Saturday, April 30, 2011


Malcolm made a comment on the blog
"I make no attempt to disguise myself because I want to live my life as openly as possible, but I realise some find it necessary not to be identified."
and it got one thinking about that idea of being out and how it pertains to your identity.

Many moons ago when one was very gay, very out, very (insert cliché of choice here) it never occurred to be in. Seriously why did one have to be? Hell one wasn't even living in the same country as the family. Even when one was, the few one was still in contact with couldn't have cared less. The thing was that being out was important, otherwise you were condemned to living in the shadows and passing off your partner as a friend. Which is kind of insulting to them at best and completely negates them at worst.

To be honest though it is very easy to be out when you live in a decent sized city. You have your own papers, pubs, clubs, B and B's, radio stations and social support networks. The pink dollar is huge and it buys a lot of buffer... if you manage it right you only run into the odd straight person by accident. Being gay is not only a sexual identity, but a social identity as well. You work with your own kind, flat with them, party with them and sleep with them. The community is mother, the community is father...

Being in a BDSM relationship is the same, but different. Unlike being gay, being bent doesn't provide that much of a buffer here. Which is fine if you are isolated and rarely see people, but becomes more problematic when you live in a small town. There simply aren't the numbers when you live in Queensland and despite cries of unite, the community is fractured. We have very little in common with those whom we have met to date... hell we don't even speak the same language half the time.

Now this is true when part of the gay community. There were often times that you found yourself in a room full of people that you had nothing in common with other than sexual orientation. What is different is that when you are gay, you don't have to explain what that means. It is like the ultimate short hand in some ways. When you are 24/7 you do have to explain.

There isn't any short hand because the BDSMers are a bit like organised religion. Diverse and often with no clear understanding between them.  In fact if you were to extend that analogy we are often regarded a bit like a cabal. Secret and hidden and inserted in a dark little corner. The rest of the orders either; don't believe we exist, think we are raving lunatics, are dangerous, or they want to make us conform to some mythical standards, wear strange clothes and perform all sorts of rituals... preferably semi-naked. These are not our people J

Next it raises the question what does being out entail if you are a BDSMer? The right to walk down the street in fetish gear? The ability to wear a leash? To be punished in public? To perform your function as a toilet slave? All of this skitters across that line between a sexual identity and being sexual. And you have to ask yourself why is that important?

The trouble is that one can't think of a good reason for it to be... and His dream to turn the whole flat into one large dungeon is going to clash horribly with his taste in 50's kitsch... which leaves one firmly in the closet. It doesn't make one less in any way... one is not less a slave nor does one serve Him less by not feeling an overwhelming urge to be out. Been there done that and hell still have the odd t-shirt, and there is probably the odd bit of archived news footage, to prove it.

Friday, April 29, 2011


I liked your blog He says, small pearly white teeth gleaming. Did you? Yes. It didn't worry you that there wasn't a single thing there that didn't hurt? No. OK... See it is answers like that which seriously make one reconsider His whole "I am not a sadist" thing, and give him the "sadistic tendencies" rating.

Did you enjoy it He asked. Um which part of it hurt didn't you hear? Oh I heard it, but did it arouse you? Well sort of, but... See, you enjoyed it He said, in that soothing slightly hypnotic tone that is used when He is massaging your mind. Jedi mind tricks... so on to you (not that it actually changes the outcome).

Oh right, so this was for one's own good. Yes, how else are you going to toughen up? Well you could have started with one of the nicer floggers and worked your way back up over time. Well I could have. It just didn't occur to you? He gave one a blank look. Oh right, it was just on top of the pile and the first one your hand hit.

Makes mental note... rearrange the pile before next Thursday. Not really supposed to touch His toys, but dusting is different... right?

Thursday, April 28, 2011

The cold wind of change

It is starting to get nippy here... well for us it is... enough to send one scampering for a t-shirt and socks in the morning and evening. So when He solicitously enquired if one had a lift for this morning, the mind was on other things... taking stock of the sock supply and whether one needed to start encouraging the family knitters to start post summer production. Yes, one replied... absently between seasons. Oh good, then we will have time for a quick flogging. Snapping back to the conversation one hazard a guess that we weren't talking about some new term for a hand job. Umm... are they back on?

It seemed they were, after having been commuted due to illness and other complications. Snail pacing it to the bedroom, one asked if the t-shirt could stay. No, was the reply. So one climbed onto the box, naked and shivering and waited with that feeling of apprehension in the pit of the stomach. Which flogger... nice or... The stinging wallop that landed on one's arse answered that question. Nasty... with thongs of leather tied to look like barbed wire. Thump after stinging burning thump landed, and one got the privilege of saying thank you Master after each one.

When He finished the abraded flesh was grabbed firmly by both hands and He forced himself into a tight and emotionally resistant cunt.  He fucked one with short sharp strokes that hit the back of the vagina in a painful way until, with a satisfied groan, He came. Looking at ones obviously aggrieved face, He smiled and said I wasn't hitting you that hard. There is hardly a mark. You are just getting soft... we need to do this more often.

Scampering out of the room just in case His plan was more immediate, one got clothes ready for work and retired to the shower to nurse the wounded flesh. The mirror on the way past confirmed His assessment. There wasn't a mark to be seen. Gods one just hates winter and cold body parts that feel too much pain and going to work and the return of the Thursday morning floggings.

Mind you as He fucked one in the arse a short while later, with long rough strokes that made one try to claw a way into the pillows, one realised one hated that the butt plug hadn't been in for the last couple of days either. Though for reasons that we won't go into here,  one will attest to what a difference a plug can make. In fact at one stage one sort of came to, only to hear oneself promising feverently to be back  wearing of the damn thing as soon as possible.

Thursdays are shaping up to be a speshul day. 

