The end of another year

The plan had been to have breakfast, do little domestic things, go to the gym, have lunch, a little sex and a snooze. It was a simple plan that was executed flawlessly right up until the snooze bit. After drifting into a deep post coital doze the eyes flew open. It was exactly 30 minutes after going to sleep. Sighs so much for that cunning plan L

Now the sleep was important because we are slated to welcome in the New Year with our vanillas. And somewhere along the line the night owl retired to become a bird of a different feather. A bird who is sound asleep by about 10 ish and is up at an ungodly hour... though not as ungodly as He manages most days. The upshot of this is rather than being moderately entertaining one suspects that one will be curled up in a corner... asleep.

In spite of this grim prediction one popped on a little black dress and some heels, loaded up a bag of booze and food and off we scampered. We were merely an hour late for our appointed destination and, as it turned out, missing a few food items that He deemed important. Oooopsie... bad slave... who did look hot in her LBD and heels.

And there would have been pics to prove this had they turned out, so you are just going to have to insert your imagination here J

So we passed the remaining hours of this year nibbling food and drinking. Well that is to say our hostess drank... a substantial amount of alcohol... to the point that we didn't get the hot food component of the evening. Personally one had a couple of Martinis, toasted in the New Year... barely... and snoozed until we came home. Whereupon one crawled out of the clothes, patted ineffectually at the remaining mascara and went to bed for a few more hours.

So to everyone...

Have a happy and prosperous New Year. May it be better than the last year and may good things happen for you all.

You be the judge

He always claims that he is not a sadist and by most definitions he isn't... but... you could just feel that one coming... he does have sadistic tendencies. They are strong tendencies whatever He might like to claim to the contrary. At times the lady Master doth protest too much. Take this evening for example...

It's late evening and He has been up for hours, about 23 to be precise, and he is going to bed. Needless to say He needs a small orifice to cum in... purely for medicinal relaxation purposes of course. Now it has been a while since we have had anal sex, nearly a week, and there has been no butt plugs in for that time... mostly our fucked up busy lives that sometimes don't mesh as well as we would like. And Christmas food plays havoc with things... as one has said before if you want to have regular anal sex the easiest way is to be regular in your habits. This was the start of getting back into the saddle... so to speak.

Of course He kicks off with anal sex rather than a butt plug... 'cos he has needs. Anyway one fronted up to the study lubed and begging for gentle handling. So what does He do?

He gently slides in barely an inch at a time and...

Wait for it...

Proceeds to tickle one's back.

Now some of you are giggling... one can sense these things... and others of you are wondering what the issue is. Well for the record the back tickling, while His dick is wedged firmly in one's arse, does not make the fuck gentler. What it does do is make one small slave squirm around and impale oneself more firmly on it...

It also makes the damned arse tighten up even more than it was already.

When He finally came and one small slave had stopped yelling Bastard... one politely pointed out that experience was neither funny nor gentle

Mmm hmm was the non committal reply

And don't add that one to the repeat performance repertoire either one snapped. Why is it shit one likes never makes it on that list while His stuff always does... oh that's right... He is a mean, mean man

There was chuckling noises... deep, dark chuckling noises... the sort of chuckling that makes the blood run squishy in the veins

Bastard... sadistic bastard!

Christmas booty

Not that kind you sick perverts... though may one just take a moment to say that seeing that festive picture up as His screen saver is confronting first thing in a morning. No, this is about the Christmas presents one received. Well actually it is about one present in particular and what was loaded on it. See for Christmas He bought one an updated Kindle and though e-readers probably are the death knell of the printed book and book shops generally, one loves that thing with a passion.

Anyway one of the things on it was the science fantasy series by Jim Butcher. Personally one had always loved The Dresden Files series... they had RPG playing werewolves in it... what's not to love? What was loaded on it though was his Codex Alera series. And frankly... it is a ripping good yarn.

The one thing that Jim Butcher does, other than write infinitely likeable characters, is pour on the pace. All his books are page turners. They aren't particularly deep or meaningful commentary on the state of the world, but they are entertaining. So if you are looking for a little light reading over the festive season and like science fantasy one would heartily give them a two thumbs up J

A word to the wise

It is not polite to laugh at Master when he puts on his favourite t-shirt and it is too big...

Even if it has reached tent like proportions... and flairs in a girly fashion from his hips.

No, the only correct response is to commiserate with Him on his loss of a good and faithful friend

Bad, bad slave... again

Unbelievable

This isn't about the customer of the day who complained vociferously about one not helping her find what she wanted. That was in spite of one having explained to her that we didn't actually have the product in question. To be honest though, one would have happily given her what she needed after that encounter... bad sales assistant. No this is about sex or rather a strange by product of it.

It is no secret that one small slave is a bit of an exercise junkie. Well one barely coasts along the edges of the cut off point for that... you need to be doing about eight hours of exercise or more to be overtraining. These days one only racks up about four and a half hours a week. Anyway that is neither here nor there. The upshot of all of this is that one is pretty limber and strong so it is always something of a surprise when we have sex... nice, ordinary conventional sex.

Now we have quite a bit of sex, but it is the conventional vaginal kind that causes the surprises. Or rather it is how sore it makes one that is the surprise. Honestly there are muscles inside the thigh that all the squats and lunges in the world don't touch and one can attest to having just found them while doing a warm down after those very things.

Who knew there was such a useful bit of gym equipment in the home. Now all one has to do is convince Him that conventional sex is going to be as much fun as pinning one to the bed/ shower wall/ bench as he fucks one in the arse...

Maybe if one small slave squeaked and tried to get away more it would help...

Maybe it just needs to be less voluntary J

He did a brave, brave thing

He took one small slave to the Boxing Days sales and oh... it was a seething, teaming mass of people. We arrived bright and early and had a quick breakfast before moving to the first point of call... a sports shop. He needed new exercise shorts. It seems you can only tighten a pair of shorts so many times before the inevitable happens... they fall down regardless.

