The training academy

Wandering the halls of Fet one came across a thread asking about where to send a slave for training. Looking at it one sat there slightly nonplussed. What the hell do you train a slave.... someone else's slave that is... in?  Sitting here clutching morning mouse one thought about us as a couple...

Coming into this relationship one had all of the traditional accomplishments; deportment, being a good cook, seamstress and quite capable of managing a house. Hell having renovated three of them for profit one is handier with a power tool than most. In addition to that one can chat about most things, have certificates in horticulture, three or four styles of massage and a degree that says one is at least capable of reading gibberish.

Of course as luck, being the perverse creature that she is, would have it one ended up with someone who doesn't notice if the place is tidy, hates being massaged (unless it is concentrated on one area), thinks gardens should be in a park in the city and is waiting for meals to come in a pill format... not that He would remember to take them unless they were plopped in his hand. In short most the one's accomplishments are utterly redundant.

The reason for this is simply that there is no one size fits all blue print for a slave. There is no universal recognised standard for slaves... whatever some would like you to believe. Training from what one can work out is largely teaching someone your preferences... which are highly individual.

Would this academy have some sort of drop down menu that you could tick?

Perhaps rather like a spa there is some sort of package where you can select certain things that interest you... though why would you miss out on all those opportunities to explore together?

All of these musings left one to wonder what is the one universal skill that a slave actually needs?

The only thing one can come up with is obedience. Even then some probably enjoy a certain lack of it. Peers around furtively and whispers 'cos otherwise one is so screwed...

A conclusion

Well "Fifty Shades of Grey" and "Fifty Shades Darker" is finished and here one is... on one hand thrilled that women are reading erotica, but still a little unsure about the messages that it preaches.

It's not the message that it is OK to trade your purity, youth, innocence and all of your firsts to a rich man... especially if he is ridiculously good looking. Hell, one did far worse when young and frankly it did no harm at all... and there is some spectacular jewellery to prove it.

It is not the message that it is OK to have stalker tendencies and be ridiculously possessive if you are rich and ridiculously good looking... though it probably should disturb one more than it does.

It's not the message that contracts are the norm, that the submissive has all the power, that limits are totally respected, that D/s is all about sensations that are largely pleasurable, that subs can come from having their nipples played with, that crops feel fantastic, that sadists are largely sensual creatures who wish to see you flush with pleasure... and will treat you like a princess afterwards as a way of amending for their vile tendencies.

It is not even that distant, emotionally fucked up men just need the love of the right woman. Dear gods are we still selling that tripe to women?

No, the really disturbing message is that it is OK to be richly rewarded for writing drek, aimed at the average reading age of an eight year old, if you put in enough sex.

Oh that and the idea that if you have just started taking the pill and have sex during your period, you won't get pregnant.

And that you get married so you won't be alone and empty... which is where a life of being bent will lead you.

OK those messages and the premise that sadism is an indication of him being broken in some way. Mind you if that wasn't the case then love wouldn't be able to fix him... and that is where this is eventually going one suspects.

Those issues aside the most disturbing thing is the knowledge that a new generation of people are going to flood cyber space and assorted other places, filled with the belief that the rest of us are doing it wrong...

That one will haunt us for years to come...

The one good message that came out of the book was that it is OK to safeword... and that is what one is going to do rather than read book three. Seriously two fucking books and he only just managed to get a finger in her arse... and he has a room full of kit and he chose a ruler... yeah hard limit L

Oh and why isn't one's botty getting slathered in lotion after He hits it?

Or carried to bed when well used?

And why doesn't He bring one an Advil after doing traumatic shit to one small...

Oh that's right...

Slave 

Winter cometh

Handing Him the soap one turned to face the tiled wall. He carefully suds up his hands and dove into ones arse... 

Wrong end one cried in disbelief... seriously everyone knows that handing someone the soap is code for please massage the shoulders. Or was that not in the Owner Handbook?

Smirking He said it felt like the right end from here.

Shoulders one demanded in an imperious tone...

And for a few glorious moments He complied... well until his hard on got involved in the negotiations. It took no prisoners nor did it have any interest in shoulders. Instead it separated one's cheeks with a precision and force that took one's breath away. In fact as He plunged in with enough power to mash a cheekbone up against the tile, all one could do was emit an occasional, stifled groan.

The damn thing was still tender from the reaming it got yesterday... and the day before that.

His response was to grab one more firmly by the hips and drive in deeper and deeper until with a stifled roar he came and one could feel cum being injected in a pulsating stream.

Later one commented that we would have to enjoy this sex in the shower while we could.

He gave one that blank look.

Um... it's getting nippy in the mornings in case you haven't noticed.

He upped the blank look with a shake of the head.

One of us ends up not under the water one replied in an exasperated tone. It gets damn cold.

A slow smile spread across His face yes, but it won't be me getting cold will it.

Bastard!

Roses are red

You know one said, wandering into the lounge, the whole domestic discipline thing sounds like a lot of work. All those rules and having to catch them out and punish them... it seems to make a lot of work for the dominant. Surely it would be easier to just to beat someone because you enjoy it...

While saying this one was creeping along the couch to snuggle up to Him... yes the sex yesterday was excellent copious involved a hand up one's arse spectacular which is why one was still affectionate the next day...

Reaching out He hauled one across his knee and said or just beat them at every opportunity because they are generally disobedient all the time...

Saying that He held one down with his hand between the shoulder blades and proceeded to wallop one several times...

And then throw in a few extra for good measure

In fact when one finally escaped to curl up at the other end of the couch muttering things about unfairness He reached over to slap a breast or two... damn him and his long arms

Maybe a few rules wouldn't be so bad after all... they could be used as shield surely

A change of plans

The day was supposed to involve going to the city to take His mother back to the heart specialist. We were then going to New Farm for breakfast and potter around. What actually happened was that one woke up still as sick as a dog... and whining like one... when the alarm went off at an ungodly hour. He said that he would take his mother to the city and come home instead.

