Dazed and forgetful

Finishing breakfast He turned around and went right, to the bedroom for a quickie. Love to, but really don't have time... one of us has to go to work. Your haircut took a little longer than anticipated and breakfast ran a little late because of it. He lunged and one gracefully side stepped into the bathroom. Yeah not the most sensible choice in hindsight...

Pinned up against the wall, back arched over his bent arm, He nibbled ones neck while raiding the nether regions until one came. Stretched up on tippy toes, one knee raised and one arm outstretched with a finger hooked in the shower cap hanging from the wall... we looked like the painting of the Nymph and Satyr if you are of classical persuasion... albeit a modern twist.

I'll see you when you've had a shower. How fast can you cum one enquired sweetly. We're about to find out He retorted.

Entering the bedroom one crawled over the bed to Him. Stroke it... suck it... and a hand reached out in a vice like grip of a nipple. As one's head came up and off his dick to register a yelp of complaint... He obviously couldn't hear one's muffled whimpering objections... He said now climb on it. And with a vicious thrust He forced his way up into a wet, but not quite ready cunt.

Keeping hold of one by the nipple and a the other hand clamped on a thigh, He thrust in repeatedly until we both came in a loud shuddering orgasm that left one shaken and confused. Snuggling into his doona He chirped off you go... you don't want to be late for work. Leaving one to stumble around and forget things, be unable to find others and to drop more than a few.

Bastard!

Out on the tiles

Lying in bed one contemplated a shower verbally. To be honest the contemplation was more along the lines of reluctance to leave the bed vs. the need to get clean. So are you going to pee for me, He asked. Umm... don't think so... well it was more of a question... though in truth His voice didn't go up at the end of the sentence. He gave one the look that indicated that was the wrong answer, and sighing one shuffled out of the nice warm bed reluctantly.

In the bathroom one opened the shower door and reached for the tap. No, was the firm command. But... it's cold and a little warm water... Seeing His face the whining trailed off into a gloomy resignation and one stepped into the shower. The slightly rough floor tiles were icy underfoot and so were the wall tiles... even the glass was cool to touch... and all of it was beaded with water from where He had showered just minutes before. Positioning oneself gingerly so as to not come into contact with any of this one turned to face Him.

Squat a little, I want to see you properly. Now spread your lips, He ordered. Doing as told one concentrated on peeing for Him. Finally it started to gush out, warm and golden, splattering everywhere due to that complete lack of directional aim one is blessed with. Nice, He murmured stroking his hard on. Are you ready, He asked? Nodding one moved closer, knelt and offered up a pair of warm breasts as a target... or a tray. He came with a satisfied grunt and washing his hands left...

Leaving one covered in an assortment of bodily fluids and wondering how to put on a shower cap, clean ones hands and simultaneously not get caught in the initial icy blast of cold water... which the shower does with a great deal of enthusiasm L

Beauty is a state of mind

Having five minutes one finally got around to making some practical phone calls to the doctors and the hospital... thought it was time to see what the waiting list was like for that foot. You can imagine the joy at being told that it will be about another 18 months. This time frame is somewhat different to the six months that the doctor said. So here we are... stuck in ugly shoes for probably another two years.

Now the old incarnation of one small slave would have rejoiced... unlimited jeans and sports shoes. The new one is struggling with feelings of being frumpy and unattractive when wearing those things. And it sort of crept up too... damn Him and his sneaky rewiring. Peeking in the wardrobe there are all these lovely dresses and skirts and shoes and boots... all unrelentingly girly... and none of them can be worn.

There is this little section of tops and bottoms... and one is confined there like a child in a playpen...  held hostage by that damn foot and its need for sports shoes with room for orthotics. And none of them make His eyes light up, any more than one's own do when peering resentfully in the mirror. At this rate one may as well have a massive clean out. By the time one gets back into any of this stuff it will be so unfashionable that one will actually be frumpy L

Food, fondling and films

We woke up and stumbled around getting into gear to go walkies. You may have noticed a lack of the usual pre-mouse grumblings involved in that opening sentence. See what a little training can do? OK one was also bribed with breakfast on the return leg.

As one is hauling on shoes He says if we go up the stairs it should bring us out almost in front of the cafe. Those Stairs one asked distracted from lace tying. The ones where you took advantage of your slave and broke her trust? He looked around the computer screen bemused by the sudden appearance of another drama queen in our flat. Well would you rather I just pulled down your pants and sodomised you in daylight He offered. If trust is just about predictability, then doing that should be replicating the pattern and subsequently increase your trust. Sighs you see what one has to live with?

With that logic before mouse one scampered off along the waterfront. The day was quite grey and miserable and there were few people out. As we mounted the stairs and approached the landing He grabbed one by the collar, hauled one to the banister and slid his hands down the shorts, roughly slipping into one's arse. You sure you don't want a trust building exercise He enquired breathily in one's ear. Mutters why is it you can never find a walker, jogger or a convenient elderly exerciser when you need one?

The little hole in the wall cafe around the corner from us has received yet another owner and another new lease of life. In the time we have lived here it has been a restaurant, a Portuguese restaurant (which we always meant to try but it closed before we got around to it), a kebab place and now it has arisen as the Burnt Orange Cafe. A place that has chosen a simple breakfast and lunch menu that uses really fresh ingredients and generous servings. That should still one's palpitating cholesterol levels... OK maybe not with that much glorious crispy bacon J

After that, a gym visit and a shower, we set off to see "Sleeping Beauty" at the movies. It is a beautifully shot film that sets the actor's almost ethereal beauty against a wonderfully grimy Sydney. There are even some shots of the University of Sydney... yes the one of Fet fame that is always included in those nonsensical threats of law suits, and other empty promises of rather unlikely retaliations against invasions of privacy. It is also a film that has divided the critics... and upset many of them.

The film though is well worth watching... particularly by those with a fetish for partners who are drugged into unconsciousness... as it is a quietly erotic film that explores an extravagant lifestyle where age can buy beauty, and what it chooses to do with it when it is in its grasp... amongst other things. 

One more reason

He woke up last night after a rotten sleep, and standing there drugged and in pain one took a look at his shattered face and said if you like come home tomorrow and just go to bed and stay there. Looking up blearily He said but what about the wait for that bus. Oh it will be long and it will be 5pm before one gets home, but frankly one will probably be in no shape to go to the gym anyway. If you can get some sleep one will take the hit gladly.

So it was a surprise to see Him there this afternoon, looking rumpled and bleary eyed, but nevertheless there. And as always that thrill ran along the spine to see him... that little bam of recognition... the one that says we are back together where we belong. See we are an odd couple... after 14 years we could still be up each other's arses 24/7 and there would still not be enough hours in the day. Couldn't sleep one enquired? Oh you know how it is He shrugged... sleep is for the weak.

