How building bridges always leads to...

Erecting boundaries

That is what we end up doing when we poke our noses out of our electronic burrows... almost without fail. See we stick them out in the hope of finding people just like us... well alike enough that we can have the odd conversation with them at any rate. Without fail though, it always ends up more complicated than that. It is an ironic thing that in relationships such as these, one of the most important skills to learn is how to erect a boundary. Not from one's owner, but from the other people we come into contact with on public boards.

It is hard in these relationships to make friends, even ones on the net. The biggest problem is the complete lack of time to call your own. And boards are like black holes... you could probably lose hours to those things before you realise it. That lack of personal time is something that people pay lip service to... oh we understand. The thing is they don't really get it at all. In an average week one gets to spend about seven hours online... and that includes time writing the blog and helping mod the group. Everything one does online comes at the cost of something else... what one chooses to join, reply to and even the amount of conversations one has and with whom. 

When you have limited time you start developing a selection criterion. Decisions to accept friends requests is often based more on how non prolific they are than how much you like them. And if they are prolific is it interesting, enlightening, confronting, growth causing... the list gests more rigorous as time goes on. Otherwise you log on and find 150 odd posts that you have to sift through to find content to spend time on. In the end you keep those who you enjoy... and oddly enough they are often the quiet ones who are that way 'cos they have bugger all time as well.

Another issue is that where ever you go on Fet, you find people happily debating how you do things as a group or as an individual relationship. It becomes an issue seeing your life constantly dissected like this because it is usually being done by those who have never actually tried it, those who want to be doing it and those for whom it didn't work. It is not that it is just annoying, which it is, but that after a while it is just exhausting. The human psyche can only take so much of being grist for the mill before it starts to retreat.

Then of course the fun really starts 'cos no one likes rejection for whatever the reason. People make the assumption that we get annoyed with them because they "can't possibly get it" and in some cases they are right... to a point. As one has said before there is a huge difference between non-cohabiting relationship and having someone in your grill morning, noon and night. Of course we are usually dubbed as the mean elitists for saying that...

What people often don't understand is that what they perceive as us rejecting them, because they are not like us, is in fact us becoming overwhelmed. The only way we can stop the sheer volume of noise is to reduce our contact with people, the outside world... and there we are again. On the outside looking in... Secure in the knowledge that it shouldn't be this bloody complicated L

Black, white and grey

Curtailed

That feeling of safety one mentioned the other day came to a grinding halt, with the help of the local postal service and the first of the missing unpleasant presents. As one small slave was reluctantly signing for a large parcel, He was already carting it inside looking like an excited school boy... a mean, sadistic schoolboy. Feeling less excited one wandered in to find Him happily ripping off the wrapping from the big, brown box from JT's... it seems the helpful people there had combined the shipping so their stuff all arrived together. Yeah thanks for that...

Nestled in all the packaging was not only the set of anal dilators, but an extra special item for His amusement. It seems after the outing with the Neon Wand He thought an extra pair of hands might come in useful... so this was his solution L

Dear Santa

Look one does know that one said don't bother with Christmas presents this year as you have been so generous with sex toys all year. Yeah, taking that back for next year. Next year one wants real presents... the sort that will render you unable to be generous like this ever again. Suitable gifts include jewellery (the sort that comes from an actual jewellery store), books, clothes... shoes are always an excellent choice.

Things that are not suitable are anything electrical, conductive metal, anything that can be turned into something conductive, anything that impedes flight (yes shoes do count on that one) and anything zappy, thwappy, stingy, ouchie, sharpie or unpleasant, as deemed by one small slave.

Better still just give cash... all of it.

Yours

One small and slightly put out slave

From who to what

The day started with joining a friend online to watch the Dr. Who Christmas special. Yeah it probably doesn't get much geekier than that.  But it was light hearted fun as we synced up our viewing and proceeded to chat about what was going on... yeah that isn't getting any less geeky is it? Seriously though, one of the nice things about technology is that distance doesn't stop you enjoying friends from all around the world... it just takes a little creativity.

We then indulged in some Christmas leftovers... where would we be without ham and turkey... for breakfast and got on with the domestic component of the day before it got too hot and we became even less inclined than we already were. Though one is a little unsure how that would be possible... mind you a couple of extra degrees can work wonders on willpower. It is worth noting that the heat didn't stop Him aggressing one small slave as we made the bed... or from making threats to sully the clean sheets. To be honest though that last one was more a last ditch effort by Him to avoid helping change them.

Mind you He got his own back in the shower... one small slave hopped in there to escape the heat and found herself pinned to the tiles while being brutally sodomised. His version of events was a little different of course... as we all know history is written by the victors. Oh, wait a minute... not here it isn't J

OK... it was a hot and steamy day. So hot in fact that one small slave ventured into the shower to cool down with a little illicit extended water usage. Suddenly out of nowhere He appeared, pulled open the door and stood there. His manliness was rampant and he advanced, forcing one into a corner as he roughly grabbed at one's hips and pulling one back against him. Bending one over He slid into that tight little orifice and proceeded to fuck it in a rough and aggressive manner... despite the squeaks of protest that were emitting from one's lips. With a final violent thrust He came deep inside and then stood there in a menacing manner until one got out of the shower leaving it free for him.

OK there might have been a makeup orgasm for one small slave later on... right before He used one like a fleshlight again. Only that time He used a slightly different orifice.... while threatening a, by that stage, rather tender breast. After He was finished one was shooed out into the warm world to go Christmas sale shopping with his mother. Seriously if the sex didn't make one feel violated, the public sure as hell did. One sits here at the close of day traumatised one tells you... traumatised!

