Njoyment

Sitting here one realised that with all the stuff one has written about the Njoy there has been very little about the practicalities of them like inserting them. It is sort of forefront of one's mind at the moment as one eases back into them after a small absence. When casually mentioning to Him what one was writing about, he gave some of his own helpful tips... sort of the "what not to do" variety. For the record treating them like a tomato sauce bottle and smacking them in is not a good idea, nor are other assorted sporting approaches such as bowling and trowing the damn thing.  

To be honest one has always found it easier to insert them alone. Mind you having read the above may have given some clues as to why this is. Really the secret is to find what works for you. They can be inserted in any position that enables you to reach comfortably. And as with all things sexual it helps if you are relaxed J

There is no right way up on the Njoy Pure Plug. Having chatted to a lot of long term users there seems to be an even split on point up or down. Personally one prefers point up as it seems to nestle between the cheeks better. It is one of those things that you will have to experiment with for yourselves.

Taking a good quality lube (one prefers silicone for long term wear as it doesn't come off easily), one prepares the arse by smearing lube inside it with a finger and then two fingers to gently stretch the sphincter muscles. Then one runs the Njoy under hot water 'cos it feels so much nicer warm, and then smears it with lube as well. Warming it also helps prevent the sphincter muscle cramping up... honestly they can be like getting pills down a cat when they are of that mind.

To insert it one stands feet apart leaning braced with one arm on the wall. For some reason it seems to give a better angle and leverage. Pressing the tip of it against the sphincter one applies an even pressure which causes it to give. Maintaining that pressure one waits for the sphincter to start gobbling it up. Which it will do quite nicely if you are relaxed... and it renders the tomato sauce bottle approach unnecessary J

Then the best thing to do is to wear it until it becomes uncomfortable. The idea is to increase the wear time over the course of a few days. Personally one finds it easier to wear them overnight than during the day... being active they have a tendency to make their presence felt more at that time. As with all things though be sensible... pain is the bodies was of saying stop!

Virgin arse

His attention snapped back tonight... as one predicted it would. And just as one predicted it hurt. Don't get one wrong He was gentle... the idea wasn't to cause damage that would take a week to heal after all. It still hurt, even though He didn't try to get all the way in.

All He did was put in the first few inches, in a very slow, controlled way and fuck one in the same manner. Anyone listening would have probably giggled... in, squeak, out, sigh of relief, in... Oh and after He came in the same controlled manner and one had said thank you Master, there might have been a fervent promise...

The butt plug is going back in ASAP.

He snickered.

Bastard!

The reading room

In between everything else one is a prolific reader. You could almost say an omnivorous reader 'cos one has even been known to read tech manuals at a push. At the moment though, most of the reading is done on the bus... along with writing and makeup. Hey it's an hour long trip each way; it may as well be spent creatively.

Now because of the nature of the reading room one favours a Kindle and detective novels. Both can be put down at a moments notice. He of course has slightly different ideas about content. See He likes to discuss what he reads, and it helps if the victim target audience has read the same book.

So one small slave gets things loaded up on the Kindle that are not necessarily a personal choice. Some are just hard going... others are just unsettling. One such example of the later was "The Average American Male", a novel by Chad Kultgen. It is a deeply disturbing, darkly misogynistic tale of how one man secretly regards dating and sex. A tale made all the more perturbing by the depressing ending where he settles.

What makes it depressing is not the death of his sex life, nor the fact that it is heavily implied to be a result of an inability to pull due to his advancing years (he is almost 30), but the inevitability of it and his subsequent acceptance of that fact.   

Why such a visceral response you may be wondering?

Well...

That is because on some level one has settled. Not for a lack of sex... well for any length of time. Unfortunately even we have the odd time when there simply aren't enough hours in a day, like the last week, to squeeze in quality sex. Even so we still manage to at least try and threaten each other for the simple reason that no sex doesn't make us better people at all, in fact it makes us horrible... but one digresses. Back to settling...

See when we got together there was never any plan to stop looking. In fact monogamy or the lack thereof was one of those many things we discussed until we were raw. We wanted to be open to new experiences... actually we wanted to make sure we didn't miss out on a single opportunity. So it was something of a shock to come to and find that one had stopped looking altogether. And somewhere along the line He has too.

See the difference is that for the character in the book settling was the death of his internal dialogue, the end of his youth... Peter Pan got little wooden clogs. For us it was the beginning of something else entirely.

We have settled... not for each other more on each other. Rather than feeling the sense of loss that a little part of us thinks we should feel, all we do is feel profoundly grateful.  And we wonder how we got so lucky as to find each other.

Sighs what kind of fucked up is that?

A long and winding road

After a rotten day at work that culminated in a two and a half hour bus ride home it was pleasant to sit down at the computer, accompanied by a small tub of slightly bitter dark chocolate and orange ice cream, and stop moving. It seems that there was an accident just before that bloody bridge, which has still not been fixed nor replaced and only runs on two lanes. Although it was cleared, by the time we got onto the main road the damage was done. A steady stream of traffic all heading nowhere fast L

So as one sat there the eye noticed a tab left up. Now these are fraught things. Never knowing what He has been looking at one sits there prevaricating. To look or not to look that is the question...

Just so that you can share in the experience one gives you this 

Enjoy J

Thursdayitis

It's like Mondayitis only more blah. He came home shattered... crawled into bed and micro slept until breakfast was served. Rallying just long enough to eat it He fell back to sleep, mumbling something about wanting to spend time with one small slave. Oddly enough one ignored Him for his own good, and pulling the curtains one left him to it.