Mollini Rassi Black Patent

After that we emerged to do some serious girly shopping. It was starting to get busy. In fact there was a queue to the changing rooms... which was passed chatting to a charming stranger. A quick first round of the department store netted two skirts, two dresses and a top. Oh and a pair of shoes one had been eyeing off that couldn't be justified until this week, when one got back into a fabulous little tartan skirt (it looks like a slimmed down kilt without pleats... very school girlish) that one has had tucked away... for about five years. But it is out of retirement... and the shoes were on sale J

We then made our way out of the department store and to the boutiques. By then the crowd had started to crank up in an alarming manner. Three stores later there were a total of two skirts, one a fabulous purple... not a word from the peanut gallery... and two tops. Then the fun began because in the midst of all of this girly excess... the credit card is in a foetal position, rocking gently while moaning... we had another mission.

His mother wanted a new mix master and had sent us out to find one. Of course He did... a mere snip at about $500 less discount. For that price the damn thing should make coffee as well, but then one doesn't have kitchen appliances as one doesn't bake these days, so one is a poor judge of these things. The issue was that she had very specific needs and that one did fill the bill. The only problem was that His mother is inclined to be somewhat stingy with buying herself expensive items.

We stood there debating it for a few minutes 'cos it was at the other end of the shopping centre and the path back there now looked like the outer perimeter of a mosh pit. He stepped into the slow stream of humanity for the return journey... personally one would have lied and said there wasn't one... but that is why he got to be in charge. It helps if the leader of anything has some moral integrity.

As we were ascending to the upper levels one realised why His mother had sent us. It wasn't just that she avoided all of this excitement, but because she can't bear to spend that kind of money on herself. This neatly sidestepped that issue, freeing her up to whine gently about the cost while clutching her new appliance firmly to her loving bosom.

One small slave felt so dirty and manipulated... it seems to run in the family... and used... and not in a good way... though He did fix that too, later on J

The upshot of all this gratuitous spending was interesting though...

His purple meme is taking hold in spite of one's best endeavours to resist it and the skirts are about six inches shorter than one prefers...

Dammit He's winning

Bastard!

Merry Christmas

Dead, again

Waking up one stumbled out to the news that father had passed at 2am. It was mercifully brief which is all you can ask for under the circumstances. The baby sister is no doubt devastated as they were close. Personally one is still trying to feel something other than... well relief that it was so fast, annoyance that his timing was lousy, Christmas is sucky enough without this and well, that is pretty much it really.

On some level one suspects you are supposed to feel more when your father dies. We weren't close, but there should be something other than relief and annoyance surely? Maybe you can only grieve for someone once. Maybe that loss of him as a small child was so great that the grieving quota was used then. Maybe all those pundits were right when they declared that there wasn't a heart there but a swinging brick in its place.

Meh who knows...

Putting your tongue in others' hands

It is no secret that while not a huge drinker one isn't adverse to a drop of Sauvignon Blanc with dinner. As a preference one does enjoy the wines from the Marlborough Sounds in New Zealand. An area noted as much for its crisp fruity flavours as it is for wines that someone has taken great delight in naming odd things. For example just the other night one sampled a glass of "Squealing Pig".

Anyway we were over at our Tuesday night vanillas for a seasonal drink when gods forbid we ran out. It was only supposed to be a quick Christmas drink, but it developed into dinner and drinks... plural. So off the men scampered to acquire more supplies...

Now they are not drinkers... though our friend will have the odd several glasses as one discovered. So it was something of a concern when they returned home looking rather like a couple of school boys on a prank

Have we got wine for you they announced. You should see what these are called

Yes that's right, faced with a wide choice their selection criteria had largely been let's find the funniest name.

The first one, selected by Him because it was low GI, had the added wrinkle of being fruity and the other side of dry. In fact all it needed was a little olive oil and it would have been perfect on a salad. It was summarily rejected by all. With a lot of face pulling might one add. Fortunately He had bought a back up bottle named of all things "Lana's Bike". It was surprisingly better than the name would lead you to believe.

The other half of our vanillas choice was a Semillon by an Australian vineyard with the catchy name of Cockfighter's Ghost. Yes that's right, he chose it because it had the word cock in the title. He giggled like an adolescent as he resented it to the table. Frankly it deserved its gold medal... and to be selected by another criterion.

So yes... one wine selected for its qualities turned out to be a dud, while the other two selected by funny names turned out to be not so bad at all.

They both looked smug... if a little tipsy in one case

In fact He took time to point out that their selection criteria had been a sound one

She went back for the rejected bottle figuring enough alcohol had passed that its less than favourable aspects could be overlooked... driven to drink by all the smugness no doubt. Personally we took its reappearance as a cue to leave. It's always time to leave when they bring out the bad wine... even if one of you has been responsible for it in the first place J

How to strike fear into a man's heart

You know, one said conversationally, we could hit the Boxing Day sales.

He visibly flinched before asking in a measured tone, why would we want to do that?

Well we both need clothes...

See this is what happens when the world doesn't end on schedule... life carries on J

On the final countdown

So far the world hasn't ended. That means that there are two more shifts to get through. Then, for the first time in years we will have off from Christmas Eve to the end of Boxing Day. There are no plans to emerge until after Christmas has died. No sales, no people whining about how that wasn't the perfume they wanted as they try to return it, no people looking for the mysterious out back, no irate people looking for certain houses that will involve them going elsewhere and no people waving catalogues at one demanding to know why there isn't x, y or z left.

All one has to do is get through two shifts...

Without killing someone

Sighs is all sounds so simple

A strange thing

The other day one put up the mate to the caning picture on Fet.

Personally one thought it was a much better shot; it was clean and close... He preferred the other one. Anyway it captured the imagination of Fet... that is to say they loved it to Kinky and Popular. Which was lovely of them... if something of a double edged sword as it turned out... so many things are.

Apart from those who took time out of their day to give medical advice about the dangers of the items... rolls eyes... there were those who pronounced it "legit". For fucks sake a cursory glance of the profile would have revealed that damn bat up there. What you thought 11 (one had an unfortunate accident on the way to the shoot) candy canes was going to be a challenge after that? A big enough challenge for us to have to go to the trouble of faking the shot 'cos that was going to be easier?

If it hadn't been for the hard candy edges (which didn't last) and a general feeling of pepperminty stickiness the damn thing would not have noticed they were there.

Oddly enough though the sheer stupidity of those comments was not the problem...

No, it's the eleven sixteen twenty friends' requests from complete strangers who didn't read the profile

Head desk head desk...