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Geek alert

Now some of you probably have guessed by now we are a little geeky. It is not a malaise nor will you catch it, but you can study hard for it. You can also signal to others that you are one... it is a bit like the handkerchief code, but with T-shirts and coffee mugs. To that end there are many places to get all the geeky accoutrement that signal to others of your kind, but by far one of the more diverse places is ThinkGeek.

Seriously where else will you get a tin of unicorn meat, a tie that says "Ties Suck" in binary code or an electronic butterfly in a jar... not to mention a host of other must haves. And with heady lures like these, He cruised around until he found the stuff of dreams. A way to find one in the shopping centre... which was rather cruel of Him as one heels beautifully. Anyway back to His little find. It is a t-shirt with a proximity alert on it. You both wear one and when the other person is in range it lights up.

Now let us not dwell too long how sad it is when couples go out wearing the same clothes... anyone in a long term relationship has probably done it. Hell even we have headed out the door, only to realise we are wearing the same colour combinations in a his and her format. Shudders just a little at that memory. Anyway one digresses... It was when watching this little video that one realised the BDSM potential of these T-shirts, which incidentally are on sale for under $10.

Think of the fun you could have hunting your slave with little stingy toys... the possibilities are endless.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011


Well one met up for coffee with the new friend and guess what? Spiffy glasses girl barely cleared the shop before blabbing. Now this doesn't really worry one at all because while it was not something one particularly wanted to discuss with a new friend, it wasn't exactly a state secret. If you want one of those you don't wear a collar 24/7... though one suspects He is occasionally surprised by the sheer volume of public recognition one receives.

It does however highlight how utterly insensitive some are to others. For all she knew this could have been a secret, or at the very least something one was unwilling to discuss and there she was... babbling away. Now it could be that as a person she has no idea of boundaries, or confidentiality. It could just be that as a scene person she just dances to the beat of a different drum... which they do seem to do.

As a group the O/p crowd seem to tend towards being more private (there are one or two notable exceptions) and seem more inclined towards avatars of things other than themselves... well their faces at any rate. On Fet when you cruise around the sceners it is fascinating how many of them have face pictures up. Nice clear ones, along with pics of what they were doing last Saturday night. This seems to be particularly true of those living in this state one has noticed.

Now this leads one to wonder if it is because when you are part of the scene, it simply pays to advertise. You need to be in it and out there to be part of it... to get the invites, to hook up, to get cred. That or because they are a bit like a sorority, they simply regard places like Fet rather like a large munch. Which of course does make one wonder if they give any thought to security or privacy at all. It may be that they simply see what they do as exercising their right to sexual freedom and not worry about this at all.

Ponders this, while forming a list of questions for spiffy glasses girl next week. She is supposed to be joining us for coffee and a work out... J

Monday, April 25, 2011

Myth busters; The anal episode

Some time back one wrote a how to guide for wearing butt plugs  long term. Since then a few of you have tried it, wondered about it and occasionally asked questions... well more expressed some concerns... so one thought it was time to examine some of these. Again the same caveat as on the last one. This is personal experience and this is not for the squeamish or the sensitive.
Stop reading now if you are squeamish...

Myth 1.
People seem to confuse a butt plug and a dildo thinking they are the same thing.
butt plug ideally looks a bit like a figure eight. It has a narrow waist in relationship to the body and the base. The dildo on the other hand looks more regular in circumference or it just gets progressively bigger like a traffic cone.
Myth 2.
Wearing a butt plug will make your arse stretched forever.
No it will not. Your arse is remarkable elastic... muscles are a wonderful thing. They bounce back at the first opportunity after being dilated by anything. Having said that use of butt plugs before anal sex will make your sphincter muscles a little less resistant to force being gently applied. That is why we wear butt plugs.
Myth 3.
The plug will fall in or out and it needs a harness to keep it in place.
Yes it will, depending on the type of plug. Ideally you want something that has a reasonable circumference, a narrow waist and a wide base.  If you use one that does not have a wide enough base all things are possible in the loss department because that external sphincter muscle is contracting regularly to keep you continent. The reason why Njoys are so popular with long term wearers, apart from the fact that they are easy to clean, is that the bases make it very hard to fall in and the shape makes it hard for them to come out... well unless you have one that has just been popped back in after anal sex. Again the arse will bounce back to hold it in place given a little time.
Myth 4.
Wearing a butt plug will cause incontinence.
The first thing that needs to be addressed here is the fact that there are two sets of sphincter muscles. The internal sphincter muscle is an involuntary group that responds to fear and anxiety and is quite different to the external sphincter, which is voluntary and unusual in that its natural state is contracted closed. They work in conjunction with a complex nerve system. If they, or the nerves, are damaged they work in very different ways. When the internal sphincter is damaged you will have bowel motions without realising it is happening, unlike the external ones where you will experience the need to find a bathroom... quickly.
Now unless they are actually damaged by something like constipation, disease or rectal prolapse, they will do their job because they bounce back when not stretched open. All a butt plug does is make anal sex easier... it is not a magic wand. You will still have to relax, use lube to prevent damage, masturbate or whatever you need to do to get them to relax enough for penetration.
Myth 5.
Wearing butt plugs will cause a rectal prolapse.
Now this one is a little tricky... No one seems to be sure, at least it hasn't been studied. Rectal prolapse is caused by many things; age, constipation, child birth, anal sex. Now having said that there is no evidence that men* who have anal are more likely to get rectal prolapse than the rest of the population, which leads one to postulate that there may be an underlying issue that is the actual cause and anal just exacerbates the issue.
Now in the case of plugs no one has done any studies... perhaps it might be an interesting thing to do. In part this may be that long term wearing is relatively new due to the advent of metal and glass plugs. There is a school of thought that Kegels will help and that doing it with a plug in place will help strengthen what is a rather weak muscular system. Again this is theoretical as no one has done studies... yet.
All one can say is so far so good... and mention that no one has come forward to claim otherwise.
Myth 6.
Bleeding is bad.
Again it can be. Occasionally anal sex can cause bleeding, the area is quite delicate. It can rip and tear during anything. Where it is a problem is if it doesn't stop after about 15-20 minutes. Then you need to go to the doctors because you can get fissures. Don't be shy. Just go. They have seen it all before and frankly you can get a fissure from a compacted bowel motion. It can be repaired.
In the case of butt plugs they generally help stop this happening... provided you use lube in the beginning and aren't just ramming the damn thing home... while making sound effects. That last one is optional.
Myth 7.
Things like tiger balm, Vicks and Icy Hot are acceptable forms of lube.
 Yeah, no they are not. Again the area is rather thin and fragile. Using those items actually thins the area further and... it's not pretty. While it might be fun to watch someone squirm around once in a while, it is not a suitable replacement for real lube.