Oh and one couldn't find a single thing at the sales... and boy are there some seriously ugly shoes left over this season.  

It was a day...

Mostly made up of penance unfortunately, though one does rather suspect that it is going to take more than one visit to the gym to make up for some of that food. In fact it is going to take days to work off what is currently stashed in the cupboards. For some reason His mother seems to think that popping it in our pantry is a good idea... can't imagine the logic behind that one L So while He snoozed on, in what one suspects resembled a diabetic coma more than actual sleep, one scampered off to catch a bus to the gym. It was there one found the fellow penitent... all making peace with their bodies by waging war on them.

After that He picked one up and we did the heady experience know to others as grocery shopping. For some reason none of the food stashed in our fridge and cupboards are actually comprised of... well food groups other than sugar. Mind you those mince pies probably count as fruit... in some alternate universe. And there is almond bread... that has to count as protein... again in that universe. Oh and there is marzipan... it was voted as a food by some of you J

Crap one is going to be in the gym for the rest of the year just for the contents of the cupboards alone L

Food, glorious food

Today we nipped in to visit His grandmother, where in exchange for a bottle of something very alcoholic she gave us sweet things and small presents. His grandmother is as sharp as a tack in some ways, you just have to watch her at Christmas otherwise you get some very strange gifts. There was one spectacular year there where someone got a set of gaudy, glittery napkin rings shaped like butterflies. In fact it was right after that one started to buy one's own gift. It seems sensible... not to mention safer.

What you can rely on her for though is sweets and this year one got chocolate covered marzipan. Now, one could bore you insensate with an ode to that stuff, but for this one will just say that one likes it very much. Well is inordinately fond of the stuff might be closer to the truth. OK marzipan is the catnip of sweets to one small slave. The creamy, but firm texture, the sweet smell, the slightly sticky texture, the... ooops sorry blushes

Anyway after our visit there, we went to our Tuesday night vanillas for a more traditional (in this climate) Christmas time meal of ham, hot turkey, salads and hot rolls. That was followed at irregular intervals by rich chocolate cake, assorted snack food, mince pies and shortbread. All washed down with Champagne and Sauvignon Blanc from Marlborough in New Zealand. It was midnight when we tottered out of there... to drive home, crash into bed and pray that one of the bloody neighbours didn't have some new power tool they needed to try out first thing in the morning.

Mutters 'cos there is such a thing as too much sharing at Christmas L

Trifling with Christmas

Well today was the day we trooped down the hall for presents... and some wonderful gifts there were. There was even a portable studio and lighting kit for one small slave (to enable better quality pics of shoes and toys). Well that was the excuse; the real reason is that like all keen hobbyists He is trying to infect one with his particular disease. Best of all though the nasty, large, painful presents are all lost in the mail for the moment. Honestly a girl has never felt so safe...  

Of course that feeling was temporary... in fact there were signs of how temporary it was going to be...

It started last night when the first slice of fruitcake appeared with a tiny cow sitting atop it. OK a manger (ish) theme perhaps? It turned out that as the year had been a little hectic she hadn't used the cute decorations one picked up for her cupcakes (which for the record are divine and a thing one likes to actively encourage). Rather than waste them she decided to use them on the Christmas cake. In hindsight one should have seen it as an omen...

We meandered back later on for lunch. Now we voted against the traditional hot Christmas dinner this year. In part because after the turkey incident we were none too keen to have another repeat and because we thought something simple would be less stressful for her. That was the idea; of course the reality would indicate that nothing in this household would be that easy. In spite of the simple menu of prawns and crab salad she still managed to make a break for it round the edges...

First she had come up to see what time to get lunch ready for, which we came to an agreement on and toddled down at the appointed time to find everything was still in the fridge. Then she put on a Christmas DVD for us... and proceeded to slice the homemade bread throughout it... using an electric carving knife. Actually that one might have been a kindness... Anyway she then proceeded to bring out the food in what can only be described as an eclectic manner. That is to say bread, sea food, salads, followed by cutlery, then the actual serving utensils... well one set of them... followed by glasses and an exploding bottle of sparkling apple juice. OK that last one can happen to anybody, but one is still unsure what the bowl of gummy bears was doing on the table from the get go... they did look festive though.

We proceeded to work through lunch as she bemoaned the loss of the cooked lunch, and insist that it was really no trouble at all. Given the haphazard nature of lunch one is unconvinced by that particular assertion... but we may let her have her head next year in the name of science. In the end as we cleared the table, after convincing her that tipping the lemon and prawn infused finger bowls into the pot plants might not be a good idea, we brought out Grandma's infamous trifle. Yeah for the record all that booze mixed with dairy products was not enough to stop one being profoundly disturbed by her inclusion of blue jelly on the top of it.

As she went to get the homemade sweets to finish off the meal, He reached out for an after dinner mint... to find that they were Turkish delight. It seems she had picked up the wrong tin and as they were a good price had been reluctant to exchange them...

Maybe what one is witnessing is not the beginnings of old age taking root.

Maybe messing with peoples' food is a mother daughter thing...

It might account for why His sister made the chocolate spiders with milk chocolate this year instead of the dark kind, and why she stuck jellies on their backs turning them into red backs...

They are trying to kill Christmas... nods it's the only explanation

'Twas the day before Christmas

Waking up to the sound of gentle rain one peered at the clock. It proudly claimed to be 4am. A tad early so one promptly rolled over and went back to sleep. Waking up again, this time to torrential rain and the sound of Crows squabbling, one peered once more at the clock. It still insisted that it was 4am.