Deeply disturbing

In the past one has mentioned some of the quirks of our local bus drivers near Christmas. Today's driver wasn't content with just a hat. No, this one had actually decked out the interior of the bus with Christmas decorations and jaunty little blinking lights...

Dear gods make it stop!

Rocks gently in a foetal position 

Caned

Cats and dragons

This has not been a good day. It started with Him waking one up on both his exit and return from the gym. In fact one stumbled into the study to point out His stealth roll had failed and he had awoken the dragon. It then drifted into the shower playing up in the middle of washing the hair... midway through conditioning and with half a leg shaved. He then went out of his way to piss one off in a multitude of little ways... it was quite deliberate and one retaliated suitably

It must be something in the air...

Even the cat who had commandeered His temporary spray booth... before he could use it of course... was in fine fettle. Not content to just spread black fur over the cardboard, 'cos it knows that black fur looks great in white paint and on white laundry alike, it took the trouble to reach out and sink a fang in. 

Apparently one small slave moving back and forth was disturbing its nap....

Hmmm... there seems to be a common theme here

The cat struck out for the garage after our little altercation and one small slave took a leaf out of its book and struck out for the bedroom, just as soon as the house keeping and lunch was finished. He shut the glass doors firmly on one's retreating arse. He claims it was to cut down on noise disturbance, but it felt far more symbolic than that. Either way one did re-emerge in a better frame of mind...

It didn't last...

He took time out of his day to spank one's arse at every opportunity... something about proving that one was mistaken yesterday. Though how the spanking is supposed to prove that He is needed remains something of a mystery...

But then maybe one small slave's logic is broken...

Or maybe the head isn't on straight

That must be it... beams happily in relief... 'cos otherwise He was being deliberately provocative as one suspected this morning

And so it begins

Coming out of the shopping centre after work the heat hit us like a blanket. Oddly though it had an almost dry feel to it and looking around at the sky one could see the tell tale grey off in the distance. Still the heat was oppressive and we came home via the marina, where we picked up some prawns and fresh oysters for Him. It was simply too hot to contemplate turning on an oven.

By night the heat had gotten worse. It was like there was no air, but the breeze brought with it a distinctive odour. It was all through the house, the nose was no longer working and the eyes were streaming...

The fires have begun in earnest once more.

Life in an Australian summer is hot and dirty and filled with assorted dangers... most of them naturally occurring and outside of the home...

Which does of course make one wonder sometimes why we practise BDSM... we could just go outside for the odd vicarious thrill

Hell for that matter one can stay inside and get all snotty and teary...

So really there is no need for Him to slap one's arse when one is lest expecting it...

Scampers off to tell Him he's no longer needed

The Christmas party

Tonight was the night... the night when we all get together on the company's dollar to celebrate the survival of another year. Except it wasn't such a celebration in some ways. Personally one is planning on bailing in the New Year... for a lot of reasons including the fact that the allergies are playing up and meds are only just making it bearable and even then the results are spotty some days.

It was a topic one had mentioned in passing to the manager a couple of days ago and at the time one thought her reply was interesting... you know normally I would try and talk you out of it, but in this case...

Leaving that little meeting one thought there is something else going on here... that was too easy

Well it seems that was the case...

Chatting to another staff member who is leaving... it is amazing what people will tell a sympathetic ear on a glass of wine... it seems that the business will probably be wound up at the end of the financial year. So there we all sat... with the co workers making merry all around one small slave who just felt profoundly disconnected from the whole event. And here one is stuck with a bit of knowledge that is just going to devastate some of the women who have worked together for upwards of 14 years and one can't give them so much as a heads up.

You know working for corporations just makes you feel dirty sometimes L

How to die like a tourist

At the moment the household is host to family friends from Atlanta, Georgia. That is to say His mother has gone away and we have been left with them. He suggested, as there are two small children, that they might like to go to the Lagoon for the day.

Seems like an excellent suggestion doesn't it...

Well it was until she showed one small slave a lovely little video on her camera of the three of them exploring the tidal pools. And her youngest petting an octopus. A "cute little blue one"...

That child must have a charmed life or that octopus must have been off his game. That or it was a baby who hadn't received the memo about first contact.

Seeing the look on one's face she asked is it dangerous?
Of course it's fucking dangerous. Its Australia.

Rule of thumb in Australia...

Do not pet the wildlife

Late in the evening

Lying on the bed, limbs akimbo, one contemplated getting up. Well it was more that one was trying to will oneself to get up... teeth needed to be cleaned and moisturiser needed to be applied. Just as one was summoning the strength to move He walked in. Or rather his hard on walked in and He followed.

Spying one in that compromising position He pounced, pinning one to the bed with legs over his shoulders. His hard on forced its way into an unprepared cunt... in spite of its attempts to repel the invader. Ignoring the squeals of protest He drove in, pounding the cervix repeatedly and stopping the feeble attempts one was making to get away from the source of pain.

He drove on relentlessly until he came... pulsing and thrusting into resistant flesh

Leaving one with no excuse not to get up

Honestly the man's motivational speeches leave something to be desired L

Don Wands nubby melon crank

Rather like that favourite juicer, this has been sitting in its velvet bag for some time... though not as long as the other one. Today it was pulled to the light to be tried out. To be honest one did rather look at it and think how did you get to our place? It was rather small and He tends towards the idea of go big or go home.

The implement:

• About 15 cm (6") long and about 2.5 cm (1") in diameter
• It has a head of about 4 cm (1 1/2") that is grooved just like that a juicer and that (along with the crank style handle) is what gives it that name
• The insertable length is approx. 9.5 cm (3 3/4")
• The base is approx. 5.5 cm (2 1/4")
• There are four rows of five smooth, raised nubs approx. 3 mm (1/8") in height around the surface and another nine around the base
• The handle is about 3.5 cm (1 1/4") and has a glass ball on it about the size of a marble.

The pros:

• Can be used anally or vaginally
• The nubs on the base are supposed to stimulate the clitoris as it goes round... not that one actually got to find out if that worked
• Pyrex for an easy clean
• Can be heated or chilled
• That smooth surface makes for an easy insertion
• Suitable for most levels of experience 

The cons:

• They are better with someone to turn them for you

To be honest one wasn't expecting great things from this toy... after all one had fallen in love with its big cousin. It did however live up to that adage about good things coming in small packages. When turned around in the arse it produced delicious sensations. So if you come across one in your travels one would recommend picking one up

Good news and bad news

He went to the doctors for a check up before one left and finally got round to seeing him for the results. The good awesome news was that He is no longer diabetic and no longer has hypertension. That means that He is no longer on meds for the hypertension... he didn't last long on the diabetic meds due to those unfortunate side effects. In fact He has surpassed the doctors expectations... it seems that he doesn't get so see anyone clean up their medical issues with diet and exercise very often.