* Having said that it is also worth noting those studies were done on gay men in comparison to the rest of the population... 'cos we all know straight guys don't like anal... cough, cough.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Easter teaser

In the spirit of Easter and all things Bunny, this is what I have coming in the mail for piece. Hopefully it will provide enough anonymity to allow more photographic exposure and maintain the deviant rabbit theme of the blog.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Back in the saddle... again

Well it has been a break from butt plugs and butt sex. Of course all holidays must end and this one did the other night. With far more force than necessary might one add. Mutters and that last little playful poke at it was just downright painful.

Yesterday He replaced the large njoy with himself. It kinda put things back in perspective, as one was reamed with enthusiasm. When He was finished it was patted affectionately, and He commented that it was getting so much easier that it was time to look at the 2.0 more seriously.

He decided that the 2.0 needed to spend more time out of its satin lined box, and more time where it was intended for last week. Of course illness got in the way of that plan. What one hadn't realised was that He was considering it instead of the large njoy. As in for long term wear... o.0

Now that 2.0 is the bane of ones existence. Not only is it heavy, but it is huge. The handle is too long and you can't sit comfortably, and the sheer size of it means that gas build up is an issue, even with the vents. There is a reason that one is always trying to palm it off to some other victim lucky recipient.

Despite the issues He is convinced that the body will adjust. He believes given enough practise it will be no worse than the large njoy, which is currently making that poor little orifice feel like it is on fire as we speak. Besides it will make getting the Eleven in there easier 'cos last time He couldn't get the big end in.

Oh yes people, He is doing all of this for one small slave to make her life easier. Stop sniggering you miserable bitches. Do you honestly think your owners will stop at the large? This will be you... just you wait and see.

Friday, April 22, 2011

It's a small world

Travelling on the bus regularly you get to know people... well one small introvert does. One of those people was a regular fellow traveller as we often worked overlapping shifts in the same shopping centre. And we got on well... even enjoyed each other's company... as we meandered along on the morning commute. It helped fill in the time pleasantly and as it turned out, we did have things in common even though we live very different lives.

It was the beginning of a pleasantly light, casual, friendship. Which is about all an introvert is really capable of truth be told. Net buddies is one thing... maintaining a real life friendship is a whole different kettle of fish. To be honest apart from our Tuesday night vanillas, neither of us have friends. We work crazy hours and in all honesty, we like each other's company and resent the intrusion into our time together.

Anyway back to the embryonic friendship. It was developing outside of the bus trips since she stopped working. We both wanted to take up jogging which never eventuated, though she did join the gym and has started yoga. On the odd Tuesday morning we meet up, as one finishes a workout and before she goes to class, to catch up for coffee.

 We chat about what is going on in her life... she has a husband, two children and an assortment of cats. Things that are going on since she quit work, peoples bad ink choices, the continual road works in the area... you know... stuff... are the topics of choice. Nothing deep and meaningful which suits one down to the ground because once you get past the gossip and the clichés, you have to start sharing your lives and well...  as they say on Fet... it's complicated.

The trouble with living in this type of relationship is that it infects everything. See for us it might be how we do sex, but it is more than our sex lives.  It is how we relate to each other, to the world around us and more importantly somewhere along the line it becomes apparent that it is just easier to be honest and tell people... hello, nice to meet you, we are bent. Otherwise you end up as we did with the Tuesday night vanillas, getting lectures on how to train your man to be better. Hell even his mother lectures one that He is spoilt and...

Now our little friendship was not at that point. Hell it might never have got to that point... those secret squirrel tendencies are very good at deflecting conversation back onto you. And frankly not having had a catholic background, one does not believe that confession is good for the soul. Unfortunately that choice of if and when to tell, may have been reefed out of one's hand by the fickle finger of fate.

Yesterday she showed unexpectedly at work when she dropped in to say hi. Hugging each other, while surreptitiously inhaling the coffee she was waving around, one expressed surprised that she was so far from home... in a centre neither of us would dream of shopping at. She replied that she had been dragged out of the house, for her own good, by X so they could take the kids (it is school holidays here) to the movies. At this point X came round the corner and lo and behold who should it be but spiffy glasses girl.  

Of course Mr Complete Honesty thinks all of this is hysterical. As one regaled the story to Him the chortles of laughter are getting louder and louder. At the end He turns around and smugly says well you could have just been completely honest with her. Which was followed by more snickering in the background. Yanno some of us like having a private life... L

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Ready, aim... fire

Go and put a nice red lipstick on were the words He spoke. Why does it have to be red did cross one's mind, as one scampered off to dig one out of the makeup bag. Red is the colour of passion and sex to most people. It is the colour that makes things go faster and attracts the opposite sex, well it certainly loosens their wallets. What one didn't consider is that it is also the colour of targets...

