out of the blue the odd talented musician would turn up... often with friends and the bar had a lot of musical instruments set up in a corner. If you were really lucky he could be persuaded to join them and he was no slouch on the drums. He did after all cut the first jazz record in that country.

Besides you got to see his number one fan that lived in the tree outside the window... a small possum with a weakness for jazz. It used to sit there with a look of rapt attention on its whiskers before scurrying away as soon as the last note was played.

Friday, March 4, 2011

There will be no silk pillow

Gods one must be the only person in history that dreads going home on a Friday night. The traffic is abominable because the bridge is still out... personal money is Easter at the earliest... and we are crawling along at a steady stop, start, stop pace. To be honest one is just grateful for having the sense to grab an unwholesome snack on the way out the door from work, ‘cos at this rate it is going to be a two hour trip home.

All through the bus phones are ringing and the conversations make you realise how remarkably similar we are... yes I’m on the bus... at this rate... grab some takeaways... see you eventually. We peer out the windows mournfully at the rain and the increasingly darkening sky. One of the hardest things to get used to here is the complete lack of dusk. Here it is daylight one minute; the sun goes down and bang... someone has turned out the lights.

And here we are one third of the way into our trip, and it is going to be jammed as several train loads of people cram on. Right at this moment we should be just arriving home. Oh great... right about now one is starting to identify rather strongly with kaya... really need to pee... and not a powder room in sight let alone an owner.

Well it is now 8 pm and one has just finished a shower and cooking a quick dinner for one... and this is why He is not getting the teriyaki chicken that He wanted for lunch. There is not enough time to marinade the meat, let alone cook it before turning into bed to get up bright and early for work.... again. So to all you flowers of submission out there who think that you will serve perfectly... this is what 24/7 looks like. Rushed and imperfect... with days that don’t have enough hours in them L

Thursday, March 3, 2011


Service is one of those things that are often provided in these relationships... they are one of the perks of having a slave really. Of course those services are not always as glamorous as you might hope nor even sexual... which is a shame. A shining example of the type of service one gets to provide that is neither and so far from what people fantasise about was performed the other night. Sticking tiny fleur-de-lis onto poker chips to be used for a RPG game... a job that could not be morphed into gratifying in any way shape or form might one add.

In addition to services that are asked for are anticipatory services (for example where you might get a drink for them without asking). Now some people love anticipatory service and others see it as a fine line between service and a slave imposing their will on an owner. To each their own, but for one personally the second type is one of those things that can slip into a third category without any real effort. The third type is what one thinks of as pre-emptive service.

These are the type of services that you do that have never been discussed because they don’t think of it and you know what you are doing. Thousands of tiny jobs are done on this basis, but an incident this morning did provide a wonderful insight into why it is such a slippery slope... albeit with funny results in this case. It involved a load of washing accidently left in the machine... a load of strong colours... reds, pinks and one orange shirt. It could have been a recipe for laundry disaster, but in this case it was something else again.

Upon finding them they were hauled out and put on the pack porch line which is under the roof. The bright orange shirt, which is His favourite shirt, was carefully hung inside out and behind other items to protect it from the light. A job one always does this way because in this climate bright orange fares almost as well as black if left out on an outside line... about 8-10 washes. If it doesn’t get bleached it will rot from the UV... and it’s His favourite shirt J

It was at that moment He came out the back door and actually noticed what one was doing... domestic He ain’t so one was surprised. You hang that inside out He enquired. Well yes otherwise it will fade. It’s supposed to. Apparently He bought the shirt at Universal Studios because it was the shirt worn in Heroes... a faded one that was an inside joke as the show was filmed there. It seems all this time He was wearing it, not because it was a particular favourite, but in the hopes that it would fade. He had been amazed by how resistant the dye was...

Who the hell notices a shirt worn in a show and actually manages to find it? Oh right geek, geek, geek, geek...