Day four

Since the arrival of the stockade one has had a migraine... hence so much quality time on Fet. Finally today (on day three) it had cleared enough (read one could tackle morning mouse without gagging) that one decided to venture back to the gym to give the body a different type of pain to take its mind off things. Often the endorphins pumping around give the body enough of a boost that it will get rid of the last of a migraine you see. Well that was the plan.

Actually that was part of the plan. The idea was to go bounce some weights around, come home clean up the bombsite that has emerged after three days of aggravated neglect, have some wild sex, maybe a snooze and get up later on to do some cooking when it was cool enough. That was the whole plan. Of course as always reality took that slightly skewif quality that plans do around here.

Oh one made it to the gym... to be greeted by Mr Insensitive enquiring how one spent the New Year. Quietly one replied, praying for this to be the sum of our chat. Yeah for the record prayers don't get answered... or he doesn't answer the prayers of agnostics... which you would think he would do... good PR and all that. Really he said, I spent it at a rather good lifestyle party. Inwardly one groaned while replying that's nice in the most bored voice one could muster. He took the hint... that or the fact one was taking his unused weights to load onto the press made him shut up. Either way the rest of the workout progressed without conversation.

So home one scampered, feeling much better...yeah one should have seen it coming really. Hauling off wet gym gear, one undid the bra, ripped it off while still slightly bent over and stretched. The back went and one stood there semiparalysed. It's done this before... what they inaccurately describe as slipping a disc... of course the last times one followed the doctor's advice and spent the week on the floor. Not this time... according to the latest, the best thing to do is take drugs and kept moving. Which seems to work much better... though it means you can't actually lie down and the tummy pops out like a pregnant person's...

Of course it chose this moment, when one was in the middle of three loads of washing, making lunch and about to scamper into the shower, to do this. And into the middle of the chaos in stepped His mother to show us the Christmas gifts she had got from his brother... and she stubs her toe on the bloody stockade. It was on the lounge floor because one small slave had been too sick to find it a home... it was on the clean up list. Now she has studiously, thus far, managed to ignore the rack on the bedroom wall full of nasty slappy, hitty things. And the proliferation of sex toys that seem to breed in odd places. It is a little harder to ignore a stockade when you have just walked into one.

What's this...ohhhh?

It's my Christmas present He said... like that explained everything. Particularly the metal collar and cuffs attached to it. Turning with bright inquisitive eyes as one hobbled into the room she started to say...

Don't say a word one shot in the gap... the back has just gone and one can barely stand up...

Darting past she grabbed the dishes and said well I'll get these out of your way and toddled off.

Well if she didn't know we were kinky she does now He said.

Sighs family life... it is never normal around here.

Later, as one was propped up in His upright computer chair, he wandered into the study. You know He said conversationally, I'm starting to think you are actually trying to do this New Year the way you started... avoidance. Three days of migraine and now your back has gone out. There are 360 days to go... you are going to end up in that stockade on at least one of them.

He thinks he has a challenge... one small slave has three types of meat and an assortment of vegetables to prep before cooking commences. A load of washing on the line that one is a little unsure how one is going to get in. And probably an interesting chat coming up with His mother the next time we are out together L