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Tops and tails

Well now that we have a computer that is stable... even if it does seem to have some interesting ideas about running Fet... this is what we did last week. Before we both got too sick to move except in the direction of the smallest room... with all due grace and speed.  It was a brief and colourful moment that He immortalised on a memory stick J

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

A day in the life

Well today we went to pick up the new beast... of course it wasn't ready, so we ended up scampering into town to pick up the car from its sleepover at the mechanics. Honestly that car is getting to be as bad as the Rottweiler that one had a few years ago. It had a mad crush on the vet and would fake a bad hip to go and see him.

You have never seen anything as pathetic as that poor dog unable to put any weight on its back leg. Right up until you pulled into the vets driveway and opened the door. Then it had the most miraculous recovery as it bowled past any fool who opened the door to the surgery. Anyway back to the car... same problems as before... so back it went. May one just add that unlike the dog, the cars crush doesn't seem to reciprocate the feeling... in fact he seems to dread seeing the damn thing.

We arrived home in time to pick up the new computer and He got to spend hours installing all those geeky accoutrements that make life workable. And may one just take a moment to say how awesome it is to not have the computer just shut down at completely random intervals. Well not completely random... it had impeccable timing for when you were just about to hit save and beating you to it L

Monday, April 18, 2011

Renovations of the mind

As a child one was utterly camera shy... bordering on the phobic almost. A camera would come out and one would duck behind the nearest object. There is the odd picture of one, about three perhaps, and in all of them one looks stiff and more than a little resentful. It’s because they are holding one in place. The only way you could get a shot was grab one small child on the move and whip out the camera. And you all wonder why one has trust issues... adults are largely the cause of them.

This relationship carried on into adult years. There are a few snapshots... garnered under remarkably similar circumstances; lovers and flatmates sneaking up on one with the camera hidden behind their perfidious backs, and whipped out at the last minute. And may one just say their strike rate is low... very low; a couple from the Hobbit years and the living in Sydney phase, and then nothing. Until He came along with his lens sticking its nose in every intimate moment... usually with that same element of surprise.

Now this was never an issue until we changed the basis of the power structure and then there were issues. Up until then one could duck... afterwards one was shoved in front of a back drop while He tried out some new lens. Then it created problems because one doesn’t see oneself the way He does. No one does, but in this case there is a small jot of something that resembles body dysmorphia to complicate matters. When looking in the mirror all one sees is fat. The actual size is irrelevant; one sees fat at 47kg (103lbs) and at 77kg (170lbs).

At 47 kg one fitted into size 14 girls clothes, which was kinda strange as one was 24 at the time. Now in the age of the size zero it wouldn’t raise an eyebrow, but it did then. The second step mother, on popping her head around a changing room curtain, saw one once and exclaimed in shock that she could count where every rib met the spine. Even a lover at the time used to describe those ribs as Biafran. Not that one ever listened because well when looking in the mirror all one saw was fat.

Now at 77 kg one sees the same thing... which is more of a problem when you live with someone who likes to take photos. In the beginning one couldn’t look at the photos at all... well not without crying. He got around that by not asking what one thought and simply putting them up. In taking away any element of control He got around the hypercritical stage. When they are up the mind is more capable of looking at them and going oh that has a nice line or yeah can see what He was aiming for there. It is still critical, but it is not focused on the model.

See like many things in these relationships it isn’t about changing the behaviours as much as changing the perceptions. It is the ultimate sleight of hand in some ways. Bright shiny object, bright shiny object... oh look where did the rabbit go? Of course in some cases the rabbit is probably dead, but let’s not dwell on that for now shall we.

Sunday, April 17, 2011


Oh gods He is sick. He has what one had... only worse... of course. Upon arriving home, an hour late due to staying back at work, one found Him. Dying on the bed. May one just say that drama degree is never wasted :P

When it hit one small slave, one managed to shoot out of bed 39 times the first night without waking Him once. Sneak out of bed for morning mouse and the eyes fly open... go figure. Anyway back to Him. He ain’t sneaking nowhere.

Watching Him laying there one realised two things. Firstly there was a glimmer of compassion... it is a vicious bug. Secondly He needed to move to the couch; otherwise one was never going to get the sleep needed to go to work in the morning. So with all the love in the world, one made Him a nest on the couch that is really too small for a 6’ bloke. Not that He was going to get that much sleep anyway so... Besides, the couch is six paces closer to the bathroom. Sliding the heavy glass doors shut, one sealed Him off and went to bed.

This morning, after unsealing the tomb, one found Him awake and almost perky. It was short lived. Re-ensconced in the bedroom He needed drinks and pills and a cool cloth for his fevered brow. It was at the cloth point one snapped... just a little... and pointed out that one of us was trying to get ready for work and that frankly, this level of care had not been evident during one’s demise.

He countered that all one had done was sleep. To which one retorted pithily that it was a model He might care to emulate. Sighs you know one is starting to suspect one isn’t going to get nominated for the good slave award, let alone be in the running.

Saturday, April 16, 2011


According to the doctor one was supposed to be on the road to recovery by now. To be honest one begs to differ. Now how one can tell this is very simple... today was the first cup of coffee in four days. That is the longest one has ever been without coffee since the age of 11, when one first flouted family tradition to follow the path of the bean.

See all the family, in true British style, are tea drinkers. Tea is the panacea for all things that ail you. It is used in sickness and in health, and times of shock and extreme emotional stress. The answer to everything is I’ll just put the kettle on and warm the pot. In fact the only time one never saw it proffered for some trauma was the time grandma turned to mother, slapped a large dollop of neat cooking brandy in a glass and shoved it at her with the immortal words... get this down you and try to act like the lady you think you are. Yeah the tart tongue runs in the family L

Anyway one digresses from the path of the bean... It has been a long and fruitful addiction. And make no mistake it is an addiction. When you find yourself rinsing out a jar of instant coffee with hot tap water to give you enough of a boost to get out a door... you have a problem. In one’s defence it is an addiction one keeps to one or two cups a day. Nevertheless without that coffee; mornings aren’t pretty.