Shit the fucking thing had stopped!

Scrambling out of bed one made coffee and hit the shower... with half an hour to get clean, drink coffee and shove on a uniform. Forget blessing whiskers... it was more in keeping with the sounds of the crows.

Unfortunately one made it... to spend another day in front of the perfume cabinet. Honestly all sense of smell is gone. It is the body's way of protecting itself. Though today brought out the other type of customer... the ones who only buy annually and haven't quite worked out that, in the age of aggressive amalgamation, their perfumes haven't make the cut... not to mention Christmas eve is too late to start the search.

Today one heard the litany of fragrances that were old when one was a teenager... and no there is nothing quite like them. There is a reason for that. See fragrances evoke memories... of when we were young and in love and the world was a kinder place. Actually it wasn't... but the lack of mass communication meant that we didn't hear about it every five minutes. They also hearken back to a time when we still could smell what we wore...

A bit of trivia for the readers... your sense of smell is linked to your oestrogen levels. It is why men can't smell their socks under the bed. It is also why women after a certain age pile the bloody stuff on like woollens in winter.

Now not realising that they can't actually smell perfume any longer they go with what they know. Unfortunately it comes from an age when they had a heavy musk base... which oddly enough can permeate almost any olfactory defence. Thankfully this generation has rejected most of them... though to be honest the fruity concoctions they seem to go for are not exactly an improvement.

So why was the Christmas Grinch manning the perfume you may be wondering... Well not only is one old enough to be able to remember the litany, but one is actually tactful enough to not tell people they are old enough to know better than to try and revisit their youth, let alone keep it alive.

How in fuck did that happen?

Oh that's right... old.

The eleventh hour

Today was like yesterday except the desperation was just that much keener. The obstinacy was also just that much more noticeable and the name of the perfume had changed.

But all the staff had brought food to share.

And the day had started with sex and a ride to all this wonder.

So it wasn't all downhill J

The Christmas countdown

The day started with awesome sex and a lift to work. It then descended into a nine and a half hour shift involving the public, as they started to scramble to do the last of their Christmas shopping. For the record if you "really wanted the Katy Perry perfume for (your) daughter" you shouldn't have left it till three days before Christmas. And standing there repeating the statement in a whinier voice isn't going to make it magically appear. Oh you don't want to go to that department store down the road and pay that price... guess you don't "really" want it after all.

Next they will start asking for one to make things appear from the magical "out back". 

Embarrassed

He did something, as one was masturbating, that involved a breast, both of his hands and his mouth. Actually there might have been some teeth in there as well. It is all a little hazy. There was a loud, screaming... well more keening... orgasm. That bit one is quite clear on.

Well to be completely honest one was also quite clear on how much the breast hurt after whatever it was He did to it. In fact it led one to roll over to try and find some way to alleviate the pain. That might not have been the most sensible move... post orgasm there isn't too much that sense stuff to be honest. In fact it ended up with Him lubing up his favourite hole with Mans' Grease, obviously in an attempt to find something easier to wash off, and fucking ones arse until he too came with a shuddering orgasm.

How was that?

Well the pain in the arse has taken the bodies mind off the pain in the breast... so not bad.

It was a hell of an orgasm too He said smugly.

What makes you say that?

Umm... the phone call from six blocks that way He said, indicating the direction of the window. They were applauding.

Looking in that direction one groaned...

The bloody window was wide open...

And that was a really loud orgasm...

Crap!

Returning to the 50's

It was the Tuesday night RPG tonight. Well it was us and very little playing. In fact we are still quibbling about what to play. So meantime we decided to have a steak and martini night. Well that drinking component might have been one small slaves doing...

See they had never tried a martini before. This is hard to imagine. Those things are an ode to alcohol. So armed with some rather good gin and vodka off we set. Actually we also had a shaker, measure, glasses, vermouth, ice and a heavy cast iron pan. Err... that last one was for the steaks just so we are clear... seen what he cooks their food in normally L

Suitably armed we rocked up to find that she hadn't eaten all day. Now on martinis that is just asking to be stonkered in about 10 minutes flat, so we did the steaks first... which was rather a shame. The idea is to get a bit of a buzz and then kill it with some solid food. But anyway, off we set on our exploration of alcohol...

We started off with a twoo martini; which for the record is gin swirled gently with an olive trim, not some fancy flavoured crap. They sat there sipping cautiously. It tastes really good and then tastes not so good he reported. It was interesting to note though that when the booze hit his system (about five minutes flat) that was elevated to those things get better with every mouthful. She said so these are like gin? So really a martini is a rich person's way of having shots. Yeah think they had a firm grasp of the mechanics of a martini J

For the next round one did James Bond or vodka martinis... which personally one prefers. Sipping the edges of their glasses like two small birds their eyes got very bright. Oh yes those are good was the verdict. Now that was his last one... he is not a drinker, though he did agree that olives taste way better when drowned in booze (and he hates olives). She on the other hand was a convert... as she said they go with everything including cigarettes. Frankly nothing should go with that noxious habit, but then one speaks as a reformed smoker J

So there we are... finally found a way to make Tuesday night RPGing so much better. All that was needed was to get rid of the game component and add liberal amounts of alcohol. Who knew it could be so simple? Scampers off to unearth the cocktail handbook... 

The first Christmas meals

Today was the first family Christmas dinner of the season... yes there is normally more than one... and His work's do. As all one's favourite food turns up on a Christmas table that is a good thing J So with high hopes off we toddled down the hall to join His sister and the grandchild for lunch. Actually that isn't quite what happened so allow one to back track somewhat.