Later, when getting up to use the computer, He says what are you going to write about? How mean you are one replied with a smile. Oh typical... no mention of the fact that I picked you up and saved you a two hour trip home. Oh no, that's not as interesting as how mean I am. You know He said, considering one through narrowed eyes, the next time when my alarm goes off I'm just going to roll over and leave you there. Uh huh one replied... just happened to wake up in time to come and get one huh. Looking sheepish He replied, well figured you wouldn't be feeling much better than I was and it is a long wait.

Oh yeah so mean J

The reality show

Waking up one came to the realisation that there was a nasty headache lurking with intent behind the eyes. Coffee, breakfast and Panadol did nothing to halt its advance and in the end one made the sensible choice and called in sick. Even that did little to slow it down L

So armed with a second coffee one curled up to wait for Him to come home... and may one just take a moment to say kneeling naked at this time of the year is not as hot as it sounds... in fact it is downright nippy. Finally the car pulled into the garage, the door slammed and His footsteps sounded. As did a tell tale rustling sound... a sound that got louder as He juggled bags and himself through the door and endeavoured to keep the cat out. It was touch and go there for a minute... the cat is determined and it fights dirty.

Bursting through the door triumphantly He came round the corner to find one looking intently interested in the source of the rustling. Hello He said in surprise, what are you doing home. Rotten headache that is set to get worse... how are you? Oh I've got a migraine too... but I have supplies, He replied shaking a large paper bag gently. And I'll share... not words you hear from a Scorpio very often.

Slipping off his shoes, one followed him into the kitchen and happily snuffled through onion rings and fries as He scarfed a burger. Why does greasy food always taste so good when there is a bad headache coming... oh that's right... the taste buds go into hiding. It leaves you with only the base receptors of sweet and salt... both major components of junk food. Bless you developers of burger chains... you might be slowly poisoning entire generations around the globe, but damn you know your stuff.

Curled up in bed watching crap TV... which is about all one was capable of following and then only barely... He turns and says in him most winning manner I need some chocolate. Sighing in a very slave like manner, one slid out of the sheets to haul on clothes and trot around to the local shop. Wondering why the sun is always so freaking bright when you have a headache as one scampered along. And wether, when dreaming of slavery, if this is the sort of crap they have in mind... bet it's not.

Returning one cast aside clothes and slid back into bed where one was rewarded with small squares of chocolate. To be honest one could only think of Sheldon training Penny...

Which can be found here

And with that thought in mind one was lulled into sleep by the drone of the TV and analgesics. Secure in the knowledge that the headache will still be there when one wakes.

An ex to remember

People often ask; what's the difference between a BDSM and an abusive relationship? Firstly anyone who asks that has probably never been in an abusive relationship... that or their BDSM one is really shit. Secondly, on the face of it there are similarities in that the tools used, and even the intent, looks rather alike. So what sets them apart you may be wondering... well that is what one would like to explore here.

After running coquettishly straight at someone inappropriate one decided to set the aim a little higher... someone grossly inappropriate... with a motorbike. He... let's call him Dick shall we... was perfect; surly, moody, emotionally immature... the stuff of parental nightmares. Auntie and uncle hated him, but were smart enough to not push the issue. And they knew one was set to go back to mother's to start at some girls' school she had picked out in prep for uni. They probably figured she would sort him out... she wasn't nicknamed the dragon lady for nothing.

Of course that plan misfired spectacularly after one left home on Christmas day... a funny story for another time... and moved in with Dick. At the time he was living in an enormous boarding house... flatting was virtually unheard of in NZ in the early 80's... and it was a lot of fun. There were always people around, an enormous communal kitchen where one learnt to make Oka courtesy of one of the Samoan's living there... it was pretty sweet. Dick hated it.

They were all trying to get into one's pants and they were not to be trusted, especially as he had to go to work. It caused a lot of heated arguments and one spent a lot of quality time shut in the room. Of course one thought his beliefs were just daft, rather than an inkling of what a warning sign all that possessiveness was. Well at 16 you don't do you? And all that grabbing while he lectured and ranted wasn't a clue either...

We found a place of our own and moved out... and in doing so lost all contact with anyone... we couldn't afford a phone. So there one was... isolated with a possessive Dick. Auntie and uncle were waiting for one to weaken and come back home suitably contrite... oh boy did they underestimate how completely and utterly resistant one was to move back to the country, and the death without lights that represented. Besides what 16 year old is ever going to admit that big a mistake... especially to people who had adopted the attitude of get back to us when you come to your senses.

The next move was to get a job as we needed the money for bills... and that was his reasoning for taking the money. He was the one paying them after all. So every pay day Dick would be there to meet one after work and pocket the envelope... In those days it used to come in a little yellow envelope... in cash... with the amount neatly written by hand. In this case though the amount wasn't quite accurate and one squirreled a meagre amount away in a bank account he didn't know about.

See the trouble with applying pressure to people like one's self is that we ooze out of the sides... in little ways. Some smart (staying on the pill even though Dick was very keen to have children), some stupid (you should be careful what you call people... they just might decide to own it even if it is detrimental), but we will always slither out from underneath. It is what keeps us alive ultimately, but one digresses from this grim little tale.

Meanwhile Dick's moodiness increased, as did the accusations of unfaithfulness, the name calling, the shaking, the cornering and the odd slap. Oh he was always sorry afterwards... aren't they all... and as he always earnestly explained he only got this way because one pushed him to it. Strange how they are all so good at deflecting the blame... it's a skill. All the while the cycle continued... escalation, eruption, placation, peace.

Except the times of peace grew shorter and the violence increased. You crept around, placating him and increasingly servile, nervous about triggering him. And there was no discernable pattern as to what set him off and you were never safe... while sleeping Dick tried smothering one with a pillow... it was years before one ever slept with one of those again. It was a wakeup call though... enough to realise that if one didn't leave one would probably not get off so lightly next time.

Providence offered a solution in the form of a white knight who whisked one away... but that too is a story for another time. Though one will say if you live with someone like this; leave. Do it the minute their back is turned. Take yourself and run. Don't be that stupid woman who tries to tell him like he is some rational person. Dick's next one did... and he hospitalised her repeatedly.

So what is the difference you may be wondering still? Owners may isolate you, tell you what you are, keep you financially dependent, limit contact with family and friends and physically coerce you. Well the difference is how it makes you feel. Yes it really is that subjective... no handy little checklist here... sorry. See if your relationship doesn't bring you joy, if your heart does not skip a beat when you see them, if you live in perpetual fear of setting them off... then the chances are it is not a good relationship... be it BDSM or otherwise.