So there one was with the much anticipated inaugural cup in hand, and it tasted bad. It sort of listed around in the stomach in an alarming manner as well. On the bright side, the couple of mouthfuls one did get down have got rid of that rather nasty little headache, which has accompanied one for the last few days. That alone made the whole thing worthwhile J

Suitably girded one went forth to work, which was like a war zone in the lead up to Easter. The air is rich with the smell of chocolate, which everyone assures one small slave is like the most intoxicating thing ever. To be honest one remains unconvinced and remained that way until escaping to the safety of the bus for the return trip home. Which is where one received this text from Him... Where is the Imodium?

Friday, April 15, 2011

Negotiations without hope

Lying in bed together, one is on the mend; He turns around and says you owe me for a heck of a lot of sex. This is how you plan on keeping one forever isn’t it? It is sort of a debt creation scheme and one will spend the rest of our life paying it off. You do know other owners look after their slaves when they are sick... you know pamper them and feed them, rather than toting up how much sex they have lost? He looked at one in mild disbelief... Scorpio... they look at everything that way L

He carried on... I think I will tie you up with your arse conveniently positioned so that I can cum in it repeatedly. Just wander in, cum in it and then go back to what I was doing, until I feel the need to use it again. Um, when that is coming off the debt does that count as once or multiple times? Oh no, that is just off the interest. Interest! Honestly one suspects it would be cheaper to deal with a loan shark than Him.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Here we are

Still wonky and still nursing the computer system. One of us is on the mend though, while one of us has been replaced. Guess who? Smirks in victorious relief. The new system will be here on Tuesday and it is a beast.

Mind you so was this one in its day. Unfortunately with computers you are only as good as your performance now, unlike humans where we are inclined to give a little more latitude. Well if we have intimate dealings with them. There does seem to be to be less forgiveness the larger the organisation they are part of.

Anyway while the computer is operational one is going to include a quick pic of something unrelated. This one is dedicated to the njoy wearers in our midst. He has decided that on our days off the 2.0 needs to spend more time out of its decorative satin lined box and in somewhere more receptive L

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

A death in the family

For days now we have been nursing the computing system and it is dying... this morning it is non-responsive. Unfortunately all His finished photos are on there along with the programs. We has a sad... nods oh yes we do. The upshot of all of this is that while transmission will continue... geeks never have just one computer... it may not be as decorative. And the formatting may be a little different due to a change of systems.

On a related note one small slave is also dying. When the waitress who provided the shockingly slow service on Monday left, apologising to her work colleagues for bailing and they told her to go to bed and get some sleep... one is starting to think she had not been out partying all night. Judging by the way one has become intimately acquainted with the porcelain of late, one is thinking she had some sort of a stomach flu. And the bitch shared! So if you will excuse one small slave she is going back to bed to be non-responsive as well.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

The little things

On social networking sites the things that cause the most misunderstandings are the things you least expect. They are the things that make you go blink. The things that would seem so self evident that you shouldn’t have to spell them out. Well they should be, but often aren’t. And more often than not it is your profile that causes the greatest misunderstandings.

He likes to exhibit one and immortalise every little whim... and He has a few... in photos. He enjoys everything about his hobby... the idea, the taking of the shot, the cleaning of the image, the trying of different filters, the tinkering, the learning new techniques and mostly the displaying of them in semi-public places. For a person who is very Scorpio and has no concept of sharing, He likes to share them. It gives Him a buzz... a thrill if you would. His kink is exhibitionism... just not of himself.

Now every time a new pic goes up on the profile there is a new bit of mail. Sometimes it is a random friends request which one doesn’t get at all... you get on the friends list because you have interesting things to say or you think one small slave does. That or you follow the blog and like to see what else is going on. The other exception is that we actually you know... weird idea... chat to each other. Either way at some stage it is going to involve dropping a line before hand.

Other times it is a charming offer of sexual gratification... mainly theirs one has noticed. Now these people are a whole different subset of people. First off who looks at a profile that says owned, blissfully happy and with no mention of play... actually says monogamous... and thinks today I am going to get lucky. Now, one does understand the idea that if you ask enough people someone is going to say yes, but dude... not this slave. You can ask Him though ‘cos his profile clearly states that He is not monogamous. Strange how He never gets sent offers.... maybe we need to shove a few shots of him up J

Monday, April 11, 2011


We went out for a quick dash to the city to pick up a garter belt that had arrived. It is a strange fact, but these days the lingerie is better travelled than the owner... that little item had come from England. The land of the girl with breasts and subsequently the greatest supplier one has. Bless you all and your busty genes.

Of course one wanted to saunter in at a reasonable hour and He wanted to get in and out. Knowing the way to motivate one small, and frankly surly before caffeine slave, He pulled out the big guns. A promise of breakfast at a cafe that makes the best coffee in town, and more importantly... can do it on lactose free milk. He has no shame when it comes to motivational tools that man.

So there we are settled in with some of the slowest service in the history of service, when some bloody little man started up with his whipper-snipper. Dear gods two stroke anything should be banned before 10.30am... it sets every nerve on fire. Eventually food did turn up along with the twoo nectar of the gods... coffee.

Hobbit always used to say that there is no such thing as a free lunch... that man was a good student of human nature. And really one should have known better... after 14 years you would hope. So when, after the last sip was taken, one was propelled out of the coffee towards the end of the wharf, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that it was not in aid of one’s digestion.