Arriving home hot and sweaty from the gym one found out that the grandchild was having her Christmas presents before lunch and we were expected there kinda now. Just the thought of childish shrieks of joy was enough to send one all a quiver, so dispatching Him as representative one hastened to the shower... where one lingered for an indecent amount of time before putting on a load of laundry. Hey with the big M comes the big R for responsibility. Beside as one always says if we ever separate He gets his family back... they are all his J

Wandering down there one discovered an ecstatic child, and more importantly, no lunch. Where's the food one enquired in an aggrieved voice. Honestly this was shaping up to be the worst bait and switch imaginable. In the oven was the reply. Smelling the worst one scampered over to peer in, before asking you mean the turkey that is burning in here? There was an almighty scramble and while they were engaged in bird rescue, one scampered back up to our end to forage for a snack.

He came to winkle one out of the study with the promise that lunch was back on track and so off we went once more... to discover His brother on Skype and his mother once more neglecting lunch preparations. Scowling one gathered food, with His sister in tow, and started laying out lunch. Burnt bird is one thing, cold burnt bird is a hard limit. It was then we found that not only did the child have a seating plan, but she had made place cards so there was no confusion. And so we started lunch... with His brother not getting the hint at all... until they eventually said their goodbyes and joined us.

Afterwards we demolished Christmas crackers (bon bons) and He pulled poppers while the child scampered after the streamers. Oh look she cried. They're purple! That's (one small slaves) favourite colour.

That child is a freak... a scary little four year old freak, who is going to go on to be a domme.

He sat there snickering...

Bastard!

Later in the evening we toddled out for the work dinner. Now generally we hate them... all of them. But there is food... well there is supposed to be food. Of course we hit the place on the night of their work do and it was staffed with ringers. This may account for why the bathrooms were awash, and a check of the door revealed a sign proudly stating they were checked at 1.45, which was about six hours ago by that stage. It may also account for why one salad sat there the entire evening without being replenished... though one isn't sure that you can call three limp lettuce leaves and two chunks of tomato a salad. Not to mention someone had eaten all the shrimp and salmon out of it.

In fact by the time the meals did arrive, well most of them turned up, most of us were hungry and surly... more so than usual for a work do. It was such a shemozzle that the place actually gave two of them a 15% off voucher for their next meal. Unfortunately as it is Christmas, they were unlikely to be of any use in the week they were valid for. So while they sat around laughing at the idea, some of us went to get desert... to find there was none left. That was when the collective howl of displeasure went up and we ended up with some comped meals for next time.

To be honest the only bright spark of the evening was the fact that the ankle allowed one to wear the dress and shoes one picked up a couple of months ago. So yay for persistence and exercise J And a big boo for the food providers for the day. They collectively sucked the joy out of the only bright spot of this time of the year L

Bastards! 

Seven of nine

Curled up watching Leverage, the final scene closed with Jeri Ryan throwing some hapless man on a bed. The slut one quipped, without malice.

Oh like you would turn her down.

Only like her in her costume

He laughed and said you are such a nerd

Not a nerd.

You would turn down a woman in the top one percent because she wasn't in her costume. That makes you a nerd

Well more a geek... admittedly a specialised geek...

Confrontational views

From the mail bag

One of the readers had some questions about the permanent plug and it was easier to put the answers here and bore all of you at the same time J

They were curious about what size the plug was and what equipment would be needed to use one.

The plug we own is the small one that has an insertable length of about one and a half inches. When we first got it, we used to unscrew the shower head and use the connector in the picture (above) to join the plug and the shower hose together and you can see the pictures of that in action here. Later He had a diverter installed in the shower so one could use the plug without freezing... isn't He kind? What the diverter does is separate the water flow into two streams, the shower and the plug.

The reader was also curious about flow rates and if you could pop the core back in to keep the water there.

The idea is to insert the plug, turn the water on a slow stream and let it gently fill you up. You will know when you have had enough... mainly because you will feel full. Which is usually followed by a sense of cramping as the bowel tries to evacuate. As to the question of whether you could put the centre core back in, thereby trapping the water... You probably could if you were bending over, but you would probably need a hand and it is going to mean that the enema is going to go deeper. It will not be a quick clean out, which is what the plug is designed to facilitate.

As to how long you could hold the water and if it would escape... yeah that is one of the battles that the arse is probably going to win. As we all know, the arse rules everything J

Reminders

Sitting on the bus one is acutely aware of where He has been. Oddly enough it is not the nipples that are feeling His presence but one's arse. He kindly reamed it in the shower this morning before one left for work. And He was kind... he even used lube rather than the more conveniently available soap.

Not that it helped much... He leaned against the sphincter muscle until it was forced opened and then slid in up to His balls in one slick motion. He then proceeded to fuck that tight, lubed little orifice until He came with a shudder, for which one thanked him politely.

Even now sitting here this evening all one can feel is the pulsing throb of where He has been...

In fact it is as sore as buggery L

Things to put in your stocking

It is no secret that we like fossicking around in hardware stores more than some. This is strange 'cos only one of us is what you would describe as handy. The thing is though that the other one of us has a good eye for practical applications of the things you can find in there. So the other week when we went to check out the new hardware chain a couple of these slipped into the shopping.

Today we tried them out and made a couple of interesting discoveries...

The implement:

These (for those that don't do tools) are a pair of curved jaw locking pliers. In this case they are miniature versions, about two dollars each and the size of the palm of your hand. He saw them and thought that they would make nifty nipple clamps. See the trouble with nipple clamps normally is that there is always a small issue with them. They are too bitey from the get go, not bitey enough, too fiddly, come off too easily, are a bastard to remove... you are getting the idea.