Aspirations of submission

We were curled up in bed, most likely after sex... it is the only time one is really accused of being cuddly... and He turned around and said something incredibly Scorpio. To which one pithily retorted that if He kept it up one would simply go all submissive on him.

An eyebrow shot up... are you actually capable of that He enquired, disbelief dripping in his voice. Why, do you want one to be more submissive? He looked a little nonplussed at the question... as he does sometimes when one asks something so utterly left field. Trying to reframe the question one asked well, do you think one is submissive enough? You're fine He replied dubiously... It's more that I don't think you should aspire to the impossible.

There went the last dream of attaining the good slave award L

A day of achieving nothing much

It was one of those days which start out with such great promise. Waking up... always a good beginning and as one gets older less of a given. The sun is shining, the birds are squawking... nothing actually sings here. Morning mouse... again superb. Go to the computer, catch up and then get embroiled in a little of this with a couple who are either the most stupid people on earth or the biggest trolls... money is actually on stupid. They are now busy inciting a riot against us on their group... we probably should report them, but by the time the CT's get round to it we will have done most of their work by banning their little friends.

We had a lovely breakfast which should decrease both our chances of longevity, had some nice mutually satisfying sex (yes it does happen even in a BDSM relationship) and He went to sleep. Getting ready for the gym one realised that every joint hurt... even the knuckles (hate winter) and gave the gym the arse, settling instead for doing some cooking. Ended the day with a strange mixture of crackers and cheese... hardly a nutritionally balanced meal.

It is safe to suggest that the day was completely wasted... it was rather nice actually J

Expansion

See this is what followed us home... a little brother or sister to this item. It is called Glass Mates and they are 1.85" (4.7cm) glass balls with a total length of about 8" (13.5cm). His reasoning at the time was that one enjoyed the big version so much that a small one would have to be useful. It would take less time to get in, and be less bother to remove, it would be fun to insert it and take one out with it in. At the time one naively believed Him... no sense of self preservation at all L

In fact one was quite convinced He was being incredibly kind and thoughtful... right up until the moment that a strange look flitted across his face. It was a predatory, cunning look that usually bodes no good for one small slave. That look occurred just as one was saying thank you to be precise, but seeing it one faltered and said in a quiet voice you're planning on using it as an expansion kit aren't you? This is going to be the strapping ball equivalency of Lego isn't it? An add on that will give you bigger rooms?

A slightly guilty looked crossed his whiskers as He confessed the idea might have occurred to him. But really, He hastened to add, it was brought with your enjoyment in mind. Yeah, are we going to take odds on how it gets used first? As an object of pleasure or as an expansion kit?

A day in the life

Snapshots from the edge...

Today started simply enough... we stumbled out of bed and remembered we had to go phone shopping, thanks to Microsoft deciding to no longer support our phones... thanks guys. Of course He wanted to go to the other side of town to where he had found a stockist of Irn-Bru. His logic was that anything that outsells Coke is worth a try... even if this event only occurs in Scotland. Really we are going to have to stop Him watching those bloody cooking shows... it would be a kindness... did you see the ingredients list?

Then we remembered we need lube so we needed a sex shop... Looking at that rather eclectic list we decided to go on a road trip down the coast (which is a bit of a misnomer because the last we saw of the sea was when we pulled out of our driveway and trundled off) and by the time we had made these decisions it was obvious we were going to need lunch in there as well. So off we set in high spirits for our day out...

First we made a small detour to go to Sunnybank, an area with an enormous Asian population... mainly due to the fortuitous name. We were in search of Shangri-La... no, not the mysterious and fabled village, but the restaurant that specialises in Yum cha. We are great lovers of that wonderful dining style... what's not to like. People come around with heaped trolleys and tempt you with succulent little morsels of steamed and fried food. All you have to do is point and nod... and drink tea.

We found it tucked away in an innocuous looking building... actually it probably would have been easier to find the fabled village. Pushing open discrete heavy doors the nose began to twitch... and the nose never lies. Honestly it was the best Yum cha we have had in years... fresh, loads of variety, even things we had never even seen before. And one must confess we made little pigs of ourselves... all the while vowing to come back.

Next we headed off to Logan City Shopping Centre... bemoaning the lack of a place to have a small snooze in as we went. We arrived via the food court... or piazza, as they like to describe it. Not sure that a couple of fountains, some plants in pots and some Astro Turf really warrant such a grand title but... While there we did some phone shopping, decided to wait a month until the object of our lust becomes available and wandered off on the next leg of our journey.

Pic courtesy of the net

Syd's Pie Factory was the next stop where we tried the infamous Irn-Bru... which it is claimed can cure a hangover. With that amount of food colouring, caffeine and sugar it is no bloody wonder. The stuff is a chemical cocktail that would probably give speed a run for its money. To be honest though it does taste very good... sort of like creaming soda with a faint ginger ale finish. Oh and best of all, in amongst the Scotch Eggs and Haggis, one found a box of sherbet dabs. Suitably stocked we meandered along... one of us industriously chasing sherbet with a liquorish stick... which is far superior to toffee for the record and far more of a challenge.

The last stop was us finding that The Den trades under a different name that far from home. And rather than being the kinky gay man's Mecca, it is full of all things pink and fluffy. Standing there one ventured to ask Him why do they make all this stuff pink? It's for girls was His reply. He's wrong one suspects... see what one thinks happens is that most sex toys are bought by men for the women in their life. The pink is to clearly signal to those men that it is for girls... it bypasses the annoying thing of having to read the instructions. Oh it's pink... obviously for her... and she likes pink... she's a girl. Nods it is the only logical explanation...

Now as for what followed us as we sped back home... well that is a tale for another time J

What not to wear

The gym edition

Having attended our local gym for a while now it has come to one's attention that some are crying out for help in this department. Now while our walls are littered with helpful advice on matters of etiquette such as...

If you are big enough to lift it, be big enough to put it away

and

Towels are essential and available from the office if you need one

... what is really needed are more along the lines of...

Yes we understand that you have dropped in after work, but dude... safety vest and steelcaps? Seriously?

Black socks do not go with any gym gear... ever.

Your chunky knit cardigan belongs at home.

Sunglasses that big are a danger.

Using a bandana to keep sweat off your brow is sexy... tying it like Olivia Newton-John in "Physical" is not (especially on a 6' bloke).

Using the straps on your back pack including the waist strap looks odd... particularly when combined with the above bandana.

Leggings that look like jeans just look strangely out of place.

Short shorts should not be worn by men... particularly those doing squats.

Your sweat pants do not need to be pulled up to your nipples.