In fact the highlight of the morning was being attacked by a very persistent Australian Magpie. It's nesting season and that very protective parent was out in marauding force. You have to admire its dynamic coordination though. Come from behind, swoop low enough to hear its wings, snap beak to show annoyance, lift back up in a steep climb and land on the tree branch.... lather, rinse, repeat.

Every year at this time we do this little dance and not once have we ever actually made contact. This is fortunate as they can do some serious damage with those beaks and have been known to take a chunk out of their victims. The rest of the year we studiously ignore each other. It's an agreeable relationship.

So there we are... attacked, just not in the right way or by the right species L

Kinklab mandible body clamps

In our travels things often pop into a bag for later... sometimes it is much later, but nevertheless we get to them in the end. Every once in a while you curse not getting to them sooner. This is not one of those times. Oh no gentle reader, this is more a case of why did we bother.

We love nipple clamps, in fact clamps of any kind, and generally the things you want from a clamp include...

• Ease of use (there is nothing worse than scrabbling around with movable flesh and wishing for an extra set of hands... though we will for the right ones)
• Some level of bite... nipple or any other kind of torture is a bit pointless without it
• They need to stay on

As you can see it is not a big selection criterion and generally two out three are acceptable, but these didn't even tick one box.

They are fiddly to use... generally the victim shouldn't be needed to assist in their own demise. When they were on they tried to get off as fast as they could slip... and they were done up tight. Not that you could feel them even on a nipple. At one stage there the nipples were humming why are we waiting... though it was hard to make out over their little sighs of impatience L

As for that tongue shot on the package... yeah very promising isn't it, rather like the word mandible. Those clamps can no more stay on moist flesh than most people can hold onto a greased pig. And one did try several times... the clamp that is, not the pig. Hell they can't even stay on a nipple... and they weren't trying to get away at the time... you can see them being held firmly in place.

So how would these clamps rate? A big fat zero... maybe a one if you had never tried clamps before and are manually dexterous or want something to look good for a photo. 

The upside of glamour

As a casual observation one would just like to say that glamour photography is missing one thing. The glamour bit mostly. Studio work in particular is long, hot and tedious, and you are doing it slathered in makeup that has to be touched up all the time. To add insult to injury the rule of thumb is, if you are in pain the camera is going to love the pose and you are going to get to do it with a smile on your face.

Anyone who thinks modelling is an easy thing to do has never had bright lights shone in their face, up their thigh or on some other more intimate body parts. All the while having someone encourage them to hold that, move that, point that or twist just a little bit more. Today's model was an absolute trooper.

Hell one of the lights packed it in before she did L

Now as a natural cameraphobe one can't imagine what possesses someone to want to do this voluntarily for fun. In fact it is the very definition of hell, but there has been an upside to all this. With all the garage and illness and photo shoots one small slave has been gloriously neglected. Honestly if you want to fly under the radar... peers around furtively... keep them distracted with something else*. Of course this state of nirvana will not last long, and it won't be too good when it ends, but meanwhile...

Why this level of glee at being neglected you may be wondering...

Well not only has one not been shoved in front of a camera... beams radiantly... but that butt plug has been out for a while now. In fact the arse has got used to doing things its own way... so to speak. The trouble with all of this is when life returns to normal... OK what passes for it round here... His attention will snap back and that arse is going to have reached virgin status again.

This is going to hurt L

/happiness.

*While all care is taken, one accepts no responsibility for any untoward outcome of these slave survival tips.

Becoming the enemy

We are getting ready to do a photographic shoot and one says we because one small slave has been roped in as makeup artist. Now it has been a very long time since doing makeup on others... about twenty years. Fuck how does time go so fast like that? Anyway back to this...

The model needs stuff for her portfolio, one small slave needs practise as this probably won't be a one off and the two photographers need to increase their range of experience. One of them in photographing someone else and the other in studio situations... which is very different from the great natural art shots conducted under guerrilla conditions that he does. Basically it will be an all round win, win and a nice relaxed day.

Now the theme is supposed to be pin up... which requires a fresh, slightly plump face, good hair and a youthful glow... though the last one can be faked. These are all qualities that the model, who has graciously volunteered her time, doesn't possess in abundance. In fact one looked at her work and thought fuck... how are we going to work around that? All the while the mind is thinking how are we going to knock off twenty years and what are we going to do with that hair?

Running a critical eye over her one concluded that what she does have was a kick arse body and great legs... and maybe a great back. Perhaps we could do a pony tail... or switch the fishing theme for French maid... which wouldn't need so much youth, but does need good legs... and a small bun for the French maid or failing that, flowers clipped in the hair swept to one side... or better still do a  reverse Christine Keeler... and maybe...

And OMG when did one become the enemy? When did one start to view women as body parts that are separate from the whole? For years one has railed against a system that denigrates women because they are too old, not thin enough, tall enough, pretty enough or perfect enough. For those reasons alone one doesn't buy women's magazines on principle... and yet here one is doing those very things to a woman who has been kind enough to volunteer for this...

Sighs forget about not being a good slave, at the moment one isn't a very good woman either L

Ta-da!

How the other half lives

Well it has gone midnight and one is sitting here nibbling cold pizza...

Having spent the day at work, one came home and spent the night in the garage. A large part of it was spent putting together a shelving system. Unfortunately one had to disassemble the damn thing before it could be reassembled in the shape one wanted, but it was free as it was scored from our neighbours. The shelving largely resembles Meccano... highly versatile and always missing that last vital screw... and is ideal for the space. So while there is no skin on the finger tips and there are large chunks of several nails missing, it looks good.