Now, one should explain here that the wharves are part of a development for the cruise liners when they come in. It is a precinct that has in addition to customs, has boutiques, an art house cinema, restaurants, coffee shops and luxury apartments... all overlooking you guessed it... where we were. Which is of course why He decided to extract the price of breakfast by whipping out a camera and issuing an order to lift up one’s top. Damn coffee is getting expensive L

For Malcolm

First just let one say the name Master’s piece is a bit of a play on words as one is His creation in many ways, and of course He is a gaming geek so there is that gaming terminology in there as well. It is also an objectification thing... one is a piece of meat, a piece of arse. Well His at any rate. Everyone just calls one piece or Mp, except Him... then it is usually slave. Unless we are in public and then one always has to look around to see who He is talking to  J

Now on to the other question- what one thinks is going to happen when one dies?

Well one would have to say the flip answer is anything other than auntie’s armchair reunion theory. She believes/d we will all be reunited in heaven when we die so we can catch up. Her reunion theory used to send cold shivers and still does to this day. The very thought of being reunited with family is rather akin to one of Dante’s outer rings. Not to mention the logistics of getting all those chairs in one place...

The more serious answer is one is not sure anymore. To be honest for a person who was always hell bent on dying young, one is not even sure one wants to die anymore... the whole damn life thing seems so short. And one wants this life, not some other life in the future. How’s that for the directional cussedness of woman?

Many religions believe in reincarnation... and one is not sure one actually wants to come back. The idea that we move onto some other plane of existence has appeal. Something new is always good... a new way to explore existence that is not limited to a physical thing would be wonderful. So at this stage the Buddhist belief in a stream of consciousness would seem the more preferable to the idea of a soul. The trouble is that they offer what... six realms... most of them unpleasant. Sighs maybe like that, but with better options?

So how about the rest of you... what do you hope happens when you die?

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Sensation play

Bumping into another one of the local community at work, we ended up having an interesting chat about the cane (he makes them) as a sensual instrument. For the record one remains unconvinced by his argument. Oh not that it can be used that way, one has no doubt about that. It’s more one can’t see Him using one that way. Five seconds, maybe ten, into a gentle rhythmic tapping He is going to get bored. And then He is going to want a response... something more than a sigh of pleasure. He is going to want a least a yelp or a twitch. Hell, even a nice little red mark so He has something to aim for...

Sighs and He swears he’s not sadistic... and one remains unconvinced of that as well L

P.S. This is more what I think of when I think of caning. Is this more like it Dina? Although the target would be a nice addition - L&L

Saturday, April 9, 2011

For 635

Mothers... where to begin because we all know where it ends. Probably the place to begin is the very beginning. This is where you duck out and get coffee because this is going to take a while.

As one has said before mother was a creative woman, who was ahead of her time in some ways. In a time before formal childcare and crèches she took the unique step of advertising one in the local newsagent’s window, rather like you would a puppy or kitten... Free to a good home... It was how one got auntie and uncle in the first place at about six weeks. Apparently father dropped one off... he must have had shore leave... and it was six weeks before she showed up to visit.

Post natal depression combined with rather unimaginable levels of naivety would be one’s pick judging from the stories. She got pregnant very unexpectedly; those high dose pills of the 60’s did fail, and she coped with it badly by all accounts. Rather than live on base, she elected to return to work and support herself. It was the beginning of her career as a teacher and our rather hostile relationship.

The earliest memory of her is at about two years old; one had pulled on an extra layer of those frilled bloomers that they dressed babies in during the 60’s. It was done because one was expecting her to come and hit one for something or other... she had an unpredictable temper and it seemed a wise precaution. Apparently most children placed in that sort of an environment go on to be people pleasers. Generally one did not go that route... at all.

In fact one took the sensible route of transferring all allegiance to auntie and uncle. This in hindsight probably did not improve hostilities at all. It must have been difficult to deal with a child who didn’t want to see you and resented being sent home. Frankly one begged not to be sent home, and feverently prayed that there had been some sort of mix-up and auntie and uncle were the real parents. It was about that time that one developed a rather uneasy relationship with God, despite auntie’s staunch C of E beliefs.

It must have been equally hard on auntie and uncle as well. They had no legal standing and any action on their part would have ended all contact. So they did what they could... dried the tears, fed one up when one arrived half starved, over compensated on the material front and sent one back when asked for. See no good deed goes unpunished... they should have taken the newsagents advice and not got involved.

By four one had learnt how to cook out of necessity... it was the only way to get breakfast. During the day if mother was at work, and for that matter is she wasn’t, one went to the beach, read, coloured in and waited for her to come home. Later, at about nine, one wandered the city or the museum as we had moved by then. Occasionally one took some money from her purse to fund these expeditions, and auntie always smuggled money in the "Beano" comics she sent, but mostly one relied on the kindness of strangers and they were often quite generous.   Fortunately the periods of reunion were mercifully brief. We were both happier apart one suspects... and more importantly one didn’t have to go to ballet J

This pattern of quiet hostility continued through childhood. It was the little things... games requiring four or more players for birthdays... still unsure if one was supposed to create some imaginary friends for that one. Jigsaw puzzles with nowhere to do them... you would have thought the fact that they remained in their cellophane was a cry for help, but no. Beautiful clothes designed and made by her... she did have talent... always in colours one hated. You are getting the idea...

The only thing we agreed on was books. It was how one read "Justine"... the adults bookshelves were always more interesting. Though the "Famous Five" were not to be sneezed at, and to this day one still loves a good detective story. Damn you Enid Blyton  for corrupting a small child’s mind with your tomboy images and dreams of escaping parental control.