This experiment with diets has also been interesting in other ways. See when He was first diagnosed with the diabetes we cleaned up the diet and he lost a little weight... which made no difference to his medical issues at all. It wasn't only that... He was miserable as well and it wasn't long before he slid off the diet wagon and back into weight gain. What changed all of this was finding the right diet for Him.

In this case it has been very low carb and very high protein diet... to the tune of nearly half a kilo a day of assorted meats, eggs and seafood. The sort of diet that should make any apex predator extremely happy... and it did. He likes having a smorgasbord of meats in the course of his day. There are some days when He trots off to work with gourmet lunches of boiled eggs, roast duck sandwiches, cold roast meats and a small side salad.

Ironically all this meat and eggs has lowered not just his risk of dying, but his cholesterol levels as well. Now that last one is interesting to one small slave because... well... not to put too fine a point on it one has shocking cholesterol levels. It will be interesting to see how they have gone at the end of this journey of dietary changes. Of course those high levels are hereditary... the difference is that father, who cooks enormous meals in an inch of bacon fat deserves his... and what keeps one off meds for it is the fact that one has incredibly low blood pressure and exercises.  

And that of course does bring us to the bad news. Father is taking a turn for the completely expected worse. The surgeon gave him a 50/50 chance of getting out of the hospital and into palliative care. Personally if one was a gambling woman one would have kept the surgeon on as a bookie... he gave optimistically good odds. As it stands he is bleeding again and the baby sister has once more had to fly down to be with him. The prognosis is not good. He's stopped eating and is on a course of fast and slow morphine. Sighs so now we wait and see...

Can we keep them?

Now while away one did manage to cram in a little shoe shopping. Nurses have a tendency to shoo you out of high dependency wards... usually at lunch time. Mostly one suspects it's so you can't see what they are feeding the patients... or rather not feeding them. Lunch, which is often an unappealing melange of assorted coloured scoops of unidentifiable foodstuffs, is usually universally ignored by the really sick.  Often they are struggling to hang on... they don't want to use that precious energy on feeding themselves that stuff.

Anyway while he was left to their tender mercies one scampered off to explore Dunedin. It might be small and there might be an alarming array of shops that are immediately recognisable to anyone from Australia... at times one thought one was there. But they do have something we don't have. Boutiques and independent shoe stores... quite a few of them J

Dagmar

By and large one was restrained. Oh one fondled things and tried them on for size... it was sort of the shoephiles equivalency of flirting really. What followed one home though were these

Not that one is quite sure what they are going to go with, but then as one doesn't have a winter wardrobe thanks to the weight loss no doubt one will find something. Perhaps those bloody jeans one had to buy in an effort to stay warm.

In fact one did ask in the most polite voice if that could be the case.

He smiled and said he would happily go out and buy something suitable.

Sighs one does keep trying to explain that a denim mini and/ or Daisy Dukes are not jeans. They are denim. In fact they are closer to denim belts than clothes.

It's not the same thing L

And the silly season...

Just got more stupid

At this time of the year stupidity is alive and well. Everywhere one looks there are small children dashing around with antlers and flashing red noses. Now this one expects. They are children, but the adults? Oh they take it to a whole new level...

We live on the crest of a hill. Last night when coming back from the gym one noticed an eerie blue light emanating from below the horizon. Of course one scampered along to the edge of the rise to look down to see what was causing it. Lo and behold it was a neighbour. Well to be more to the point it was a neighbours bloody Christmas lights. There were that many of them that it was literally lighting up the neighbourhood for miles. All one could think was thank the gods they are not our near neighbours.

Of course the decorating of possessions is not limited to the houses. Just this morning a car zipped past us bearing antlers. Now the blue balls were bad enough, but antlers? They are neither masculine nor homoerotic. Antlers on your car are just... well kinda sad really. And the matching red noses on the front?

Oh words fail...

Bah humbug!

Knock, knock

Coming home from work one made a discovery; there was no way to get in. His mother, who leaves the breezeway door open so he doesn't get disturbed by doors slamming, cat dodging and things of that ilk, is away. And some time ago He requisitioned one's keys because his bunch is too big to take to the gym. Yes that's right one small slave doesn't even have house keys any more.

Of course He went to bed after locking the house up tighter than a drum leaving one with no way to get in other than scratching at the door like the family pet. It did offer some insight as to why the cat always seems more hostile than grateful when you let it in. He's not exactly fast or gracious when woken. He stood there, bleary eyed and rumpled, and declared that as one had woken him it was only fair that one put him back to sleep.

Several orgasms later, one was shooed out of the bedroom and deposited out in the hallway. At least it wasn't back outside...

You know one can see the beginning of a disturbing trend here...

Paying for admittance

Now the cat might not get fast service, but at least it is free...

For some time now one has suspected that the cat isn't as stupid as it makes out... eyes the cat with deepening suspicion -.-

Separation anxiety

We have spent the last week without any form of communication. Actually one has spent the last week electronically blind... it was beyond frustrating. See one was dropped off at the home of a friend of the second step mothers for the week. There were no Google maps so one knew where the hell one was, there was no way to hop on the net to book an evac out of the damn town to get home and there was no way to work out where anything was in relationship to anything else.

It was all very disconcerting and disorientating and stressful. And it was put on the list of things to never do again... next time will be a controlled exit with electronics. In fact one intends to drip useful technology next time and proudly accept geek status. Mind you all of that stress paled into insignificance compared to being unable to contact Him.

We do everything and go everywhere together. There hasn't been a day where we haven't spoken or communicated in some way. It has been that way for the last 15 years. This felt like losing a limb... actually no electronics felt like losing a limb... that was far worse.