We understand being germaphobic is difficult, but laying paper towels down on any area not covered by your towel should be seen as a cry for help... that or a reason to buy a home gym.

Refreshing your memory

The best money ever spent

Having a hysterectomy is a topic that has come up lately so it's just easier to put it here.

When asked one always says that the hysterectomy was the best money one has ever spent... and by the time it finally happened that was true. Of course like many things, it didn't start out that way... in fact it was at the end of long and fraught path that had stared simply enough with trying to find birth control. As one has mentioned before when we got together there were lots of discussions about children and all sorts of issues finding birth control. By the time we found out that we didn't need it... between His sperm and the PCOS we had slim chances... the PCOS  had really kicked in and at the time the pill was being used to try and control the bleeding.

It was largely unsuccessful, unless bleeding every 10 days was the aim. The migraines were spectacular as well... cluster migraines that went three days on, one day off and then back on for another three. It was then that we discovered you can fail every preventative medication as well... which really shouldn't have been a surprise. It was round about then that we ditched the pill and started trying to get a hysterectomy. 

In this country they are very reluctant to perform that type of surgery if you haven't had children. Invariably one was informed that as one had no children, being a woman one would most likely change one's mind. Logic like umm... 35, 37, 39, oh and between us we will only get pregnant with serious medical intervention fell on deaf ears. As did we have done the grieving, get the bloody thing out. Eventually we found a lovely sympathetic gyno who was more susceptible to logic and money, who agreed that it would be for the best and it was done semi-privately.

The hysterectomy was done on the Monday and one was out on the Wednesday... OK it was beg to be released on the Tuesday when one discovered the standard flavour of jello was green... shudders... and the painkillers were lousy. Morphine doesn't work so well for some of us... it flushes out too fast... and the hips, which were the only thing feeling any pain were unbelievably annoying. There were also a couple of issues with the accommodations.

The centralised system means that all female stuff is done on the same ward. So you get new mothers and their babies sharing rooms with people like oneself. Now we were prepared to not have children, but one can only imagine what this arrangement must be like for those who didn't want to or had lost a child. A couple of the nurses were cunts too... very prolife and having children some of them are... to the point of not understanding why you would want a hysterectomy and letting you know they disapproved. The nursing sister soon put a stop to that shit...  we had a chance to chat as we went walkies on the Tuesday... it was essential to prove one could escape if pushed J

The gyno pontificated that it would reduce the migraines by half... which it did. Of course the GP is still unconvinced, even though one has tried to explain taking meds for a migraine that only lasts for three days in total is a vast improvement on taking meds for a cluster migraine that has a back swing of another three days. And truthfully combined with staying away from soy and preservatives, which can trigger the damn things, and using antihistamines if one gets sandbagged by ingredients changes, one can go weeks without one.

Now some people wonder how you work through the grieving process of not having children. And there is one, even if you never wanted them... especially if you finally meet someone you would have children with and it is just not going to happen. We talked. We talked and cried for what might have been if we had met sooner, been more fertile, been richer or in one small slaves case been younger.

There was also the issue of Him being younger and coming from a family that like, enjoy... expect children. To be honest one really thought He would wake up one day and realise he wanted children. It is very hard to remove yourself from family expectations... particularly when you are confronted by them on a regular basis. From one's perspective that was the hardest thing to overcome... the belief that He would just one day turn around and say... sorry I have met someone more fertile.

At the end of the day you can only grieve for what might have been for so long. Just as you can only live in fear of what might be or might happen. Eventually you have to choose to move forward and let it go. Otherwise it will eat away at your now like a cancer... silent, deadly and utterly malign. We chose us and moving forward... and we have a cat that makes any teenager seem utterly adorable... and preferable.

This morning

For some reason the bus, which is slightly ahead of time, has started to run "set down only". What this means for waiting commuters is that the bus hurtles past them leaving them looking shocked, surprised, furious and more than a little resentful. For those of us on board, relieved to have been on the early part of the run, it means doing it in record time. We are utterly nonplussed as to why we have been blessed by the transport gods and shown such favour over our fellow travellers, and more than a little guilty about those still trying to flag us down.

We hurtle past the turn off for a shopping centre, and bypass a whole  suburb in the process. Upon hitting the other side we start to pick up the waiting people again. They are blissfully unaware of how fortunate they are. Unlike those left behind they will get to work on time. Finally we hit the train station and venturing to stick the head around the driver's capsule, one asks were you the 7.20 or the 7.35 this morning? Oh the 7.20 he replies, we had brake issues and had to change busses, and this was the only way to meet the train.

That was the train that no one got off to catch and no one got on from... mainly because the commuters (in their smart business clothes) were left stranded at the bus stops to wait for the next bus. The one that will not get them to work on time... which is why they wait for the slightly earlier bus. Such are the vagaries of public transport. It really is a wonder more people don't use it L

Changes

A few days ago, while standing in the bathroom admiring the new booties with their vibrant turquoise stripped with purple flecked white, thinking how delightfully they went with the purple pj's, and how wonderful it was to have another pair with purple in them as it was such a fabulous colour, the mind clicked in and went WTF! When did all this purple appear and how much of it is there? Doing a quick mental stocktake there are pj's in assorted shades, a skirt, jumpers and a coat... oh and a few pairs of shoes one is unable to wear due to that damn tumour in the foot (still waiting on the hospital). Not that much considering it's the favourite colour...

Since when interjected the memory. Purple is His favourite colour... yours is red. Standing there transfixed at the thought the mind replied no, definitely purple. No, your favourite colour is red insisted the memory... red shoes, bags, coats and jumpers. Red!

Not any more it would seem... the purple is taking over with the slow relentlessness of a rising tide... it is eradicating the red.

Just the other day a certain person on the friends list... waves... published a list of her favourite things and all one could do was read it and think... for now. These are your favourite things for now. As you fall further down the rabbit hole you may find they change...

Birthday with benefits

Wanna see what you can get for my birthday? How long is it going to take to save for this, one quipped in reply. Oh, it's not that expensive and it will benefit you as well. Uh huh one replied doubtfully. Peering at the screen revealed this.

Umm... how is that of any benefit? Well it's encased in leather He replied, in a tone that suggested that should have been perfectly self evident. It will have more thud and less sting... You can pretend I'm a musketeer He added helpfully. Yeah not a fantasy... at all. I can make a Z for Zorro He said, doing one of his pantomimes.

Yeah again... not seeing the benefit of this at all. It's kinda cool though isn't it He pressed. Glaring at him over the notebook one had grabbed to record this little moment on, a raised eyebrow indicated doubt... well more complete disbelief. Throwing a hand over his vexed brow He wailed I try to bring romance... exotic locations... and fantasies. All you do is write in your little book what a nasty, nasty man I am.