Apart from that the highlight of the day was Him wandering in and offering to cum all over one before he went to bed. It was an offer one respectfully declined pointing out that one was so bloody grimy that it would just turn to mud. Though for a moment there one did think that the sinuses had finally cleared. Of course as one spent 10 minutes in the shower blowing black, one rather suspects they were just full of dust...

At least one hopes it was dust...

Shut up you horrible lot L

And on that note one is going to bed. There is time for a whole five hours before one needs to get up and go to the dump...

Forget about the pillow at this stage princess will settle for sleep.

We meet again

Mr Dapper was at the bus stop this morning, looking the epitome of urban cool, and we fell into a casual conversation about the evils of public TV on the minds of the masses. It made a pleasant change from conversation from the garage...

A hoary great lump of 3x3 with large nails protruding...

It will be perfect for the tools... it's already got nails in it.

Yes and a piece of peg board would do just as good a job and take up a lot less space.

Well... if you think so.

Think???

One very large orange mop...

This is yours

Peering at it doubtfully in regards to ownership one pointed out it was headless and could go.

A few minutes later it comes back being borne triumphantly...

Found the head!

Well it's too big for in here. Perhaps we can keep if for cleaning the garage floor, one suggested.

At that point He wandered into the conversation...

That's mine. I bought it for the garage floor because it was the biggest one I could find.

Smiling victoriously His mother says see... you would have thrown it out.

Head/ desk

There is a large trunk in there... she would just about fit... and one will find the chainsaw eventually. 

And all the while they keep claiming that they have gone through more stuff. So why isn't the mound going down? Ah yes because their idea of going through stuff doesn't actually move to the logical next level... throwing the damn stuff out. Operation ruthless continues...

Addictions run deep

It was strange, reading this over on kaya's blog made one have the most massive craving for a cigarette. Which was probably her intended aim... the woman is an embryonic sadist at heart. The strange thing is it has been 14 years since one lit up and sucked back on those sweet, if noxious, sticks of pleasure. Maybe quitting cold turkey doesn't address the underlying reasons why you like to smoke... any more than being forced to quit does.

Pic courtesy of the net

See one was forced to quit by a cruel and vile tyrant... known to some as local government. They decided in an effort to save their citizens from themselves, to force cigarette companies to put a health warning label on their product. Sobranie said jam it up your arse... your sales are not worth defacing our product for. And so one was left... not smoking... cold turkey... in a completely non-consensual way L

Then the rest of the world decided to come on board with a health warning and Sobranie was forced to comply. For a few glorious weeks one was reunited with the object of lust and oral fixations. Then our government said sorry your warnings are not big enough... they need to be a third of the front packaging in size. And again Sobranie said sod off... this time forever. Well you can see it from their point of view... there wouldn't be any room for that nifty imperial gold eagle on their Black Russians if they had to do that.

Then of course the government upped the anti... they wanted unpleasant pictures on the packaging as well. Not that those actually stopped the dedicated smoker... they just switched to cigarette tins. And all the while the price was steadily increased... not that the real smokers actually quit... they just switched to a less expensive brand. Now the government are engaged in a war with the cigarette companies. They want plain packaging on all cigarettes... no visible brand names or colours, along with the complete ban on advertising of any kind.

Now in all of this you may be wondering why the government doesn't just ban smoking altogether. They have near buildings, in buildings, clubs, pubs, beaches and anywhere else they can exert their power. Well you see the sad fact is that although one of the biggest drains on health resources is the smokers... they also fund everyone else's via their taxes. It is a delicate line... pull them in too much and there will be no revenue... don't pull them in and you may be open to a law suit.

All of this has left the fussy smoker... waves... without a choice. And the occasional hankering for a cigarette long after the act of quitting. Out of the blue that insidious little voice goes a cigarette would be perfect right about now. The need is entwined with the other pleasure centres of the brain being stimulated; like after a good meal or a great orgasm. Push those buttons and bam... up pops the craving.

Generally when you knock one addiction on the head another one appears. The body is far better at transferring allegiance than quitting it would seem. Oral fixations are particularly hard for the body to let go of... it is probably attached to the whole breast feeding (or lack thereof) thing. Maybe what one needs to do is perform more therapeutic oral sex... eyes Him off in a calculating manner... shame he isn't that fond of it L

Petty and vindictive

It was a lovely evening. Home before 7.30 due to a roster screw up, showered and nibbling dinner when He got up unexpectedly early... which is always a treat... at about 9.00 pm. It was potential bliss. Well it would have been except for one small thing. Getting up to rinse off the plate, the water slowed and then stopped altogether.

Wandering down to His mother's end one asked if there had been a notice for them turning off the water yet again. To which she chirpily replied no, but there is one for next week. Well you have no water. Are you sure? Flipping the tap nothing came out. Yup, think we can say you have no water.

Phoning the council up it turned out there was indeed no water... until the morning. They had the gall to ask if we were sure we didn't get a notification. No, we lied about it so we could have the pleasure of a late night chat with your very helpful self... rolls eyes. And they have the cheek to describe themselves as a service.

See the issue for us was Him. Having just gotten up He had a dancing vision of a shower, washing his hair... you know morning ritualistic behaviour. What He got was hair washed over a tub with a jug and a strip wash, using bottled water. None of which made Him very happy... though one did get to discover that his shoulders have even less reach than his hamstrings. That might come in useful in the future... J

Now rather than being grateful that one of us keeps bottled water on hand and was happy to wash His hair, being a twoo Scorpio the whole incident was regarded in terms of loss. And as with all things that make you unhappy, He brooded and plotted revenge on the only available target....