By the end of the tweenage years one rarely went home. We would write stilted letters to each other...
Dear mother,
Thank you for your letter. Having a wonderful time.
Love B.
So it was something of a shock when at 16 she decided one was moving back home with her and attending a girls school in prep for uni. That lasted all of 24 hours before one left home on Christmas Day, to move in with the complete psychopath that was the boyfriend... a story for another time.

Our last, well second to last, conversation went like this...
Well I’ve contacted the authorities and I can’t make you come home. If ever you get involved with drugs or prostitution don’t call me.  
To this day one still can’t work out why she thought one would phone her for anything.

Our last conversation was all Hobbit’s fault. He insisted that blood was thicker than water. For the record never take family advice from someone who doesn’t have a family. After knocking on her door, one was invited in because the neighbour was coming down their driveway and she didn’t want to have to introduce us. It was like going for a job interview you know is not going your way. In the end we left together... she got in her Morris Minor and one got into the Mercedes... and we drove off in opposite directions. And may one just say... petty though it was... the car thing was very gratifying.

See the moral of this tale 635 is that it is quite easy to cut yourself off from family. All you have to do is decide whether or not their presence is outweighed by their unpleasantness. Personally one believes that cutting them out, like the cancer that they are, might be painful in the short term, but it pays dividends in the end. Besides Christmas becomes a whole lot cheaper next year J

Friday, April 8, 2011

Colours under the sun

It is pouring as only it can in a sub-tropical paradise. People are huddled under umbrellas as they stand in bus shelters. They straggle onto the bus, hair and trousers plastered to them in dripping testament to the inadequacies of such protection against the onslaught. As they pass by, a trail of drip marks and wet foot prints make the floor increasingly slick.

Outside the sky is a uniform luminous grey that is tinged with yellow. Any colour comes from the verdant gardens and median strips that we pass. Even the lawns which are normally more yellow than green are heading towards a richer shade of green than one has seen in a long time. See here nothing is really green. Usually things are a yellow green, a brown green and at times an almost reddish green. The climate is harsh and it produces an equally harsh colour palette of orange, red and ochre yellows. All of this delivered under an almost aggressively bright blue sky.

For years the colours produced a mute feeling of homesickness. Not for the places, but the more gentle colours of emerald greens, greys and soft blues. And grass... real grass that you can patter across with bare feet, unlike the stuff here that feels like walking on a coir mat. Of course that gentleness belied the reality. There you can get so badly burnt without even knowing it because it is done in a balmy 21 (69.8F) degrees. It is not until later as you start to turn an unpleasantly painful shade of scarlet that you realise the trouble to come.

In some ways here is a lot more brutally honest. You are as hot as hell and sizzle as you fry. There is no artful pretence of gentleness to lull you into a false sense of security. And you can offset the feelings of homesickness with a blue tint to your glasses... It makes everything look like the right shade of green.

Thursday, April 7, 2011


How’s your arse today He enquired solicitously. Um tender, thank you for asking. Oh good let’s see if we can improve on that He replied, propelling one directly to the bedroom.  Flopping on the bed next to him, one wondered what vile thing He had in mind. He rolled over between one’s thighs and proceeded to lick one very gently, but firmly.

The mind sighed with relief... oral sex is always a great pleasure. A hand snaked up and grabbed a breast. The tongue applied more pressure as the fingers bit into the nipple. The body started to race towards an orgasm. And then He really started to apply pressure and a vicious twist. The orgasm faltered and He applied more pressure with the tongue. The body started to spiral upwards as He got more aggressive and the pain made one mute. Unable to cry out or call uncle or even ask for permission to come, the orgasm came in a roar of sound as the voice finally escaped. He kept licking and twisting, making the orgasm go on and on.

Finally He stopped, grabbed ones legs over his shoulders and thrust into the still pulsating cunt. He reached down and grabbed the nipples making one cry out and beg for mercy. He slammed in harder and harder until we came spiralling along a simultaneous orgasm.

Laying there after one asked if we could have a hand signal to ask for an orgasm, as the voice doesn’t seem up to the job at times. Perhaps one could wave a tissue... sort of like a white flag. He laughed. Failing that could we close the windows before doing this shit because the neighbours must have heard the screams for miles.

And damn it the nipples are starting to feel sore... really freaking sore. And so is the cunt.

And worst of all one has to go to work


Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Collision course

Curled up with our respective electronic devices, chatting through an open door, He turns around and says do you know where Hobbit is? Um no.... the last time one searched for him he was nowhere to be found. See the truth is somewhere in the last seven years or so, one sort of mislaid Hobbit. And it was not an easy thing to do. Several moves, an ex (whom he was very fond of) dying and work and... You get the idea. In fact when she died one did try to contact him without success and a couple of years ago one sniffed around the net, also without success.

Hmm was the reply. Clickety, click, tappety, tap... he is living on a pacific island called out the voice. Well he was a couple of years ago... 92... might still be alive... more clicking. Yep he is... Want his phone number? Sure. Out He pops from the office, bearing a piece of paper and looking smug. They are on the same time zone... give him a call.

Looking at the proffered piece of paper, a number of thoughts went through one’s mind. Gladness that Hobbit was still alive after all these years.  Admiration for the sheer chutzpah of the man... bloody well living on an island! Arsy prick! Wondering what had happened to the lady he was last with... a story in her own right... aren’t they all. And a tinge of... sadness... gladness? Still not sure.

Well aren’t you going to phone him? Yes, but... a glance at the clock... it will be his afternoon nap time. No need to scare the old ferret quite like that. Besides didn’t you make a better offer? Something a little more immediate and sexual? He looked momentarily taken aback... He would love to meet Hobbit and they would get on... things in common and knowing him... He is the nosiest person on earth... one will be lucky to get five minutes on the phone, before being shuffled to one side so He can find out more about one small slave when she was young.