You know strangely all one got out of this was the belief that the Z would hurt like fuck, and that the only one having any fun would be him... Oh right... It's his birthday isn't it :(

Comparing two long term butt plugs

When you go to buy a long term butt plug there are a wealth of things online to chose from. The trouble is that there is no way to compare products side by side and it is a bit of a punt when you do go to buy, so one thought a small comparison of two of them from a purely personal perspective might be useful to some of you. As you can see in the picture there isn't a lot of difference between the insertable length or the circumference of the large Njoy and the small Permanent Plug. There are some noticeable design differences between them though, including materials and shape, that one would like to explore here.

The Njoy is made from stainless steel and apart from the odd mark that came about from its unfortunate and speedy encounters with the toilet, it has survived several years of wear and tear unscathed. The Permanent Plug is made from aluminium, no doubt with weight in mind, and although relatively new it is already marked with micro abrasions that one suspects are going to get worse. As a bit of a cleanliness freak one has to say that the stainless steel is preferable.

The overall external length of the Permanent Plug is about 2.5 cm or an inch longer than the Njoy, and depending on your aim in wearing a long term butt plug, is probably something to bear in mind. It does stick out that little bit too far for comfort, and depending on your shape it may keep you from sitting down for any length of time. Mind you it will keep a human pet off the furniture beautifully J

Unfortunately that length does create another interesting issue. The external sphincter muscle is quite unique in that it is continually clenching tight. It means that it will eat things... it loves a butt plug snack. And the wider waist of the plug, which is so good for anal stretching, combined with the force of sitting means that the arse is only too happy to try and gobble the external rim of the Permanent Plug... what's a few mm or an extra quarter of an inch to a stretchy muscle? It's the difference between your plug staying where it is meant to and you needing to attach something to the handle for quick retrieval.

Now having said all of that the Permanent Plug can do a couple of things that the Njoy can't. It was designed to be an enema nozzle and a very good one at that. It was also designed with the idea that a person could just be hosed out and the plug is, as its name implies, permanent. A good case can be made for either of them... the Njoy for comfort and the Permanent for flexibility. If pushed one would come down on the side of the Njoy, but the easy fix is to just consider buying both J

A Scottish Flower

Many years ago a young lady was born to a very well to do family. She was bright, articulate and not very fond of doing the socially acceptable thing. Of course her version of events was slightly different, but there is always a disparity between the truth and everyone’s versions of it. One truth is that she was a very talented dress designer and for many years ran a very successful boutique that show cased some of her designs.

It is also the truth that her father had the sense to set her up in a block of flats and give her free reign. He was smart enough to know his daughter was never going to get married and make him respectable... her fondness for drink was probably a clue. Another was that she utilised both her contacts and keen business sense to turn the flats into a large rambling brothel. And this gentle reader is where we come in because this is when the story gets interesting.

Her tipple of choice was a mixture of whisky and milk. That vile sounding concoction fooled those who thought they were helping her win her battle with the booze... she used to sit there with them and pretend it was milk. Later in life as she became riddled with cancer it helped dull the pain. It also took her from pleasant to vicious over the course of the day. The secret was to chat to her in the early afternoon. It was a time that rendered both her and her cat, pleasantly gossipy company. And she was fascinating to talk to... not to mention the tales that she told.

She bridged the gap between a life past and a life so far on the edge that it was as alien as the one she grew up in. They were both lives of the privilege and comfort that only money could buy. The life was conducted against a backdrop of glittering parties, drunken debauchery and important figures skipping over the banisters when the place was raided. Often by the very people that had their Christmas parties in the same place. Life was a giddy, chaotic, noisy roundabout as a good time was had by all.

She ended up in court on a few occasions where she was judged, often by her clients one suspects, not guilty. One infamous time the jury was taken on a tour of her place where they found a shrine to a religious figure and a bible on each bed. The girls were merely disciples on the road to redemption... she did have a flair for the dramatic. Well more the sleight of hand really... because what the jury didn’t see was the truth.

The bedrooms with their themes and ornate furnishing were purely for show.  All the rooms had hidden rooms that were actually used for work... they were far more utilitarian with easy to strip sheets. The place was such a rabbit warren that unless you knew where to look, you would never have found them.

And then there is the charming tale of the raid that was thwarted by a customer. It seemed the gentleman needed to pee in a hurry and decided to take a quick leak over the balcony. Which was an unfortunate choice as it turned out... well for the policeman below. Apparently his shriek of outrage alerted everyone in the house and there was naked bodies flying everywhere. Well stumbling was probably more accurate if legend is to be believed.

In the end none of that money or frivolity protected her from the girls who stole and the men who took advantage. And it did not save her from the inevitable path of the cancer. The house was inherited by her booze supplier for services rendered... so the story goes. Though one does know for a fact she didn’t expect him to pull it down and build condos on the site.

Regrets, there are a few

Actually for a person who has always lived life to the full there are very few. In fact the only one at the moment is a practical one. And a small one at that. So small in fact that it barely counts as a regret, yet still one mourns the decision.

When we renovated the bathroom there was no overhead light. Subsequently we kept the strip lights and installed an enormous mirror as a way to visually get around the miniscule bathroom. It meant that there was nowhere to put a couple of modern conveniences. Now one of those was an extractor fan, which with external walls that are nearly a foot thick and eves you can't access easily due to the pitch of the roof, was more of an ease thing. The other one though is usually attached to the lights and extractor fan as part of a single unit, and that is a heater.

At the time the thinking was its Queensland... for the short time we have winter it's not worth it. Well winter had arrived with a bit of a vengeance.  And now one is spending more quality time in the bathroom with enemas, lube and assorted butt plugs, it is a decision one is coming to regret. With every fibre of one's shivering, naked form L

The greatest gift

Around here the greatest commodity is sleep... neither of us get enough. He doesn't because no one on night shift ever does... some wanker always decides to mow their lawn, have a conversation outside your window, deliver something (actually round here they are often unpleasant things so that one is karma in action) or the local school sets the little monsters free. To add insult to injury his work is short staffed so He has picked up an extra shift for the moment.

On the other hand one small slave doesn't get enough sleep 'cos there is no going to bed before He gets up... otherwise we don't see each other and He won't get all those little service things he is so fond of. Not to mention that by the time one leaves for work and gets home it is a twelve hour day often with the gym tacked on the end of it... and growing muscle loves sleep. So there we are, as sleep deprived as any new couple with a baby... and no freaking end in sight L

So one came home, loaded with a gym bag, and toddled down the other end of the house to find presents and a cake. Seems it was the birthday one had forgotten about... really should learn how to keep better track of the days. It was the particularly luscious chocolate cake that His mother makes... everyone has one special thing... that cake is hers. There were also some of the hand knitted booties, in glorious colours, that one is so fond of in winter.