As one lay, clean and pristine upon the bed, He wandered in. Slipping a hand under the covers He grabbed one firmly by the leg and said...

Is this where I cum all over you... there is no way for you to get clean. I could even do it in your hair...

That is just mean. Can't believe you have cleanliness envy. In fact if you do that one may have to blog about it and it won't put you in a favourable light at all. You will come across as the mean, petty person you complain that one makes you seem. Yes, but your readers will laugh He replied.

Bastard!

Soap-dodging bastard!

Where the bodies are buried

As some of you know we live in the family home due to His father being disabled. Some think we got the short straw, the other two siblings fled as far away as they could, but to be honest one loves living in a family home... especially as we have self contained living and entertainment areas. There is always the thing you need between two pantries and someone to take washing off the line if the weather changes... and things in His mother's biscuit tins... and grandma does scones every Sunday... Bliss!

This state of perfection does not extend to the garage.

The garage is one of the few things we share other than a fence... and it is a large garage. Large enough an area that He is currently setting it up as a more permanent photographic studio... rather than the temporary seasonal one it has always been. So in between running around like mad things getting lights, one of which turned out to be faulty and had to be returned today, and a couple of extra backdrops and poles, and waiting on things that haven't turned up yet, one small slave has been tasked with the garage.

Now most people who have lived in any place for any length of time have stuff that accumulates in the garage. This garage has two families who moved their collective shit from other houses into the aforementioned facility. For fourteen years now we have parked cars and scuttled out of there as fast as possible... preferably before something falls down and we have to actually tackle any of it in a meaningful way. Of course none of this process has been aided by the fact that He and his family have a shared squirrel gene... honestly they come out of the womb crying it might come in handy.

So let us examine some of the little finds that have been unearthed so far... and the reasons for their continued existence shall we?

One pair of ornamental garden lamps that belonged to the ex...

Well His sister wants them, but I don't think she should have them with a small child... they use candles and honestly I don't trust him (the son in law) to keep a close enough eye on her (the grandchild) that she doesn't end up burning the place down.

So we can get rid of them?

Well no, His sister wants them...

Head/ desk

Two generations of Playboy magazines...

Oh someone might want them.

Yes and how are we going to get in touch with these mysterious people?

I don't know, but they are perfectly good magazines.

Head/ desk

A collection of pillows wrapped in plastic...

She (the daughter in law) left those when they went to America.

Um... the only one using them is the cat.

Yes, but the cat needs something to sleep on.

Yeah not any more... small vindictive smile.

This is why the vile beast is currently curled up asleep on His photographic equipment L

Hate that cat!

None too fond of the garage neither...

The weeks riddle

TAB788FH/BR/B

Why is that one can't get into a high heel, but the ankle will allow one to stand in these without a wobble? Mind you one is too scared to walk in them for fear of falling and committing grievous bodily harm. And one did point out that it would be much cheaper to buy hobbles or use the wonderful leg irons that a certain someone sent us.

Or better still to drop the lead reign like you do with a well trained horse...

He says these are sexier L

And today...

Well one of us should have been in bed; of course that was not how life ended up. More's the pity too 'cos it was wet and miserable and cold and grey and blowing a howling gale... which the sinus infection was just lapping up. So of course we spent the morning scampering around trying to find a piece of wood that was just the right size for wall mounting backdrops. A move necessitated by the fact that one end projected out 12cms further than the other one due to an inconvenient support column.

Thank heavens for old fashioned lumber yards that will cut to measure and not laugh too loudly when you say well it needs to be this long... indicated with two hands held roughly at the right distance. It will be a very great shame when the likes of the big chain stores put them out of business... which they will. Unfortunately in the big chains everything is stock standard and old houses are not built to stock standard measurements... particularly if they were built by a builder's crew on their down time. Not so much as a window in this place is the same size or shape... and yet it all comes together in a whimsical way that makes it perfect for a family home.

So why where we running around in that weather, you may be wondering? Ah well He had a friend coming to play builder's mate... and frankly one small slave, while able to donate the use of the power tools, was too sick to do the actual work. So it was a case of it had to be done today and He needed the credit card attached to the aforementioned slave. Mind you it was very nice after all of the scampering around to curl up on the bed and quietly cough up a lung or two and sneeze non-stop, while the sound of power tools being operated by someone else droned on. Though for the record hammer drills in brick can hardly be described as soothing...

Of course like all jobs it took longer than expected and cost way more than first thought. And there was the odd moment, when sticking the nose around the door, one caught sight of so many health and safety protocols being broken that it made one twitch in horror... before fleeing back to bed. What is it about power tools that turn perfectly bright men into creatures of no fear... or common sense? But the job is finished and one small slave is damn grateful for not having to do it.

Eventually the sight of spade bits being used near bare feet, which were holding the piece of wood in place, will fade from the memory... right?

We even managed to cram a little oral and vanilla sex in at the end of the day... well until the lack of oxygen interrupted play L

AFK

It seems one small slave has a bad sinus infection that hopefully won't migrate... do not want a repeat of the pleurisy/ pneumonia/ partially collapsed lung Christmas special... so back to bed one goes.

Have you ever wondered what's in a name?

People use labels for everything. They are a tool, a communication device, a form of short hand if you will. Looking at a tubular shape with a handle and a base on it that holds hot drinks, we know it is a mug or cup... well most of the time, there is the odd moment there where one just loses those sorts of words altogether, but that is a tale for another time. We learn those sorts of labels from an early age... they are a manifestation of culture and the language within.