People on the net often waffle on about limb chopping and ketteh amputations... well one thinks that is what they are on about... after the first few years you stop listening. But one is here to say that there are far worse things that can happen than limb chopping... like the removal of that ever present control, direction and physical presence. The absence of Him is far worse L

We're back

Somewhere along the line one has become a white knuckle flyer... which is ironic considering how many miles one has racked up over the years. It's probably because statistically one knows time is running out of good graces. The anxiety has now reached the stage that one only has to roll up to an airport to drop someone off and the stomach starts its own particular dance. Forget about the flight of the bumble bee... this is far more lurching in nature L

In fact if it hadn't been for the problem that one was in beautiful devastated downtown Christchurch one might have contemplated staying there... indefinitely. Besides one had to come home... He was waiting patiently at the airport. Some little instinct says that making Him come to get one probably wouldn't end well... that's probably an understatement. Peers around and whispers the man is completely unreasonable at times.

To be honest though by the last leg of the journey all one wanted was to see Him, have a hot shower and sex... and sleep. This trip has been done with an average of five hours sleep a night... well morning to be precise. It had also been done with no contact with Him... something that was a special kind of hell in its own right. And with that in mind one emerged for customs and immigration far happier than most travellers...

After we had prised ourselves off each other, all the while feverently vowing that this will never happen again... He said even if he has to put a leash through the collar... we headed home to fall through the door, weary with fatigue (He had just finished work), shower and go to bed to reconnect the only way we know how...

That is to say we had glorious sex... lots and lots of sex...perhaps a bit too much of it. Actually as He came for a second time, buried deep in ones arse, one did pass the comment that is going to hurt. And there are probably more bruises and a nipple might need to be reattached...

Needless to say He amused himself for the rest of the evening aggressing those spots at every opportunity

Fuck it is good to be home J

In memoriam

This is not about the kindness of strangers, which one relied on heavily for board and lodgings while travelling, nor about how about how imminent death can bring out the best and the worst in families. This isn't even about the stylish nature of the women of Dunedin... though they are very stylish. In spite of the drab skies or perhaps in response to it, those women rock the brights... fuchsia, cobalt blue, reds, greens and vibrant purples of every hue... in scarfs, gloves, hats, coats and most interestingly to oneself... shoes.

No, this is about the man who caused all of this kerfuffle... father... the pack rat. As we cleaned out his little crib we got insights into the squirrel mindset. The man threw nothing out... every picture and memento of the baby sister's life was recorded in some box or on some wall. Including a picture of that haircut... the one we would all prefer to forget about... perhaps her most of all.

He lived in a small seaside enclave on the wild Dunedin coast line. A place noted for its quiet, breathtaking beauty and the somewhat eccentric locals. Most of whom seem to have gone there to escape someone or something... in his case one suspects it is the domineering women in his life. And having seen them in action this last week one can sympathise with him fully. He found this beautiful oasis of calm and settled in... to take the mantra of condense, reuse and recycle to its max.

He kept every box of every item that came across his door. Some of them were repurposed in inventive ways; Pringles boxes were used to store old bills in, empty pill boxes were flattened and neatly folded up inside a whole one, every plastic bag was stored inside another. While all of this was commendable there was one tiny flaw in the plan. None of it ever made its way to the recycling bin.

In his garage was every appliance that had ever been burnt out, while his previous car kept guard across the doorway... lurking amongst the camouflage of the foxgloves ready to aggress any accidental tourist.

We knew it was bad... we came prepared. As it turned out though, it was all unnecessary. In his cupboards was every cleaning product known to woman... all MIB so to speak. Hell we even found the economy sized bucket of rat bait... still full. Rather like the recycling thing it was never taken to that next vital level... much to the relief of the rest of the residing rodent population no doubt.

Until we came along and ripped it all out... twelve years of it... in one final blow to his idyllically peaceful, squirreling lifestyle. To get it ready for the next owner who will no doubt be no less quirky than the last... 

Leaving on a jet plane

As gathered from the last two posts one is about to wing one's way to freedom... well to a different kind of servitude at any rate. It is time to stop being the absent daughter and get with the family programme... be responsible and all that...

It all sounds so terribly dull and dutiful L

So this little blog will be unattended for the next week due to a complete lack of available communication. Hell we aren't even sure how we are going to stay in touch. It is going to be very strange to have no computer or phone... although some of you can attest to one's inability to remember to answer anything via the phone... including its rings. Sighs bad, bad, little black sheep

There is however, some light on the horizon...

He offered to do a daily update on how his miniature painting is going... complete with pictures

Peers around and whispers furtively... run, run as fast as your fingers will take you

Blast!

The day dawned with hands pulling the body awake... and might one add it was an ungodly hour so one did the only thing possible... snoozed as soon as He had finished violating one's flesh and had gone to the gym. The rest of the day was spent in limbo waiting for that phone call...

And waiting...

And waiting...

And waiting...

Finally, just as one had given up and gotten ready to go to a work dinner, it rang... mid mascara. It is as bad as feared. The ulcer is cancerous, it is in the lymph nodes, the stomach, the soft tissue organs... it is inoperable.

Of course by the time one had got back from dinner there had been two phone calls from Him and his mother was in a right state. She had just met the immovable force that is another Scorpio who wants something... in this case her big sister... home... now!

In the time one was out at dinner the plane was booked, the tickets were in the inbox and everyone was in an uproar. 'Cos of course the baby sister hadn't consulted anyone as to what was a convenient time to whisk one away... she had just got one on the first available flight.

It seems that one will be living on an assortment of couches as one wends the way from here to the next stop and then to the final destination. Where one will be wrapped up in the loving bosom of the ex second step mother. Honestly she doesn't care which of "her girls" is home so long as she doesn't have to face the surgeon's meeting on Thursday alone to make what will no doubt be some tough decisions. She sort of regards us as interchangeable in some ways. Sighs she was the only one of the wives who was maternal in any way shape or form... father had sort of got the hang of selecting a fit parent by the third one.

Meanwhile the baby sister has turned her attention to father's little domicile. She has organised a skip and a family working bee for Sunday to strip the house which is virtually unfit for human habitation as far as she is concerned.

It seems father has been self medicating judging by the pile of empty bottles and has let things slide...

Complicated no doubt by the fact that the hospital has been treating him for angina...

And that is why one will be residing on an assortment of couches and beds... no sister of hers is staying at his place.