The pros:

• They stay on
• The level of bite can be adjusted
• They are easy to adjust
• Quick release

The cons:

• There aren't any...

Honestly they are perfect. In fact one would go as far as saying they make the best nipple clamps ever and certainly the cheapest. Even when He was slowly fucking one small slave and pulling on these with a less than gentle hand they didn't come off. He was as pleased as punch with them. The nipples were too... though frankly they may not be so thrilled later on when the endorphins toddle off back home J

Crossing the line

The best shopping centre round here is Chermside and they have done a bastard thing. Recently Westfield (the owners of Chermside) installed paid parking, and unveiled plans to do the same in all their shopping centres in the future, just in time for Christmas. They are even charging the staff who work there a flat weekly fee. Their reasoning was that too many people were using their facilities to park and ride to work, rather than shopping. This left an inadequate amount of car parks for shoppers and it was the only thing they could do to prevent this.

Now paid parking is one of those things... many states have it here and so do many places around the world. The difference is those places have public transport and/ or validated parking. Chermside has neither; there is no train station, it is two hours by bus or a 40 minute drive to get there from where we live. To add insult to injury after you have travelled all that way in your car you get three hours free, which is inadequate to doing serious shopping interspersed with a little lunch and afternoon tea at the French patisserie. Some of us like to... you know... Shop J

The area around the centre is a shemozzle... Cars are parked everywhere; the parks, side streets and the cricket grounds are awash with vehicles. The centre is claiming it is the commuters and they are telling the council to fix it. Their books tell a different story though... trade is down. And oddly enough casual employees are getting very reluctant to work there... strange that 'cos you would think that people going in for a three hour shift on a junior wage would be happy to pay for the privilege. In fact the only way some retailers can get workers is to pay for their parking.

See Brisbanites are funny people they will go the long way to avoid a toll... hell they sent the Clem Jones Tunnel broke with that principle. So we have done what many Brisbanites have done. We have voted with our feet and boycotted the place. We go elsewhere to shop, preferably to a non Westfield shopping centre. Those places which were struggling to survive against Chermside are reaping the rewards... And it is hurting not only Westfield, but the retailers. Their profits are down a significant amount... one or two have closed already. 

So in the spirit of Christmas Westfield have offered validated parking... if you spend $199 your parking is free. They claim it is only for the holiday season. Now it is a reasonable offer... so we crossed the line. Oddly enough there was plenty of parking... if you can get underground parking there that close to Christmas things must be grim. We crossed because we needed decent shopping (they have shops that can only be found in the city) and we have no issue with validated shopping. 

See if this had really been about stopping the commuters they wouldn't have installed some of the terms and conditions that they did (things like you can't leave and return on the same day and call it two visits) and they would have instigated validated parking. This was a money grubbing little exercise and they thought they could make more money by renting their parking space. What they underestimated was how much the people of this state hate being ripped off...

And they forgot that it takes the same amount of time for people like us to go to the city using the park and ride train system.

Wittner Felle 090

We love going to the city... and if they don't keep the validated parking that is where we will be going. Besides the people who produce these little babies have a shop there too J

Petty aggravator

His idea of sensation play isn't quite like other peoples. One of His favourite past times is mean shit like this evening where He is repeatedly grabbing a breast and squeezing it. It is like nails on a chalk board and He only does it until one screams... usually in rage. Actually in this case one was yelling no. It is a completely futile word and honestly one doesn't think it means what He thinks it means. Otherwise He would stop surely?

In the end one turned around and asked is there a word that works like the word no, but actually you know, works?

Yes, He replied.

So what is it one asked without much hope... we have been down this road before.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious He replied. And then He proceeded to try to make one use the word.

Yeah, so not going to fall for that one L

Then He added a new wrinkle. Rather than just amuse himself with the squeezing, He added hitting with a slapper. It is leather and shaped like a small red hand. It isn't painful so much as guaranteed to drive you insane... it's the BDSM equivalency of water torture L

Say your safeword He said with way too much glee.

There isn't one... 'cos we all know that supercalifragilisticexpialidocious was just a ruse.

Oh that's right, and off He went... slap, slap, slappity, slappity, slap...

You know just for the record, He really isn't as funny as he thinks he is L

Keeping owners apart

We don't have much of a punishment dynamic round here... well... that isn't quite true. He just prefers to think of them as "appropriate deterrents" and He is big on them being fitting. Some of them are diabolically clever mean and vindictive. Like the time He made one watch a certain someone's special home movie. That won't be forgotten in a hurry... there isn't enough mind bleach to scrub those images away... and one still has lingering doubts about how fitting that was L

What this has to do with other owners you may be starting to wonder quietly...

There is an unwritten rule amongst slaves... keep your owners apart. Really it is the only sensible thing to do. See they don't just chat and good naturedly push each other under the bus like we do. They actively collude to push us under it and more scarily, they learn from each other. And it is never good...

Just occasionally, no matter how vigilant you are, the odd owner slips through your cordon. Sometimes it is a direct, full frontal assault on each other's inboxes while we grab a few precious hours of sleep or scamper off to work. You come home to find they have become fully engaged in their own embryonic bromance. When that happens all you can do is hope for the best... which is futile, unless the person in their life still has more powers of veto than you do J

Other times the ammo comes to them via your own inbox. Those one are always the worst ones... Not only is it that invasion of privacy thing (a nifty concept one has been reading about on Fet), but you are left with the knowledge that you enabled the whole situation to begin with. See most of the owner types are busy people. They usually only get to know each other through us s types to begin with... if we didn't chat amongst ourselves they wouldn't come up on each other's radar.  