Fortunately He did remember the prior offer, and whisked one off to bed to try out that other red toy. He had a wonderful time seeing if He could get the arse to gape... honestly sex sometimes feels like a porn shoot round here... and then driving the toy back in. Taking the toy out and inserting himself to see what if felt like when it was that relaxed and open... shoving the toy back in. Eventually He tired of it and shoving it in as far as it would go, He allowed one to have a wonderful orgasm while He simultaneously fucked one in the cunt.

Later as one lay there still a bit buzzed, He went back to the computer... What is your mother’s last name? That killed the buzz... one lost her deliberately and it was a perfectly mutual decision. Um you won’t find her... she will be ex-directory. The sounds of industrious clicking carried into the bedroom. Well she is still working... dear gods she has to be 69... in fact she is teaching at X. Her registration is due later this year... still a specialty teacher. Sure you don’t want the schools number? Groans some things are best left in the past :(

Monday, April 4, 2011


For the first time there is an autumnal feel on the air. There is that wonderful promise of cool weather to come. It makes you think, not of woolly jumpers or roaring fires (though in truth there are places in Queensland that do warrant them), but of sex. The kind of sex that dare not speak its name in our summer. Unfortunately it is also the time of year that one starts to eye off the costumes, that He is so fond of, hanging there in mute threat. Sighs may one just take a moment to say that satin maids costumes are only sexy for the voyeur and those cute petticoats are scratchy.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Guess who

In the spirit of all things bunnified

Creative idea #4

From the man that brought you the other ideas, there is now The Cult of the Bunny

Coming home from work one plopped down and gained possession of the good computer to catch up with some of your blogs. Of course with that owner radar, the one that always knows when you are up to something that they can interrupt, He woke up. And proceeded to chirp His way through any attempts one was making to read. It seems watching Angelina Jolie in movies makes women depressed and there is an alarming trend towards women feeling depressed after sex. Well that last one is no great surprise. After promising that AJ only ever made one happy and that sex was absolutely awesome, with no tendency towards making one depressed (quite the opposite in fact), He moved on to his latest idea.

He thinks that a bunny cult would be a good idea. As He said it is no more stupid than Gor... why does spell check keep rejecting that word when it accepts Klingon... and there are a lot of similarities. They both have a print medium... and you have to admit that one is no less vapid than the other. In fact the bunny’s even had their own manual which would end the tiresome debates that so many seem to get bogged down in about the right way to do things. They both involve the subjugation of women and a rich fantasy life with costumes. And more importantly they both have poses to learn.

It seems when you were a bunny you had to learn the bunny walk, the bunny stance, the bunny perch, the bunny dip for serving and on and on it went. Now you have to picture these poses being done by a big naked man who has just woken up, to appreciate how distracting and annoying all of this was. He proceeded to wax lyrical for what seemed an eternity with this latest idea. Things about having your slave greet you in the correct costume in the correct pose, how a pose could be morphed into one for taking off shoes... you are getting the idea.

Oh and He already has some of the original playboy club ashtrays so décor is not a problem L

You have inspired Him... Thank you, each and every one of you.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Questions but no answers

Going past the pet shop, with its half windows comprising of cute animal photos one realised a couple of things. All the photos have been taken with the animals looking up to the camera, thereby creating an image of a mute, hopeful plea that makes them so appealing. And secondly, this is the important one for this; one really doesn’t understand pet play. Even after spinning the idea around for awhile.

Now, one does understand relating to an animal.  As a person born in the Year of the Dragon how could one not? The inescapable truth, that it is an apt description of ones... shall we say... charming characteristics, is undeniable. Piss one small slave off and you will hear scales rattle. Push it and you will get the full flight of the dragon shrew. Sighs there goes the good slave award... again.

Anyway back to kitties and puppies and pet play. Which one doesn’t understand at all. See while one can understand that it might be very freeing to play these things, one remains unsure what the owner gets out of it. The last time one checked the cat can’t cook or clean and it is surly company at best. Well it remains resolute in its determination to not confess to these skills. Mind you it likes to pretend it doesn’t recognise its own name when it suits. Hmmm.... maybe it is more cunning than one suspects...

Friday, April 1, 2011


Standing idly chatting to a customer, in between selling her useful item, it came to one’s attention that she was peering at one in a rather disconcerting manner... well for someone who was wearing rather spiffy glasses and with no other obvious impediments. In the end, after one last uneasy shuffle, she asks is that a collar? Yes it is. As in a real collar... as in collared she enquired, looking sharply focused for the first time in the last ten minutes.  Yes it is. Oh... she seems a little non-plussed. But doesn’t it worry you? Not really. The odd customer recognises it for what it is... like you... everyone else just likes it or ignores it.

Now getting busted at work is a semi-regular event. Seriously the area has more kinky people in per capita than any other town round here. It must do judging by the “like minded” folk one finds at work. Though it would be fairer to say they find one small slave. It would also be fairer to say some of them are more memorable than others.

Like the woman ... obviously a domme judging by the sharp look one’s reply elicited...who enquired if one was aware the collar had significance in certain circles. Really, one deadpanned in the most sardonic tone one could muster. Which is when one got the look... it was the tone wasn’t it... bad slave L

And then there is the personal favourite, who upon spying the collar asked politely if it was indeed a collar. Upon having his suspicions confirmed, he proceeded to launch into an exhaustive list of people one might know. Mistress Soandso, Master Whoseitwhatsit, slave suchit... the man got around.

In both cases the people in question decided to launch the interrogation at the checkout with enormous queues, which is why one was temporarily manning a cash register. Please people for the love of all things private, if you find one of your own kind, a busy checkout is not the place to have these types of conversations. Peoples standing in them are bored and listening. Besides it makes the checkout chick surly.