In case you haven't realised by now she is the family organiser, the one that networks and keeps everyone in touch, who FB's and actually remembers special dates... well there has to be one in a family as extended as ours. She is it... our little sheep dog, who tirelessly rounds us up and sets the cops onto her older, errant sister after she disappeared in the last flood... a thing which one did thank her for... most politely.

Of course as the family's black sheep it is one's sworn duty to skip out of her clutches whenever possible...

Family dynamics are... complicated L

Damn and botheration

The baby sister rang today... yes there is one member of the family that one likes other than her mother (one's second stepmother)... with bad news. It seems our father is dying. They operated on a bleeding ulcer, the worst the surgeon has ever seen and was more than a little surprised that father actually survived, to find cancer while they were in there. We are waiting for the biopsy to come back, but it is unlikely to be good news.

Now personally one received the news with more annoyance than sadness. The baby sister is quite devastated enough for the both of us... they are very close unlike us. He was a great dad to her and actually there for the process, whereas one didn't see him from seven to sixteen... even though he only lived about 20 minutes away and Auntie was pro father and completely anti mother. Not that one entirely blames him... mother was... scary and besides, he was on his second family. It's why they got divorced... she found out.

Ah family... special, special people J

Anyway there is plenty to be aggravated about when you live in a different country from your family... a choice one made quite happily for a lot of reasons... the fact that one is not fond of most of them being the main one... and one of them is dying.

There is a general annoyance at the fact that yet another branch of that family has fallen off due to cancer... this does not bode well for one's future...

And there is the added annoyance that one will probably have to go back home. Right before Christmas which will not make work thrilled and at a time when travel is starting to get expensive... sighs

And it will be fucking freezing... they might call it summer, but they lie and/ or are delusional

And one doesn't have so much as a jumper anymore and one pair of jeans isn't going to cut a week

Crap this means one will have to go out and buy clothes as well as plane tickets

And one has no idea where one will stay or how one will get around

There aren't any direct flights so one will have to come in via Wellington... which is one of the worst airports in the world to land in... and one has become something of a white knuckle flyer over the years

And He won't be able to come

That one is a real problem... we don't do too well with the separation thing at all. In fact we tried it once and vowed it was a miserable time for both of us and wouldn't be done again. And that time we had ways of staying in contact... this time there won't be any way to do that

This is not a good day at all...

Mind you it's probably not too great for father either L

Endearing moments

He came home to find a very queasy slave kneeling naked near the back door ready to take off his shoes. It was not a good morning, a week of sinus, migraines and too many meds had culminated in that state.  Coming in He stripped off, dumped the clothes and turned to give one a hug. As one snuggled up to Him, he leant down and murmured gently in one's ear...

You had better not throw up on me

To which one replied tartly, well you had better not squeeze anything

See people there is all that love and trust stuff they go on about... well what it looks like in reality at any rate J

More Christmas cheer

OFFS if your child is sobbing his heart out because he doesn't want to sit on Santa's knee, why are you kneeling there trying to coerce him into it. It's just saved you a small fortune in family photos. Rejoice! Take some of that money, buy him a damned ice-cream and move on. There's always next year.

And hopefully it won't be in our shop doorway that he does his repeat performance.

Fuck Santa, his sleigh and his bloody elves... along with the singer who keeps missing that key... in every fucking chorus of that song L

In the beginning...

How we met

The strange thing about beginnings is that they rarely are a simple point in time. They are a bunch of random happenstances that converge on a single point. In some ways we were like that.

At the time of our meeting one was living in a long term lesbian relationship. We were the golden couple, the ones that had it all. The house, the mortgage, the fur kids, her kids... in some strange way one had ended up with everything one never wanted... one just didn't know it yet.

He came into our lives via one of her kids and at the time of our meeting one looked at him and thought what on earth is she doing with him. It wasn't the usual feeling of he isn't good enough... it was more of a flick of recognition... one deviant to another if you will. It's like when gaydar goes off... you can always spot your own kind.

Now as it turned out he wasn't with her exactly... he was with the online persona she had generated based on one's characteristics as she perceived them. Needless to say that relationship didn't last very long... great little actress though she was, she wasn't that good. They broke up and we kept him... much to her chagrin.

And we were very good friends, a merry little threesome who hung out and had a good time.

Meanwhile a cat that one was very much attached to died and it became something of a catalyst in one's life. Actually it triggered a terrible bout of reactive depression. One would wake up in the morning almost OK and by mid afternoon one would be so blue that life was almost pointless. It was a very bad time that made one re-evaluate everything... particularly the life one had acquired.

By this stage the soon to be ex and oneself had reached an impasse. We had problems... communication issues ironically. They had always been there, but until the degree, with its heavy emphasis on counselling communication, one had never really noticed before. We were always too busy doing the lesbian party lifestyle.

After the cat though...

We did try to fix them, but it is very hard when one partner doesn't have the skills or the desire to change and ultimately chooses not to, opting instead to make promises and not act upon them. We couldn't negotiate a compromise and we spiralled further and further apart. Living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed, not having sex with each other, it was such a fucking cliché in some ways.

Meanwhile he was on about his third attempt at a relationship and we were good friends who flirted outrageously with each other, but we spoke the same language having been to the same university and loved the same sorts of movies and books and... and... and...

We flirted and went out to movies...

There was an unwholesome attraction under all of this. We just didn't do anything about it... too damned complicated and add to that he was a man cub of about 26. Way too young to be taken seriously...

Until that damn movie that changed everything. The one that lost a girl her lesbian card

So that gentle readers is how we met. It doesn't present the full facts nor does it give both sides of the story, but it is the bare bones. Otherwise this would end up the size of a Tolstoy novel. Consider this the first instalment... of a serialised version of our past... actually "Anna Karenina" was published in a serialised form originally... let that be a warning to you J

Here endeth the first part. Stay tuned for how we ended up in this type of relationship and he became He...

Unsolicited male

One of the fabulous features of Fet is the inbox. Now many people whine incessantly about the things they receive in them, but personally one finds them a never ending source of entertainment. The contents fall roughly into three categories. Though there is a sub category in that the first two are generally not happy.