Of course on a BDSM board it is more complicated. There is no universal language. In fact there are even two distinct camps regarding the importance of a shared language. There are those who think words have meaning and those who think words should mean whatever you feel they should.

Personally one is somewhere in-between... that's a surprise for some of you isn't it? See on one hand the little rulz nazi who dwells within likes things to have meaning... you're trying to communicate... it's complicated enough... especially given some peoples reading comprehension skills. On the other hand... one creates convenient words when the English language is just woefully lacking. This blog has them all over the place... that should drive some of you insane from now on trying to spot them J

The thing is though when trying to communicate on forums those labels become important... Imagine if you will not having a simple label like slave...

That is the interesting position a friend has currently...

See she had gone through her relationship and ticked all the appropriate boxes... quite a long list of them to. The only sticking point is that the other person in the relationship says she isn't a slave. Cool... free at last; from the definition debates, the endless feelings of being not worthy enough, having to defend you position in the universe otherwise known as BDSM boards. In fact it was a great gift in some ways.

And so there you are enjoying your gift of being free from the restraints of labels...

Except for one teenie, weenie, itsy, bitsy little problem... If you don't have a label... how are you supposed to communicate with others on the boards? You no longer have a convenient form of shorthand remember... Hello, my name is so-and-so and the person in my life gets to do mean things to me sometimes without my consent, but I'm not a slave. Yeah that isn't going to go down well with groups of people who define themselves, often in relationship to others. It certainly isn't going to make you feel like you belong either.

And it is a double edged sword in other ways too...

Generally on boards you get to have a lot of conversations that will go along these lines...

Them: I'm x just like you.

Really? Your 24/7 online, never met your master, relationship is just like having Him in one's grill, doing his laundry and being hauled out of bed at dawn to go walkies 'cos he likes the company?

Them: Yes it is.

Right...

Can you imagine what the conversations will be like without the convenience of labels to cut down on some of the work?

Oh and for the record when someone tells you their relationship is exactly like yours... run. You are probably in the presence of a very young bunny boiler... they all start some how L

Being without a label leaves you to sift through all sorts of groups (in many cases groups you feel you can't join) to find individuals, with enough points of commonality that you can have a reasonably intelligent discourse and maybe an exchange of ideas with. You have to find people who are disinclined to get hung up on labels and just talk to you to find out what you are like. Then you have to spend a lot of time getting to know them... hoping they are as they seem. To ask for more... that way lays madness... or at least a profound sense of not fitting in.

This brings us to another little point... looks around furtively and whispers... Most people on boards don't feel like they belong (with the notable exception of the bunny boilers) except in fleeting moments... and one suspects that is why some go out of their way to embrace the idea that they are exactly like everyone else... often completely disregarding any evidence to the contrary. Belonging masks the sensation of being alone that other people engender... but that is the introvert speaking J

Eye candy

Work by Alufem Milano

Singularly uninspired

Thursdays are normally horrible days because one has to leave Him to go back into work rotations. The mild feelings of depression settle in and the world is a little less bright. In this case it actually wasn't a perception shift that was causing that... it was actually overcast with predicted storms across Brisbane. To be honest it was almost a relief to go to work... at least they have air-conditioning... sort of, judging by the way the lipsticks are slipping out of their cases in the display stands L

Other than that the high light was being coerced into the bed room to provide small sexual services.

He came while one was still wondering how it is that one always ends up being held face down in the doona... which doesn't aid breathing at all.

And it was then we discovered someone had used the last tissue... glares at the culprit... leaving one to make an inelegant dash to the bathroom.

Meh some days you really should just take a sickie and stay in bed.

Never again

We were ahead of schedule... a rare thing on a Wednesday morning. He even nipped out and did the grocery shopping while one tackled the laundry. There were nefarious plans you see... in case you are wondering about all this domestic enthusiasm. As a special treat one offered to make pancakes stuffed with bacon for brunch, rather than His usual roll. It was an offer readily accepted as He loves pancakes done that way.

So while He was out one stripped the bed, tossed the sheets into the washing machine and generally went all domestic. He came home and fiddled around on the computer, while one cooked the chopped bacon to go into the pancakes as they were cooking. Happily scarfing them down he went to the bedroom, turned on the TV and waited while one cleaned up so we could make the bed together... King size beds are so much easier with two... one can barely lift his doona to put it in a cover, let alone flap it around to get any wrinkles out.

Finishing up one wandered in and there He was... Nestled in the unmade bed, fully clothed, hands neatly tucked under his chin like an angelic child and sound asleep. We are talking a full on carb coma (when you have a limited carb diet the stuff hits your system like a ton of bricks and you sleep like one of the damned) here... you could have driven a Mac truck along side of him and He wouldn't have flinched. He slept through the TV blaring, people coming and going from the house, the gates being slammed close, the neighbour's bloody dog barking incessantly, and all of this with the doors and windows wide open.

In the end one did the only thing possible... slipped in and closed the doors and turned down the TV.

Mid afternoon He comes wandering out and says we've missed our day together. Yes, yes we have. You should have woken me, He said in a mildly accusatory tone. Should have, but didn't as one figured He wouldn't be much use as company, fighting the nods like a junkie. So we settled for making the bed, which He crawled into and promptly fell back into sleep.

Right until the road works started up again at 9pm... 

Where upon He stumbled out muttering that they were inconsiderate arseholes and that he still had another hour and a half before he had to be up. Somewhat exasperated one pointed out that some of us were supposed to go to sleep with that noise. Still grumbling He went to check the noise pollution codes... something one is fairly sure the council doesn't give a flying monkeys about... while complaining bitterly about sleep interrupted as he shared his findings. At that point one smiled sweetly and pointed out that it was just as well He had been asleep since 11am.