Scampering back, clutching an oversized cake tin, one plopped into the office chair to contemplate dinner... which really didn't get much past cake to be honest, though there was the thought of milk... that must count as food surely. As a compromise one decided to get out of the wet and increasingly cold gym gear and hit the shower. At that moment the glass door opened and He emerged hauling on a dressing gown... a sign of getting up rather than just making a comfort stop. Happy birthday He mumbled, giving one a hug... see love is hugging your slave when they are sweaty and gross.

Flying into the shower to get clean... OK, He took the opportunity to use one small slave as a target to pee all over, but the idea was cleanliness... one spent way more than the councils allotted four minutes in an effort to get warm. Emerging warm and clean we went to bed to curl up and watch a show together, while one tried a few food ideas before settling on cake... sometimes the first idea is the best. Now He probably had all sort of nefarious plans, but as one got warm and the muscles started to relax so did the eyelids... in fact one started to drift off during the punch lines. And do you know what He did?

He let one sleep. He took care of his own lunch, and fed the vile beast others call a cat, and got his own breakfast and uniform, and let one sleep though it all. He traded some of his precious sleep so we could spend some time together, and one could get eight glorious hours of slumber. And round here that is the greatest gift you could ever give anyone.

Furious and not fast

Someone in the transport company has decided to improve the bus and train services. A good thing you would think considering it is a huge area, and they are always trying to encourage people to use public transport to ease the congestion that rivals Los Angeles. Well it might have been if they hadn't decided to sync up our bus with the city train. That particular brain wave has resulted in some rather special flow on effects.

The issues it has created are in the weekend, not midweek where no doubt the passengers are relieved to only have to wait ages instead of half a life time. See in the weekend there are very few who travel to or from the city... its bloody miles even by Australian standards and there are great shopping centres closer to home. Unfortunately for the rest of us mere mortals who work end weeks it has added an extra hour to our travel.

In leaving a quarter of an hour earlier it means anyone working in those shopping centres now misses the bus and has to wait for the next one. All of this has taken the grand total for the days travel to three hours... to do a trip that in a car can be done in about 45 mins for the return trip. And they wonder why people don't use the transport systems if they can avoid it.

As a person who doesn't drive the only way around this little issue is to get off work half an hour early. Making one probably the first part time employee in history to go to their boss and say sorry... may one have less hours please? It also means that one will no longer be having a leisurely breakfast on Sunday morning... and he has just lost a very regular customer through no fault of his own.

Now, chatting to other workers who use that service we are all in the same boat. All of us are having to make the choice to stay at the centre or finish early and take the pay cut. Those who can are all taking the pay cut because if we stay, we end up either shopping or drinking coffee... all of which will use up that half hour of pay anyway. If you ask, all of us will find some way to pay for that pay cut and you can bet it is by spending less somewhere.

So thank you little bright spark at the transport company... who obviously works 9-5 weekdays. You have managed to do so much for the public and the local economy. 

A distinct lack of Njoyment

Side by side; large and 2.0 Njoy

At the moment one is spending some quality time in the evenings with the 2.0. It is not one small slave's best friend. Getting it in by yourself requires some serious contortions and a little force, and getting it out is almost as fraught. The handle is also just that little bit too long for comfort and you end up perched on furniture. All in all it does not make for the best of evenings L

On the bright side when He is administering the evening flogging and arse fucking it is almost a relief. And putting the large Njoy back in to go to sleep with is a pleasure. In fact it is almost anticlimactic. It is strange how everything in life is relative... 

Decisions, choices and sacrifice

All of life is dictated by choices, even in an O/p relationship, and contrary to the public opinion of some getting the big O or M shoved in front of your name does not actually change that... not really. Today was a case in point. By the time we had made the American style Jucy Lucy hamburgers He has been lusting after... and may one just take a moment to absolve oneself of any blame should He die of the richly deserved coronary... it was time for one small slave to get to the gym. The thing is He really likes to cum in one's arse before he drifts off to sleep... in preparation for the return to night shift. In its self it isn't an issue except doing weights with an arse full of cum can lead to complications... none of them socially acceptable ones.

It should be simple you are probably thinking... His needs come first. Yeah, here is a lesson in reality... One of the reasons one is in the gym is to stave off the annoying side effects of that medical condition and the weights... well they also help keep the degenerative conditions that occur with encroaching age at bay. In some ways the choice is more instant gratification now, over long term gains for both of us. Not quite so cut and dried. So do you know what we did? We talked about it... though to be honest conversations down the hole don't always go the way they could.

Wednesday for us is usually a shemozzle. We get up late after Tuesday night RPGing, totter round, drink morning mouse (well one of us does) and catch up with mail, make and eat one or two meals, have a list of things we want to do, squeeze some domestic things in and run out of time.  The only way you can work around that is to consult with each other because He will junk anything domestic, and then wonder why uniforms or some other little essential doesn't appear as if by magic. Honestly that last jar of fairies one got just aren't up to snuff...

The process went something like this...

So is anal out of the question on a Wednesday He asks, holding one by the collar. No it just needs to be earlier... it's not like you can just slap in a butt plug and hope for the best. Mainly because you can't wear a butt plug to the gym, one good squat and the damn thing will come out like a steel missile... particularly if it's lubed with masses of cum. The arse needs to be operational and tight otherwise it is going to get messy. So ideally it needs to be in the morning.

The best way to do it would be pop one in the shower, do an enema and we are good to go. He looked at one with impish humour. So first thing? Well morning mouse first would be nice one prevaricated. Oh we can do that... it can just get poured straight through the plug instead of water. Coffee enemas are supposed to be very good. Um... kinda like drinking the coffee. Oh it will be fine, you will still be getting your caffeine. Err... but one actually enjoys drinking it... you know the whole ritual thing of a mug and the taste.  Well I guess we could get you to sit over the cup... you can have what is left. That is not what one meant... in fact eww... really not what one meant.

He sighed, making that exasperated sound that you end up using when speaking to someone who should be getting the message. We are trying to save time here He explained carefully. Reefing you out of bed and popping you in the shower for an enema will save time. If we combine it with coffee it will cut the morning in half. But... but... it's morning mouse one wailed in reply. You want to do this before morning mouse. I'm prepared to compromise and do them together He replied, as though it was the most reasonable solution.