There are those who have enquiries about the contents of the blog... quite often things that they are personally less than enthusiastic about. Unfortunately for them they have been directed to make enquiries about the item at the behest of the person in charge. You know there is a reason that many here do not share this blog with their owners... smiles sweetly J

Then there are people making enquiries about the group. That is to say enquiring about why we were mean to them. They are a minority group. Usually they prefer to complain to MT. Don't know why though, but then again she can make fuck off sound terribly cerebral J

This brings us to the last group; the unsolicited male. They are by far the most entertaining. Why just the other day there was a "you are such a cutie" message. That was the entire message in case you are wondering.

It was so sweet. And he actually used whole words... mind you he was a little older. Though judging by the fact he was a member almost exclusively of BBW groups one couldn't help but feel that his admiration was a little misplaced... or at least misled. There are a couple of pics up that do make one look a little... Rubenesque. Eyes the photographer balefully...

The other oddity is the young master or domling as one likes to think of them affectionately. For some reason one does seem to attract the 19-23 year old. The one's who almost exclusively use textspeak... and want to give one a new home.  It's the breasts isn't it? They trigger all their mummy issues. That or it's that damned arse again... 

It's that time again

The Liebster Awards are doing the rounds again... it is that time it would seem. How do people seem to know when it is time for them? Seriously is there some bloggers calendar that one small slave is completely unaware of out there? One marked up with special dates that we bloggers need to remember... 'cos if so one would love a link.

Firstly one would like to thank ancilla_ksst for the nomination. It is appreciated... you can all just feel a big, fat but coming can't you... 'cos there is one. See this award means that you are supposed to share 11 random things about yourself, answer the 11 questions that your nominator has asked and recommend 11 other blogs. Now, one has no trouble with the first part... any reader here can attest to one's capacity to twitter along like a canary in a cage. The second part isn't the issue either. No the real issue is the nomination part.

See the blog roll to the right are most of the people one follows and as you can see many of them are inert due to life changes. Even some of the big, older ones are suffering from this malaise. The list of blogs one follows is suffering from the same problem... with an added complication in that now when someone closes their blog to the public, or shuts it down you are stuck on their followers list with no way of getting off it.

Since the last Blogger upgrade you can't just get off a list from your end... you have to go to theirs. It means there is no way to update the list to reflect who you are following any more. People are following links to things that don't exist.  And yes it is one of those little housekeeping issues that is driving one quietly insane... if you hadn't guessed that by now J

Anyway getting back to the Leibster Award and the poor little blog roll...

One of the great things about the Leibster Award is that it generates some traffic for those little corners of the blogosphere that might otherwise be overlooked and with that in mind one is going to do this a little differently than was intended.

What one would like you the reader to do is nominate one of your favourite BDSM blogs, in the comments section, so that one small slave and the other readers can go and have a look and see what is out there in the hopes of finding some new blogs to follow.

Also if you have any questions that you've always wanted to ask... no matter how silly... this is your chance to ask them J

Geek out

It was at some ungodly hour of the morning when hands roughly pulling at flesh awoke one. There might have been several small squeaks of protest, but they were soon muffled by the pillow as one landed face down and arse up. A position that allowed Him to stuff small orifices with fingers and cock as it amused him. When He had finished one lay there before that annoying oozing sensation forced one to get up briefly before going back to bed and sleep.

Several hours later one woke up once more, to stumble out in the search of coffee and breakfast before tackling the joy of laundry. That joy was short lived as He needed to nip out to the comic shop. It seemed that some little faction of His army was incomplete. You know just as an observation miniatures (affectionately known as minis) may be small, but they sure seem to take up a lot of space... most every flat surface at this stage.

It is probably worth mentioning also that nipping out here has a very different meaning to most anyone anywhere else in the world. The comic shop is clear across town... a drive of over an hour and some 40 odd km each way. Needless to say when we arrived it turned out to be a long visit... it will be oooh at least a fortnight before He goes back... rolls eyes quietly. The time did allow one to wander round listlessly looking at comics and merchandising.

The shop is run by some level nine geeks... they all have different areas of speciality. Unfortunately not one of them majors in cleaning and everything is covered in dust. To the point that rather like an archaeological dig, you can estimate the age of the stock by the depth of the dust on it. It makes shopping singularly unpleasant for a woman... none of the males in the place seem to notice the issues at all as they paw through boxes of comics and cards and minis in the quest to find that one needful thing.

In fact one suspects that it is one of the subtle ways of keeping women out of what is generally a predominately males space. Gods know that it has taken several years for them to get used to talking to one small slave without twitching, shuffling or blinking nervously. The only one that seems to have well developed social skills is the senior staff member and one suspects that is because he... peers around and whispers... self medicates. On the upside of all of this, in amongst the rack of new t-shirts, one did find this little gem.

It seemed a kindness to take it home... she was set for a very lonely existence otherwise J

Christmas baubles

A few weeks back the first of the Christmas decorations appeared in the shops. It caused an inward groan that was probably echoed all over Australia. Honestly they start it way before people are emotionally ready for the onslaught. The city was no different, but add to that store Santa's waving at you cheerily... it just feels sad and desperate. And make no mistake the retailers are desperate.

Clothing is one of those things that are getting harder and harder to unload in the computer age. The sales have started already and there were racks of unattractive spring clothes trying to vie for your dollar. No mean feat when the weather outside has cranked up to the predicted 35C (95F). Some of the worst offenders are the big department stores and one does have to wonder who is running some of the departments at times.

In one well known chain they are still trying to sell what are obsolete games, to the tune of almost three years, for the original price. And these are the people who have just moved to the online world in the hope of staying viable. They don't stand a chance unless the government steps in and starts charging import duties on all goods coming into the country. It will be the only thing that saves their arses in the end.

Even the rather fabulous Christmas angel in the end of the mall had an almost ghostly, skeletal aspect to it that one couldn't help but think was symbolic. And not necessarily of peace and good will to all man. 

Forward planning

Tomorrow we have to go to the city... again... so one thought let's check the weather forecast. See at the moment the wardrobe is kinda sparse. That is to say there is one pair of black jeans, a couple of t-shirts, a skirt that will stay up with the aid of a belt providing a certain someone doesn't help it "fall down" and a couple of very pretty dresses. Though as His parting shot was wear something comfortable for walking those are probably off the list.