This unfortunate tale is a good illustration of the last scenario...

A friend has recently acquired a most unfortunate friend. So unfortunate that one did take time to write a note that was the concerned version of what the fuck? Well it seems she has acquired her new friend as a reminder to be a better person. Now it was inspired, one is the first to admit. And when He stopped laughing like a hyena one could see the burgeoning admiration in his eyes. In that moment one knew this was going to be tucked away and perverted into some horrible future event...

See one always thought that the home movie thing couldn't be topped... but you know... just occasionally one small slave is wrong L

Red!

Alone...

This morning one got onto an empty bus, driven by a man wearing a Santa hat. It felt creepy.... we're talking clown creepy here. Mind you it was not as creepy as all the people boarding further along singing out good morning Santa...

For fucks sake you're 40 years old! Santa isn't real.

No wonder some people seem to have difficulty separating reality and fantasy on boards. It's an extension of this willingness to hold onto a lie and perpetuate it L

Today's Grinching brought to you by sinusitis, an ear infection and a face that feels like it has been hit, repeatedly

Wayism

Our group is often home to the Wayists. In spite of this we rub along OK because we don't believe our way is necessarily the right way for anybody else. Of course every once in a while we get a Twoo Wayist in our midst. Ironically they are usually what others might view as moderates.

They are the ones who believe that transparency must be a two way street for the relationship to be healthy. Their beliefs often include the notion that the properties emotional wellbeing must be paramount in the owners mind above all else, and that their mental wellbeing must also be protected. It goes without saying of course that the owner is still in charge, but these things are his responsibility and he chooses to do them willingly... or something like that. To be honest one is always so bemused by these assorted assertions that one just can't quite stumble past the hurdle of wondering exactly what the owner is in charge of, but each to their own...

Mostly the problems arise with these moderates out of their insistence their way is the only possible way. After all their position is reasonable, therefore it must be for everyone.... Yeah they bring that special brand of circular logic to all their outings in the group. It always gets ugly... it's bad enough that they are insulting to us, but they have to insult our intelligence too L

Generally most of us look at these people, pat them on the head and go that might be the case in your relationship, yet some of us manage just fine not doing it that way. You see we really don't care how they do things in their relationship. We do care about them tromping in and telling us that ultimately our relationships are abusive by contrast. For some reason they always seem to end there... right before they leave to write journal entries that exhibit more of that spectacular logic, liberally peppered with half truths. OK half is being generous here...

Apart from the fact that we aren't them, don't want to be like them, doubt that their way would work for us...apart from all that... The really irksome part is that nine times out of ten they believe their position is right because somewhere along the line, they had a bad experience with something similar... or something. Every single one of them seems to have had a bad relationship that has left them scarred, some sort of mental disorder that makes them especially vulnerable or emotional issues that are guaranteed to be triggered if their owner, master or sir tried some of that non-consensual shit on them. They just know it and believe it and preach it.

Well here's a heads up people...

There isn't one of us who has got to be an adult that hasn't had some sort of crap happen to us. It's a fact of life. Adversity is what shapes us and tempers us. Now, one does understand that everyone reacts to bad shit in different ways. But for the love of all things sacred would you stop coming into the group and projecting your stuff onto the rest of us. A major difference between us and you seems to be not the nuances of our lives, but that we know projection when we see it. Most of us have enough baggage without you trying to palm your suitcases off on us as well. 

And we reserve the right to reject both you and your luggage. 

Such romance

Before we got together He had been engaged to his high school sweetheart. It was young love; romantic, intense and it seared and scorched them both from what one can work out. She was in love with a White Knight who wrote her beautiful poetry (He has hidden depths), but was unable to cope with his dark and less than courtly intents. He couldn't ratify the two. Fortunately she made a sensible choice and ended things...

Every once in a while, when cleaning out the odd box of papers (a family of squirrels remember?) we come across some of the poetry. And it is bitter sweet... one gets glimmerings of the beamish boy He once was. Oddly enough He hasn't written poetry since we got together all those years ago. In fact when one asked many years ago why he no longer wrote, He replied that one didn't make him feel that way. It seems being a muse is not one small slave's strength at all...

In fact there is little trace of the White Knight left today. There is no courtly love, little gifts of jewellery or sweets, flowers or candlelit dinners. But then one is hardly a damsel in distress and there is that shocking memory for romantic dates so... it's probably just as well. Otherwise one would be that terrible cliché who has no idea why their partner has run from the room sobbing after an intense period of expectant silence. Actually one has been that partner... sighs bad, bad girl.

Despite these obvious failings as a romantic partner, that we both suffer from, He is very generous with gifts of other kinds...

Why only today did He stroll in, as one was surrounded by drink bottles and tissues, to ask if one would like a set of these.

Yeah, the Dark Knight... champion terroriser of sick and sniffing slaves.

For lovers of red

It was a dark and stormy morning

So one was shoved into the studio...

Ankle restraints by Scott Paul Designs

Busted at the gym

Generally there are unwritten rules at a gym... unless you are friends you don't really talk to each other, except to ask how many more sets before they are finished with a piece of equipment or commiserate how it doesn't get any easier. Even that last one is usually reserved for people you have had a nodding acquaintance with for... well a suitable period of time. You are starting to get glimmerings why an introvert would like the gym so much aren't you?

Anyway it was something of a shock when, as one was setting up the Hammer Press, a voice sang out across the aisle and said, don't they have lockers in the women's changing room?  