Mutters don't think He understands a girl has needs at all. It's bad enough when you get dragged out of bed to go walkies at the crack of dawn pre-mouse. Getting dragged out of bed, slapped in the shower and cleaned out for his convenience pre-mouse is just unreasonable. Do you think it is too late to ask for limits? 

Trust of many kinds

One of the things people are always going on about in BDSM relationships is trust. As we are aware trust is one of the cornerstones of a M/s relationship. It is also one of those things that one regards with a weary, jaundiced eye, mainly because He does stuff all the time that do anything but instil trust. Those bloody little pantomimes are the least of it too.

See the thing is we survive quite well with only minimal levels of it... 'cos He is just as bad. Picture this... We are curled up after some depraved little sexual act and while moving, the lips accidently graze His erect nipple. He growls at one is a warning manner. Now utterly mortified, one hastens to say that one is quite aware of the rules about taking a playful nip, and that generally one is quite obedient. Frankly His lack of trust is very hurtful L

He replies that the use of words like generally, mostly, usually, occasionally convince him that one is not to be trusted all the time. Subsequently one is not to be trusted. INTJ logic, you have to love it J Poking around further it seems though that He has fundamental trust (his words) on certain things... that one will not leave, that we will always talk things out and that He can always talk without it destroying the relationship.

It would seem He has no doubts over things that can be attributed to the enslavement process... 'cos one is not actually capable of tootling out the door and He knows it. There seems to be issues with the things that can be put down to poor impulse control. And truth be told He is not wrong... it does take every ounce of self control to not sink the little fangs in. Forewarned is forearmed because trust shouldn't actually require you to suspend all common sense...

Not according to plan

Today a new toy arrived delivered by our local sadist. It is an interesting type of butt plug in that the core is removable, and with the addition of the adaptor it can be turned into an enema nozzle. 

The implement:

A permanent plug;

•          High grade aluminium
•          Approx 40mm x 77mm (1.5 x 3")
•          Three easy clean pieces; plug, removable core and shower connector and available from The Stockroom.

So before one can say wink it is ripped from its plastic, cleaned and attached to the shower. To be honest in all the time we have been together it is the first time one has seen those long sensitive fingers of his perform anything... well... handy. They are usually busily engaged in other matters, but one digresses...

Um do you have any idea what you are doing? No, but how hard can it be... you just shove it in and turn on the tap. All of this is of course punctuated by elaborate pantomime and sound effects. And they say a drama degree is a waste L Err... you do realise that these little shows do not instil confidence of any kind right? In fact rather the opposite. He grinned and said that every minute one prevaricated would be an extra minute of water up one's arse... accompanied by a mimed looking at an imaginary watch.

Scampering to the bathroom we turned on the shower adjusting the temp and working out the flow. Then one was pressed, with warm breasts mashed against the rather cold tiles and legs spread, into the shower. Generous amounts of lube were smeared in one's arse and the nozzle was pushed firmly in place. He carefully turned on the tap and one small slave fell in love. It feels awesome... so warm and gentle with the water bubbling into one's arse at a slow and steady rate. Eventually one had to say stop... it is not an infinite space unfortunately.

Shortly afterwards all warm and clean, the plug was reinserted and the core was screwed in. How was that He asked. Well it is a really good enema... because it is done standing up it only cleans out the lower bowel, and unlike the syringe kind there is no need to contort in unnatural positions to do it. You are left clean and ready for action... without having to spend ages, unlike a full enema.

Now this is where the squeamish in our midst need to stop reading.

Go on shoo

What are you still doing here?

Later curled up on the couch... err the curl is important 'cos you can't actually sit down on the damn thing... just that tiny bit too long for comfort... He turned and said well let's try this out. Are you going to try and cum in it one asked naively. Err no, I am going to piss in it. Oh! Um you think you can create enough of a seal that it isn't going to leak every where? Yep, I recon I can. Men... such optimists when it comes to their equipment.

Think one might get a pet mat... just in case. Where do you want it, and your slave? Oh we might try the bathroom just in case. So off one trotted to put down both the mat and oneself. Removing the core, which leaves you held open by the plugs rather wide neck, He carefully lined himself up and contemplated the idea... of course the bladder played hard to get, but eventually it all came together.

Well it would have... except for one tiny problem. As He started to pee in one's arse, the body decided to interpret the sensation as ticklish. And one small slave started to giggle. It was then that we discovered those stomach muscles involved in laughter are kinda synced up with your arse. The more one giggled, the more one resembled one of those stupid cherub fountains... only reverse ended.

So there we are... a great toy, but the whole peeing in one's arse is going to take some more work. It's strange how this kind of stuff never makes it into BDSM literature. Fantasy vs. reality... and again we find out how different they are. Though for the record, those pee mats hold a lot of fluid J

Finding your own kind

Before the advent of the internet if you were kinky, meeting your own kind was far more fraught. Oh there were clubs, but you had to be in the know to find them. That or you found them via small select publications, mailed out to you in discreet envelopes, after you had found their address in some other sleazy location. It was that or you hoped to hell the gods were kind and sent someone your way. It was all a bit random really.

The net changed all of that. These days Google is your friend, and you can find a fetish site without leaving the comfort of your chair.  As with all things easy  though it has led to other complications. A major complication is the fantasist. You can find them on any board, and boy can they talk the talk... ad infinitum if you aren't careful L

They are the ones who have plans of domination and being dominated. Despite a depressing lack of any evidence of success, it is all beautifully clear in their own minds. They discuss strategies and techniques endlessly, and share the wealth of their knowledge willingly. They blaze across the sky like belligerent comets, spewing talk in their wake about how hard core and extreme they are or have been or will be in the future. And they bestow it incessantly upon anyone who will listen... preferably without calling them on their shit.

Strangely enough people do actually listen too. They become involved with these people and share their struggles to find the one who will be right for them. The struggles are mighty and valiant and protracted. All the while the seeker's views become more hard core and entrenched, and the aperture through which they view the world, and the people in it, becomes increasingly narrow. They know what they want, and they will accept no substitutes.

Personally one watches them with the same keen interest an ornithologist bestows upon birds. Without the messy tramping around and sitting in hides though... In part because it really is the bird watching of the computer age and well... one really is a nosy as one claims... and they are fascinating to a people watcher.

Normally if you want to find anything you need to research, to advertise, to network and they do all those things. They often find people in their search too... the trouble is that it is never the right one. There is always something wrong with them; not submissive, dominant, bent, slim, manly or feminine enough. The thing is in all of these cases the common denominator is the seeker. And as grandma once said to mother, in regards to her second husbands six previous wives, all those women can't be wrong. As it turned out grandma was right, but that is a story for another time... back to the case at hand.