As it was pissing down... actually that doesn't do the torrential downpour with blinding flashes of lightning and rumbling, crashing thunder justice... as one ran back from the gym there was a vague hope that the weather would cool down somewhat. If that weather forecast with its predicted high of 35C (95F) and brilliant sun is to be believed though, the jeans will be off the list too

That just leaves the dangerous skirt... and Him

Sighs life is just a perilous place for one small slave at times and this bloody weight loss thing isn't helping at all L

Dream a little dream

You know He said conversationally, one of the things I really want to do when the weight is gone is go to a water park. I haven't been since I was a child

So why do you have to lose weight? You're going to be wearing a t-shirt anyway

Yes, but it will be a wet t-shirt He replied, as though that explained everything

Seeing the blank look He sighed and said they cling... in that patient tone people usually reserve for those they perceive to be a bit slow

See we have different body issues... nudity and being exposed like that doesn't worry one at all... photos on the other hand... L Whereas His issue... clinging things make him all kinds of neurotic.

Personally one looks at this and thinks it's like going to the beach... no matter how bad you may feel in your cossie, someone else is always going to look worse. Besides it's a water park... people are too busy trying to drown each other or prevent it happening to someone to care what people look like. Still it's good to have dreams and ambitions when you are on the weight loss wagon.

Then the thought was...

Wait one small slave will be made to go as well

And it's a park... with water... nasty, wet, splashy stuff... and slides

And it's full of screaming children

And screaming parents

And it's bright and sunny

And hot... revoltingly hot

And the air will be redolent with the smell of tanning products and other peoples' BBQ's

And one will have to go out and buy a swimming costume

And there are body parts that literally glow in the dark they are so white... they're going to fry like the sausages on the BBQ... right after they have blinded someone

Oh bad dream! Bad dream!

Is it wrong to squash the dreams of others? After all one must protect the property... Fet said so J

The handkerchief code: Why it failed

It marginalised people.

Many moons ago, largely in the Gay scene, a handkerchief code was created. It was beautifully simple; each colour represented what you were into and the side it was worn on represented whether you were a giver or a receiver. Now on the face of it the idea was a good one. When you were out and looking for something specific, it saved a lot of pissing around.

Of course as our kinks came out of the closet the code got bigger and bigger. These days it is so big it is unwieldy. Not to mention some of the hankies are just well... bordering on the fussy. Lace frills no less in some cases. Can anyone guess what those ones are for?

The real trouble was for those kinks that come under the heading YKINMKAYKINOK. Brown hanky... let’s just give that a wide berth... There is Mr. Brown in the centre of the room with everyone carefully avoiding him. See we like to pretend the kink community is one big happy family. We are all about inclusiveness... oh yes we are.

Failing that we can just studiously ignore the things we don’t like... it works for the ostrich. That way we won’t have to come up with a way to deal with the things that repel us, alienate us, make us feel anything remotely uncomfortable or challenge us to look at our prejudices and preconceived notions. So much easier for everyone... except those whom we are marginalising as we make ourselves into socially acceptable fun loving kinksters.

SSC FOREVER!!! 

Mutters really need a label for sarcasm...

Notes from bridges

Much though one enjoys Fet there is a downside. That downside is often the kinksters and their persistent refusal to realise that how they do relationships is not how we do them. See what they don't seem to get is that we realise how profoundly these relationships change us.  It is why one has always called it down the rabbit hole. You may come back, but you won't be the same. Probably ever again... and that is OK... all relationships do that on some level.

Knowing this means that it is kind of tedious having people debate your life and existence as though it is grist for the mill.  Which for them it is, but that combined with their need to tell us that we are playing and that this is all imaginary does get dull. All of life is a construct... theirs is too. It doesn't make it less real.

This stuff causes profound changes in how we interact with others. Personally one searches for similarities rather than difference. It is also because we just get drowned by the myriad of voices that can be found on public boards that one tends to avoid these types... life is simply too short. Unfortunately they still come across the feed via those one does like to stalk. That friends list is something of a double edged sword at times.

In many ways tuning out the naysayers is an essential skill because otherwise one just becomes burnt out and retiring from public boards rather than enjoying them. It's better than becoming swamped by the continual voices saying our way is wrong, dangerous and not real. It is not that one can't separate the right for us from the wrong just that their noise is deafening

Often people accuse one of being picky and elitist when it is really a form of self protection 

Help... in its many forms

Otherwise known as why there are no pics this week...

You're doing it wrong... again... one cheerfully announced to Him over the kitchen bench from the couch below. Won't bore you with the specifics, let's be honest they aren't important, but one did think it was important to keep you informed. See time of Fet in never wasted...

Well perhaps I should do something right to make up for it He replied, moving towards the bedroom

Scampering to lock the door one hastened to follow... hey even one small slave can detect an offer in the making

It was at that moment that there was a crash at the outside gate, followed by a cheerful pounding on the door... the one clearly marked "do not knock" with an arrow pointing helpfully to the bell that rings at the other end of the house. See this house is so long you can't hear anyone pounding on that door. Well we can, but we are not the usual targets of those knocks. There was a quick scurrying to find something to wrap around the nakedness as one hastened to answer. There beaming on the door step were the tradies that His mother had ordered and effectively stood up. Leaving one small slave to deal with them L

Now in fairness they were a bit early, but she was more than a bit late. In fact she waltzed in just as they were finishing her job list. By that stage we had given up the idea of sex, toys and pics and were consoling ourselves with a prawn lunch... a very poor substitute might one add. When all of the hullabaloo finally died down we slid back off to bed... with just enough time for a quickie before He went to sleep.

That is to say He quickly managed to get most of his hand in one's arse before using its relaxed state to his advantage. He held the cheeks apart to get just the right angle and to keep a small gape before withdrawing his cock all the way out of and slamming it back in. Stretch, withdraw, slam, stretch, withdraw, slam... faster and faster until He came deep in the arse.

It was something He later assured one felt very good. Apparently all the muscles rubbing against the head of the penis where all the nerves are is way more interesting than just being gripped around the base tightly. Who knew?

No, what one small slave did know, as the screaming orgasm ended... errr... that was one small slave's screaming orgasm... was that it was going to hurt like fuck. Not so much damaged as pumped full of air. And as it turned out, that much pummelling made for an interesting walk back from the hairdressers later that afternoon too...

Good thing sphincter muscles are very elastic... it could have been most unfortunate J