So there you are... People always wonder what a day in the life of a slave looks like. Not quite the stuff of overactive fantasies is it? Though for the record one did manage to rearrange the meagre wardrobe space to make room for the new things.

And He is never getting bacon filled pancakes again...

The beginning of the day

The day started very differently from how it finished. He had been hauled in for a staff meeting... which is a cheek when it is not only your day off, but early in the afternoon on that day. The upshot of it was that one small slave was dropped off at a decent shopping centre for three hours (actually it turned out way longer than that, but...) of unfettered girly shopping. Now admittedly there was a long list of stuff He wanted for his photographic needs, but it was mostly girly stuff like makeup... and there was unaccounted time in there.

So off one trotted dutifully with our respective lists. Stuff for Him... and maybe a dress for summer... and of course some shoes to go with it... for oneself. Now clothing wise one has a tendency towards well cut clothes in good solid plain colours, usually in the form of separates. The trouble with curves and large breasts is that dresses are very hard to find... it fits on the bust and is huge around the arse or the personal favourite... it is a great fit and there is six inches of bra exposed in between the two points of fabric where the top is supposed to be L

Several fitting rooms and four times as many horrible, poorly and unflatteringly lit mirrors later... when will department stores learn they would sell twice as many clothes if they didn't skimp on the changing rooms... one emerged clutching an aberration. A dress that was a great fit... and a small pattern of turquoise, putty, khaki, cream and black in something that one can only describe as Gold Coast camouflage. Deciding to see if one could find a pair of shoes to match, one wandered over to the shoe department. Oddly enough this season it would seem putty and khaki are the in colours judging by the wealth of choices.

Trying on a few of them one discovered that there are two types of shoes at the moment. Those one can wear and those the ankle hates. That former category is of course comfortable if not very stylish. Vacillating between need and want one realised that He would hate them and as it was the first shoes to be bought for pleasure in nearly a year one decided to err on the side of smart. The trouble is most of the shoes this season are ugly... and knowing He would hate all of them one meandered out back into the centre.

Django & Juliette Glorify

That exit just happens to go past a favourite shoe store and wandering in one was immediately mugged by these. Wrapping soft suede arms around one's heart, they whispered seductive words into one's ear... and were taken up on the offer immediately. Have no idea what they are going with, but since when has that ever stopped a shoephile. Not a word from the peanut gallery about the colour... OK?

Nine West NWNICEFIT

Mooching along further one did actually find an impossibility... shoes in the exact shade of turquoise as the dress. Of course the ankle hates them, but as He says it's just a matter of persistence... rolls eyes of course he would, he's not the one hoicked up in them. Nevertheless they are perfect and no doubt the ankle will get over its snit eventually. Though at the moment walking any further than from the curb to the coffee means He is going to have to carry one... preferably not slung over his shoulder in a fireman's lift L

Further progression led one to a rather nice slinky, stretchy dress in khaki and cream... you know one suspects that one may have to go back out and find the perfect khaki shoes after all...

The shoephile lives!

The end of the day

Shot with His phone... there is no privacy. 

Christmas shopping in October

Now, one would just love to claim being that far ahead of schedule, but it would be a lie... so stress not you uber organised types. No, this was a case of Him and a rather expensive shopping list at yea not so local photographic supply store. And a Birthday Christmas combo nearing... what better time to take advantage of your slave's good nature J

So off we trotted at the crack of dawn... well itfelt like that with time for only one cup of coffee... one of us back in a skirt and shoes for the first time in months. Admittedly they were only flats, but they were cute flats not sports shoes. Hey in this world we celebrate what we can. And one was rewarded with His eyes lighting up... something they just don't do for jeans. Oh and there were food treats for good behaviour... but one digresses from shopping.

For the benefit of this it might be an idea to clarify the good natured part... parting with money usually doesn't put one in a good mood however, when it comes to personal shopping for Him it was pure relief to just hand over a bank account and say whatever. See one of us is organised... there is a list of what would be nice for Christmas issued and people go from there. Him... nothing like that... oh no. It starts with... so what are you buying me? And ends up with so what's the budget? Which is usually followed by well there are a few things I wouldn't mind...

From there it usually escalates into must haves, can't live with outs and long, long, long discussions of the merit of product A over product B. Honestly those conversations are where the drama degree comes to life... imagine the longest monologue delivered under a single spot... with passion and eloquence. And then imagine you in the audience... trapped by ushers... sitting there with tears of blood streaming down your face. You are getting the idea.

No this process was much faster... He had an extensive list and our bank accounts. Never before in the annals of shopping has a bank account been sacrificed with such enthusiasm... or such relief. It's one of those little Jedi mind tricks that ensure you are happy to surrender your money. And be grateful for the opportunity to do so. Thank you Master.

The rodeo is coming

Well the cowboys have arrived at any rate. Popping up, tacked to power poles, are signs advertising cheap roof painting deals. There are no license numbers... just a mobile phone number and an enticing price.

Its official... spring has now arrived L

A companion field guide to trolls

Chapter two

Genus: Troll

Species: provocare

Common name: The provocative troll... otherwise known as the huffy troll.

Habitat:

Preferring groups that are slightly homogenised or with a purpose, this troll likes nothing more than coming in and contributing to/ starting threads with views that are just slightly off topic or not in the remit of the group. Generally it is more attractive to those with an equally contentious voice and as a rule most of its friends are from other groups that it has passed through. In many ways it attracts them rather than rather than the other way around... rather like the Remora fish they attach themselves as the provocative troll passes by. In turn the provocative troll provides both shelter and transport to new grounds... 'cos it is always on the move.