See one deeply suspects that in the process of figuring out what they want, they lose all of the flexibility that you need to keep an open mind, and the adaptability that is needed in any successful human relationship. They seem to not realise that honing their fantasy mate will keep them from finding someone, almost as surely as being in love with an ex or a deceased spouse will. So one watches them statistically reduce their chances with every passing year. And it has been years... five in one or two cases... that some have been doing this on public boards. 

And no one ever stops to ask why are these people alone. Mind you they never seem to wonder if the person has ever asked that of themselves either, so maybe it is all a bit too much reality for any of them...  Maybe the joy of the fantasist is just that... the lack of reality. You can suspend all critical thinking skills and sink into their existence without having to ask questions... rather like a good book.  

SSC vs. RACK vs. Us

Some of us don't practise either. Now before you start chanting slogans, look at this from our point of view. We have been together for a long time and while He hasn't achieved godling status, he does understand one quite well. And He understands his desires very well. Now if the damn things would just sync up we could both be happy at the same time J

From our perspective the anagrams above are probably a collection of concepts that work quite well... particularly if you are in a new relationship/ scene. When you try to put them into this type of relationship they aren't going to work so well. If only because for things to work with two INTJ's, they have to be definable on some level and most of them are quite subjective when you start to pull them apart. In our relationship all of these were such slippery terms they have no relevance. In fact they can impede its progress and negate His power.

Safe is a subjective term at best. What is safe... thinking nothing will happen to you? As one has mentioned before the safe call is a misnomer and believing in it will do little to protect you. Even a safeword will only work if the person you are with is going to respect it. The whole idea of safe is a construct designed to make you feel OK about closing your eyes at night. Doing it during the day... well that's just asking for it.

Seriously sane? By who's definition? Many would argue that some of us have only a passing grip on it and under the right circumstances eg. grief, rage or even love, strong emotions can loosen the most tenacious hold quite easily. Everyone if pushed can simply cease to be sane... even if it is only momentary... but a moment is all you need. Now in a public place your chances of finding a knight in shining armour decrease proportionately to the size of the crowd (the bystander effect), but in private you are on your own.

As for consensual... again one of those things that is probably useful during a scene in a public place, but see above and you realise you are on your own when behind closed doors. In this relationship it was easier to dump the idea altogether. Oh we talk about things all the time, but the reality is if He wasn't doing shit one had no interest in, we would never do anything new J

Which brings us to RACK... Risk Aware... yeah nice idea, but anytime He does something new unforseen shit happens. That is how you learn. All the planning in the world won't get you round the unforseen. Most of it is flying by the seat of your pants at best... though it always seems to be one small slave's seat L

Consensual... well as you are starting to realise reading this blog a very good portion of what we do isn't consensual. And you know something? That's OK. It works for us.

Kink? A lot of our life is almost depressingly normal... to the extent that normal will take over if it can. To be honest one is not even sure if power exchanges are kink. We all do them to some extent every day; we work for others, we use public transport, we swim, we cross roads... the list is endless. In each and every one of them we are engaged in some sort of power exchange by the very virtue of the fact that we are not in charge of the outcome. Oh we can mitigate the circumstances by being cautious, but at the end of the day... fate can step in. To be honest the term power exchange is a bit of a misnomer as well... it is more of a one way street. Though it could be argued that with great power comes great responsibility so there is an exchange going on there... just not the kind most have in mind.

Mind you though the thought of chanting that's not consensual at him is kinda tempting. If only to see the look of quizzical disbelief flit across His face. It will be the fleeting look before annoyance. Then the eyebrow will cock above those limpid blue eyes and there will that moment... the one in which there is about a nanosecond where one gets to decide the easy way or the hard way. Still... tempting...

MIA

Screaming bloody migraine... catch you all on the flip side of modern pharmaceuticals ;)

Good news, bad news

In his infinite wisdom and mercy He has said that one may sell the zappy toy. Of course the proceeds are going to one of these. Which really isn't an improvement as far as one can see. In fact listening to His plans one is convinced it is anything but L

See not so long ago He thought it might be interesting to improve one's shopping choices with a little training. Ironically using the same device. After doing some research He thinks it might be fun to extend it to movies and music. He figures that a few jolts at pertinent times will help one's more Bevan taste in these things. Seriously all those action movie and Cold Chisel fans can't be wrong and besides... ambient music? Really?

Meanwhile He is amusing himself with administering a bedtime flogging and fucking. The idea of sending one to bed each night with a sore arse appeals to him no end. Still, given the options...

A pinch and a zap for the first of the month

The zappy toy that followed us home yesterday made it to the bedroom today. Opening up the box one noticed that they had thoughtfully included a blind fold. A very sensible precaution one feels... you can blind fold the person so they can't see it coming, and so they can't find the perpetrator and retaliate. Can you feel the lack of love here? The reason for that is very simple. Some of us are just way more conductive than others... what some will experience as a bit of a zap, will make one small slave numb to the elbow.

First let one just say for the record... telling your slave who is utterly terrified of electricity, to start getting aroused 'cos it will make it easier is not helpful. And guess what? The body was less than obliging. It seems that fear impedes arousal in some of us. OK the body responds, but the mind just won't join the party L

Oh and by the way... informing your slave that there was a lot of more interesting things on the menu, but we have run out of time, will just make them question why this was the component that you went with. And while we are  suggesting helpful hints for next time, saying to your slave  that the easy solution would be to just sling them in the straightjacket is also not helpful. Oh and laying there fingering the button and making sound effects, just makes one revaluate the whole not a sadist thing... 'cos that is emotional torture and you looked like you were enjoying it :P

In the end we just went for an insert and turn the damn thing on approach. Which is where we made a surprise discovery... the vagina is not terribly receptive to electrical stimulation. And not in a fuck that hurts, get it out kinda way. Seriously, it was more can you feel that? Um no... is it actually turned on? Yes. Are you sure?

It wasn't until He jacked up the zap and it felt like someone had just kicked one in the cunt, that we made another discovery. There is no middle ground between can't feel it and get it out... though we both suspect that may be more the toy than the body. Of course enjoying playing sadist scientist and lab rabbit He inserted it in one's arse. Every good junior scientist know you have to test your hypothesis... several times L

Then we discovered that the arse was way more receptive and sensitive. Again though there wasn't much of a middle ground... though He thought the twitch felt great. Well He would wouldn't he? It wasn't his arse involved in the process, and let's be honest the penis is no great judge of anything. Least ways anything that involves sensible choices.

So where are we on all of this you may be wondering...

Personally one intends to smuggle it out at the first opportunity... it has some rough little edges that are unpleasant... nods yes that is the issue.

He wants one of these 'cos they look way more fun.

No good is going to come of this.