Stopping what one was doing, which was removing some of the 20kg (44 lbs) weights from the machine, one replied yes, but that doesn't stop anyone with a bolt cutter. Besides if there is a fire one would rather evacuate the place with one's stuff. 

Oh, hadn't thought of that he replied.

Satisfied that we had finished this unnecessary conversation one hopped on the machine and started doing sets...

Um I've just noticed your collar.

Liar, one thought, if that was the case why did we just have the inane start up conversation?

You know it has significance in certain circles?

Thinking crap (it is hard to breath and count and chat (high rep component of the workout)) here we go, one smiled politely (OK anyone who actually knows one would have recognised it as a grimace of annoyance but...) and replied yes one is aware of that.

Most people don't he said conversationally.

Yes well that is the joy of being part of a small and discrete community. Of course he ignored that hint L

So you know about the house in (uttered mangled French) then?

Sorry one said breathing through reps.

It's in France. Seeing one look blank he added the Story of O helpfully. It's what the collar represents.

Yes one does know where it is, but it's been 25 years since one read the book, didn't make the connection.

Oh I'm much more recently acquainted with it he said.

Of course he is... otherwise he might have considered some oh, you know, discretion and not be shouting this across a busy thoroughfare in a gym.

Nodding politely one got up and moved back to the bikes for a quick sprint to get the heart rate back up.

Moving into the weight lifting area there he was, and he came over as one was setting up weights to carry on his conversation.

So do you go out in the scene much?

We have nothing to do with the scene at all. Apart from Fet. And that is to stay in touch with friends who live overseas.

Oh everybody is on Fet. But since Libertine has closed there really is nowhere to go. Of course I do attend private parties.

Really? We have never been to so much as a munch and are quite happy with that.

Oh private parties are much better... and then he proceeded to give one the run down on his last outings.

We work end weeks...

End weeks?

Wednesday to Sunday. And He works nights.

Oh, yes, that would make going out difficult.

The light of finding new meat died in his eyes... it was very gratifying.

And now all one has to do is avoid him every Monday because his Senior Circuit Class is on then.

Crap!

Would anyone care to make a guess at what side of the slash he resides?

Later in the car one was recounting this to Him, he is laughing like a hyena, and pointed out this was all his fault.

How do you figure that?

It's this bloody lump around one's neck... it attracts them like a dick magnet.

Oh that is your fault... you consented remember?

Yeah, something else to think about before a collar is slapped you sign up... honestly one should start a list L

Who owns it?

Fet has an interesting idea... anyone can come along and start a group, about pretty much anything they like. Unless of course it is something not pleasing to the banks and their corporate image... then it will get closed down pretty darn quick. Like many places Fet needs an income and to facilitate that it needs to be able to take credit card payments. Fet is not going to offend those credit providers or stand up to them and say no. Those little issues aside though, you are free to do what you want.

Now what motivates people to start a group is varied and interesting, but in many cases they are started because someone got butt hurt somewhere else and stomped off to start their own group. It is interesting over time though, how most of them rewrite their history to have much more noble beginnings than they actually had. But even a cynical person such as one small slave can see the appeal of we wanted to provide a safe place (from persecution, censorship, (insert cause de jour here) over we got pissy and left the last place. And to be honest one does find the rewrites far more entertaining too...

Most of the groups on Fet fail after about three to six months... people have no idea how much work actually goes into starting up a group and keeping it going. Oh it is fine in the beginning; everyone is very excited and rebellious. Ideas flow, creative juices are cranked up... there is a real feeling of camaraderie and everyone is in it together. Then the real work begins because as John Cleese allegedly said about Fawlty Towers, there are only 12 good ideas and boards are no different. Once you have done them, you then have to find creative ways to look at them again and again.

Then life gets in the way for the leaders of the group... it always does. And that is where it starts to get very interesting because how it ends up depends on who got busy. If mods get busy it happens. In many cases the people appointed to mod status are good group members. They contribute to discussions and actively take a roll in the group. Even if they aren't contributing, they are often floating around keeping an eye out for trouble.

See this is where most people go wrong when they appoint mods, they don't think to take into account if they actually start discussions. Being good friends and getting along is ultimately not as important as waking up and going oh thank god someone else started a discussion. Trust one small slave on that OK? But one digresses... back to this.

Where it gets to be trouble is when a group owner goes missing and/ or can't be contacted. See without their impetus because so many groups are cults of personality, the group starts to die. It goes quiet and people wander off to do other things. In some cases though people cluster together to bemoan the loss of the group and the camaraderie that they found there. And this is where it starts to get very interesting...

In situations like this someone will step into the power vacuum and become a focal point. They will become a surrogate group owner and people will follow them quite happily because they are just grateful someone is doing the work. They get to hang out with the people they like, they log on and there is a topic to discuss and everything is bright in their world again...

Right up until the actual owner comes toddling back...

Because then the shit always hits the fan.

It always hits because the group has usually veered away from the original owners vision... there is no way to avoid that... cult of personality remember? And the original owner then has to try and drag it back to their way... and then reality really bites. They left for a reason in the first place... and it is usually because they were bored, busy or tapped out. In some ways they have emotionally moved on and in some ways the group has done the same thing. It has become imprinted with the new owners flavour or essence if you will.

Which usually leaves the original owner with three options... quit gracefully and hand it over, try and wrest it back  or blow it up. Now the first one seems to be sensible... you don't want to do the work anymore be gracious. Yeah, strangely that isn't what usually happens. There are a lot of hours involved in a group and it usually makes people very personally invested in it. People start thinking of it as theirs... regardless of who else might have been contributing alongside them and in their absence, and despite the fact that they may have publically vowed it is everyone's place.