Life cycle:

Stage one:

Nesting:

Finding a suitable group the provocative troll joins in, giving its opinions and at the first opportunity it launches with its agenda. This is usually something slightly to the left of what people are discussing and when asked to cease and desist it keeps pushing the envelope. Usually it employs imperative language and a manner guaranteed to get other group members hackles up; telling people they are wrong, while never conceding a point. It will stick to its beliefs regardless of any data or evidence presented, provided it is enjoying the argument.  

Stage two:

Adult developmental stage:

Tiring of the fun it will eventually abandon the thread, and often the group as well. Of course it doesn't leave quietly... at heart it is a show pony. It usually leaves while hurling final insults at members and those it perceives as in power, like group owners and moderators.  In fact it will often use words like censorship and claim to have been removed, while in fact it left a free agent. As evidenced by the fact that it often slips back in when no one is looking, to make a quick raid on a thread before leaving again.

Stage three:

Metamorphosis:

The provocative troll, unlike most of its cousins, will often stomp off to form its own group. It usually cites censorship as its major reason for being forced to take this step and it will try to come off as the reasonable one who was trying to make the group a better, more open place. Often the provocative troll will found the group on the principles of free speech, as it makes for a more fun place for it, and claim that there will be no censorship. That last one usually goes by the way side as it gets bigger and harder to control... but it usually waits until the dust has settled before is slips back in to do any adjustments needed to make its self look better.

Spotting the troll:

Probably one of the easier trolls to spot as it makes a name for itself by being in the centre of any dustups... usually the more contentious ones... and never backing off from an argument. Often it will start a barrage of new topics (which is completely opposite to the familiar troll who rarely starts them). In the beginning it is often just chalked up to an unfortunate style, but after a while a distinct pattern appears... seriously all those groups can't be wrong. It also exhibits a need to be seen as not only the voice of reason, but usually exhibits a slight persecution complex in the process. Its last words are usually in the theme of I'm being forced to do this by the unreasonableness of others...

Control and eradication:

Actually the provocative troll is one of the easiest trolls to get rid of. In a group it will always get pissed off by some perceived slight and leave. Now it may come back, but it rarely repeats the original performance, usually containing itself to viper raids, until a mod is around to ban it forever. Which means all you have to do is not join its group... unless you like a laugh with your uncensored blood bath. 

Abandonment issues

Sitting on the bus a mother with two monstrous children were vying for control. One of the children upped the ante by letting rip with an almighty ear piercing shriek. Seriously, one checked for blood it was that bad. The mother, undeterred, turned around and said if you don't stop I'm going to get the bus driver to stop and leave you on the curb.

If we develop our assorted issues during childhood, as many believe, one deeply suspects we can often blame our parents. See we grow up with no memory of these incidents by and large, but the scars remain. Those scars lie there just waiting for the right incentive to crack open again. And we wonder where it comes from...

Looks around furtively and whispers, it really is your mother's fault.

Highlighted grey notes

Drifting awake one became aware of the soft pitter pat of rain on the roof. Twitching back the curtain confirmed this, and one took a moment to appreciate the gentle falls from the pearl grey sky. The joy of living in a dry country is that you enjoy the sight of rain. It is an all too infrequent event... even in spring.

He came home to find one working on stretching out the ankle by kneeling in the doorway. Of late, with the ankle and surgery, one has taken to using the step and letting the feet dangle over the edge. For the record it will stretch, it just refused to cooperate when you try and stand on it. Though it was probably amusing, watching a normally graceful person scrambling around like a geriatric to get up... swear there was a glimmer behind the concern in His eyes.

We had breakfast and went to bed for a little old fashioned vaginal sex. Mind you He cheated. Grabbing both breasts in his hands He mashed and twisted them, which made one cum way too quickly rather than letting one enjoy the ride. Preparing to dismount... well one of us had cum... He threatened to cut one off from all orgasms for a year.

And you know something? The tiny, sex addled part of the brain actually contemplated doing it. Just to see the look on His face. He must have guessed what was going on too, 'cos his hand snaked up under the collar... which cut off the air in a disturbing way... and one got that look. Seriously it's not a slave's fault if He wasn't winning that race... surely?

Honestly they can be so mean. And then after He came, he snuggled into his doona as one dragged a reluctant arse out of bed to go to work. It was sort of all downhill from that point on...

Bastard!

Testing, one, two, three

Today we tested the Tango for waterproof capabilities... well you have to try these things don't you J While showering it was handed through the door with a verbal command encouragement to try it out. To be honest it is excellent for that situation as it isn't too heavy or large. So leaning against the shower tiles, one spread the lips apart to give Him a good view while applying it to the clit.

Realising that the position was precarious, He kindly turned one around and added bracing by shoving his dick in one's arse. That was ever so thoughtful of Him. It was interesting to note that some stimulation will make the arse open up wonderfully, and this toy works as well as the Hitachi for that purpose. Unfortunately one didn't stand a chance against the dual onslaught of the Tango and Him, and we came together in a shuddering orgasm. After which one was manoeuvred out of the water and deposited outside the shower... again somewhat dirtier than before.

Scampering back to the bedroom one flung the towel on the bed and tried some of the other modes. There is a great one that buzzes along merrily and stops just as it is getting interesting, before starting up again just as you are starting to contemplate turning it up. It's like being teased by an expert. And that was how He found one... legs spread, still wet and whimpering on the inside.

He added the magnetic nipple clamps 'cos he thought they would coordinate nicely. Those sorts of things are important during sex... rolls eyes. And just as one was thoughtfully offering Him a hole of choice... OK begging to be fucked... He flipped one over and slid into the arse up to his balls in one quick motion. The arse was super relaxed and compliant, allowing Him to briskly fuck one into a series of screaming orgasms before he came to a juddering, groaning halt.

Honestly the neighbours must wonder what the hell is going on in our house sometimes J

So yes... tried and tested... and so worth the money.

We-vibe Tango

One of the things that followed us home yesterday was the We-vibe Tango. It is small, about the size of a finger and a rather pretty purple. Not a word from the peanut gallery... it was that or rose (a code word for puce) or powder blue (which frankly is a singularly unsexy colour, for the record). Generally small toys aren't our thing... you may have noticed... but this was interesting enough to get a lift home.

The implement:

The We-vibe Tango measures about 3 1/4 inches (8.5 cms) long and is about the thickness of a finger or a lipstick which its shape is reminiscent of. In fact its size and shape make it perfect as a "personal massager".

The pros:

• Smooth texture.
• It is about the size of a large finger, with a flat tip to replicate the shape of one.
• It is water proof.
• Comes with a magnetic docking station for recharging (unlike its useless cousin the We-vibe II) so there is no looking for the pin hole.
• There are eight vibration modes.
• It has a single push button control on the base that can be depressed and held down briefly to turn it off... no having to cycle through all the modes to get the damn thing to shut up.
• The button is a decent size (again unlike its useless cousin).
• A memory that recalls your last setting... so if you have a favourite its right there.
• It is incredibly powerful... almost on par with the Hitachi wand with the silicone cover on it.
• A charge that lasts about two hours and it has a fast recharge.

The cons:

Yes well....

To be honest one is still trying to find one... must do more research... later folks J

At the end of the day

Most of today was spent lugging heavy stock and restocking the new store. The combined noise of radios, workmen, installers and the continual ringing of phones... all of which had rings that would wake the dead... made it deafening at times. All of this was without the benefit of air-conditioning of course... 'cos that would have made it pleasant. Needless to say it was a hot, noisy, dirty ten hours L

Mind you He did drop by bearing a drink and a cookie... he figured it was the only way he was going to see one. And when it was all over for the day, one very graciously took Him out to dinner by way of apology. Well that and starvation, and being so beyond cooking that it was the only way we were going to get fed. So off we toddled for sushi.

Now sushi is done a little differently here from many other places. Here the easiest way to get sushi is via a "Sushi Train". An island is formed by the kitchen and all around the perimeter is a counter with stools, so you can sit and watch the sushi being prepared. A train runs along the counter pulling little wagons loaded up with dishes and you just grab what you want off it. Of course if what you want isn't on it you can order from the staff... but generally it is more fun to see what is coming past.

So after stuffing ourselves while gossiping, we scampered across the road to the sex shop that we have visited for years. The shop is a very well stocked one with a constantly changing inventory, so there is always something new to look at. It is also a great place to visit if you like costumes and they keep a good range of sizes if you are anything bigger than a small... which is all some seem to keep.

As to what followed us home... well there might have been a couple of new toys and a rather nice school uniform. All one needs to do is find the little white cotton panties that are loitering in the cupboard somewhere. He does so like a naughty girl to spank... not that one is very good at being well behaved. Actually it is a miracle that one doesn't spend more time with a red arse... 

Is there a doctor in the house?

Usually when they mess with things from one's childhood it never goes well... but every once in a while... well let's just say they manage to put a new spin on something. So for all those aspiring doctors may one offer the new, improved game of Operation.

Flirting with curiosity

He walked into the new shop... tall, older and attractive in a rugged handy sort of way... as one was nibbling on strawberries. Are you sharing he asked? Smiling one proffered the last one in his direction. Laughing he shook his head and thanking one, asked which bit of the floor was the problem. No idea, just doing layouts, but the oracle in the next aisle might know.

A few minutes later he circled back from a different angle and said I wouldn't take your last strawberry, but I would love one of those, pointing to the coffee cup. Oh might be able to rustle one up... how do you take it? Oh on the strong side, milk, no sugar. Be right back one said airily, walking off.

The kitchens that way he said. Yes, but the coffee is that way, pointing to work. Oh... look I don't want to be a bother. Too late. Are you sure he asked? Oh absolutely sure, so coffee, yes, no? Please, he said with a smile.

As one came back, bearing a cup emblazoned with "strong pain", he emerged from a wall. Did you know that was there he asked? Any chance it's something useful like a cupboard, one asked optimistically. Not unless it's one for naughty people, it's a bit cramped. Ah well in that case one will probably be shoved in it a lot, one quipped... just as he said... you might be in it a lot. We looked at each other and smiled.

Later he sat on the cabinets, sipping coffee while watching one work. We chatted about corporations and politics, the folly of decisions made... you know the sort of stuff you chat about when other people are around. As he stood to leave he dithered about like a school boy before whipping out a business card and saying give me a call. If you would like a coffee... I think I owe you a coffee he said smiling.

So there you are tall, salt and peppered, quite handsome, self employed, articulate, bright, great sense of humour...

And one is almost tempted to take him up on his offer...

'Cos one is just dying to find out about his wife...

'Cos one would be very surprised if there wasn't one...

And if not, why not...

The curiosity is just killing...

You are starting to get glimmerings of how one gets into trouble aren't you...

It's the nosiness J