Some will blow it up, close the group down and ask for it to be removed. The trouble is that while that is easy enough for a small group, it is much harder in a larger group. On Fet you have to remove all the members first and if you have pages of them it is long, slow work... not to mention some will rejoin just to be a pain. Strangely enough this process is often done in stealth... right before the owner themselves disappears.

Other owners will try and wrest it back. They may vow to do better and be more present, the mods may say they will do more and for a while they will flutter around. Unfortunately the reason it was dying is still there, somewhere between disinterest and the inability to rise to the challenge. And after you have done your "thank you, you're dismissed speech" to the temporary owner, and they have pissed off to start their own group, you are left in your dying group. Often surrounded by people who don't think you did the right thing by the people who have been doing the work in your absence.

See the trouble with cult of personality is that you can't just bugger off or turn your back on a group and hope it will fend for itself... because sometime it will. And the strange thing is, although it might have been yours in the beginning, dynamic groups take on a life of their own after a while. They are a bit like children; they change and evolve because otherwise they become stunted and die. You end up as a steward for a group once it gets past a certain size... all you can do is shepherd it into the next phase and make yourself look good by handing it off graciously when it finds a new partner. 

Sharing intimacies... with the lounge

It was one of those strange days where one came home, had a snack, put some dishes in the sink with sudsy water and trotted over to the lounge to read. Feeling cold, and unbelievably sore from the gym yesterday, one dragged a quilt up and snuggled into it. The lounge's soft skin warmed up and moulded around one's recumbent form as only leather can do. And before you know it the last thought was hmmm... it's only 7.30, there is time for a nap before He gets up at 9.30.

See because life is still a little frantic we sort of have a date night on Saturday. Oh not dinner and a movie... hell who has that much time? No, it is a date for something that is far more important to us... sex. As one has mentioned before sex for us is intimacy and without it we don't function as well as we like.  Actually we don't function very well at all.

The sound of the heavy glass door being rolled open woke one up... kind of. Hey you it's 10.30 He said peering over the lounge. That is when He gets up to get ready for work. Shit... haven't made you lunch yet one mumbled, struggling to wake the rest of the way.

Well you would have been up earlier. I came out at 9.30 and you were sound asleep.

Sorry.

You even slept through the fireworks.

The brain tried to process that, while surreptitiously checking for wet spots. What fireworks one asked, wondering if He was still speaking in code?

There was a huge fireworks display up the road. It woke me up. So did the cat banging on the back door. You slept through the lot.

Oh... really, there were fireworks?

Struggling to escape the lounge's embrace one made Him lunch while looking longingly back at it. We have shared so many good naps... each one gets a little better.  But now one is starting to wonder if the leather lounge is a little evil. Not only is it stopping one from being a good slave, it's interfering with our sex life. The damn thing is more insidious than the other woman L

Spreading Christmas cheer

Getting on the bus this morning one was confronted by a bus driver wearing a tinsel hat shaped like a Christmas tree. It was complete with decorations, including a gold star on the top of it and golden baubles dangling from the brim. The damn thing also seemed to attract a lot of attention. People... all young females one noticed... kept taking pics of it.

 All of this attention faded when compared with the rapt expression on the faces to two small children in an overtaking car. They were transfixed and pointed excitedly as they drove past. It was then that one noticed their car had antlers attached to it.

Dear gods this Christmas stuff is like a virus... it needs a living host L

Just a quick note...

Blogger is playing silly buggers and won't let one small slave reply to anyone so... new look comments for now. Hopefully it will work for you guys...
It's Blogger, there are no guarantees :)

The stuff of dreams

The day started with a drilling sensation behind the eyes and a fan blowing cool air in all the wrong places. By 7.30 one conceded that the migraine was only going to get worse, like they do anything else, and called in sick. He came home to find one kneeling quietly and contemplating which migraine drug to take. Yeah not quite the normal slave devotional stuff one hears of, but there are choices...

The first one works fine, the migraine is usually gone within three hours, and reduces the nausea. The second newer one works much faster, when it works, but makes the nausea unrelenting. In fact the only reason the doctor prescribed it is because he doesn't have to wait on the phone for an authority number as it has been streamlined. Decisions, decisions... wibble, wobble, flip, flop. In fact the only thing one could decide on was that breakfast was really needed and the thought of cooking was more repellent than one could bear. Particularly as the heat was already cranking up, along with the humidity L

God that He is, he turned on the bedrooms air-con and whisked one out the door for Hungry Jacks... know to the rest of the world as Burger King. Not here it isn't... damned if they didn't lose that fight J While their food is generally mediocre, it does dish up grease and carbohydrates with a rich selection of protein... in this case a bacon, steak and egg wrap... and more importantly you can't smell it being cooked while you wait in the drive through.

Going home happily snuffling through brown paper bags one decided to give the new drug another go. It worked in about an hour. That is to say it deafened everything to a stage where one could contemplate a shower, with assistance. Though to be honest, one isn't entirely convinced that coming in one small slaves arse isn't taking advantage of her rather than assisting. But, drive through treats have to be paid for, one way or the other.

Shuffling off to the bedroom, which was deliciously icy, suitably fed, medicated and sodomised one curled up to watch mindless TV until it was time to give Him a put me to sleep orgasm. Duties performed one was evicted back to drift around in the lounge. On the bright side it had at least started to cool down due to some very welcome rain.

So there we are... the hot fantasy life of a slave.