We passed each other a little later as He was getting ready and sort of collided for hugs... one of us naturally tactile and the other one of us grateful to be let off the hook. Somehow that sort of ended up as a little masturbation... try as we might we are lousy at the whole "just hugging" thing. That was when one got pressed up against the fridge. An act that caused loud squeaks 'cos the fridge was damned cold against bare flesh.

Then the coughing started... not His might one hasten to say

And then one ended up against the kitchen bench as He started to finger a now moist cunt

And then the coughing got very persistent

Somehow one ended up pressed down onto the kitchen bench, held in place with His hand between the shoulder blades, as he fucked one roughly in the arse.

Still not quite sure how that happened

And it doesn't cure a cough at all... though the surprise did make it stop for a couple of minutes

Oh He was helping keep the lungs clear wasn't he?

Master is merciful,

Master is benevolent,

Master is kind... of an opportunist

A big one as it turned out when one took Him out for breakfast when he returned...

First it was show me your tits...

And then it was show me your cunt...

Then it was spread you thighs further apart...

Even this tiny caterpillar scurried for safety... probably thought it was going to be asked to show its wings J

Fifty shades of trouble

One small slave is a sick as a dog. It's viral in nature; aches, pains in odd places... mostly muscles one didn't know existed... a corking temperature and a whiny disposition. In short... dying... loudly. This is why one is curled up on the couch with a good book. Scratch that, what one suspects is going to be a very bad book.

That's right one has been rewarded with a "Fifty Shades of Grey". A little pre-emptive research seemed like a good idea... before His mother starts asking questions...

Though after walking into the stockade that time she never said a word and it's not like the whack rack is discrete. Maybe the secret of successfully living any shared household is the capacity to studiously ignore each other's "quirks".

Of course He hasn't been able to get past chapter seven. So that means one small slave has been thrown under the bus...

So without further ado one settled into read... and torture return the favour to Him by passing commentary. Well He started it...

A voice pipes up from the study... are you turned on yet?

Hate you so bad. Oh dear...

Laughter erupts from the study

The names... and the main character is supposed to be studying English lit.

I know... more laughter. It's good isn't it? Worthy of being on the NY Times best seller list. Want the other two?

Fuck you!

Oh say it gets better one begs softly

It gets better He deadpans from the study

You're lying aren't you?

You know one has a great love of pulp, but this isn't even that... and it is going to make someone a millionaire... multi if the rumoured movie deal goes through. All one can think is that if you were a struggling author you would just about throw your hands up in despair.

One day some editor is going to be called into account for this book and they are going to confess they didn't actually read it.

He laughed and quipped I just ran it through word and corrected things underlined in red. I didn't worry about the green lines. There were too many of them.

This carried on back and forth for the first seven torturous chapters.

And then something changed...

And one started to see why it is being snapped up and shared at book clubs and rocking up the best seller lists...

Because although the author can't write worth a damn, she can write sex... it is her talent

And the more one read the more one realised His mother was going to be reading this... and hopefully the sex will be graphic enough to make her stop because otherwise we are so busted. Don't get one wrong it is half way through the book and the sex is charmingly vanilla... a first for both of the characters apparently... but it is going to make the slapping sounds that sometimes emanate from this flat a little harder to ignore in future...

Meh the graphic sex might put her off...

We are screwed aren't we?

A quick whack rack

We have boxes of toys (many of them untried due to time restraints) under the bed... there is even a spike missile box at the end of it full of assorted gear as well. The trouble was none of it provided suitable storage for things like floggers. For a while there they hung off the bed head... which while a little too convenient was also a finite space. So one small slave decided to end all of the aggravation and find something better... and it wasn't until looking for something on the blog that one realised that there had been no follow up.

Now it is no small secret that one loves power tools more than most and that slightly unhealthy obsession runs to  hardware stores as well. They are a constant source of wonder and inspiration. So with a happy heart we set out to find something to hang a few floggers on...

It was at our local hardware chain that we found this shelf from a Rack It garage shelving system. It was a good size being 600mmx900mm (24.5"x37") and a perfect design for invisible mounting on a wall.

So the shelf, along with a piece of timber a bit smaller than the slots, a couple of screws, some wall plugs and off we set.

It was a simple matter of cutting the timber to length and wall mounting them horizontally, before popping the shelf up and drilling a couple of screws in through the metal and the timer.

And there you are a perfect whack rack...

Just add a few butchers' hooks and hang your weapons toys.

This is ideal to shove in the back of a closet, behind a curtain or door, or as in our case, where you can't miss it J

The beginning of nothing good

Today is the dawn of another election and what a lacklustre affair it will be. Not because the incumbent government is expected to be ousted in a landslide, but because by and large the people don't give an obese rodents bottom for any of the options. Voting is compulsory here... well turning up is. What you do with your ballot paper is up to you. Personally one suspects that highly sexualised messages will be on the increase... it is an avenue of protest one did seriously consider.

Now one admits to a jaundiced view of politics. It started in the formative years after witnessing the then prime minister of the country of one's birth, emerging pissed as a ferret from a men's room being supported/ supporting... it was a little hard to tell being as they were both in the same state... the then leader of the opposition. Casting an eye over them the thought was and that is what we vote for. Of course being in NZ one didn't have to... an option one took gladly.

Here we have a Labour party that no longer represents the working man... well not a working man that anyone on the street would recognise as such at any rate... and a Liberal party that has never represented anyone other than big business and the rich. In addition to that there are some minor parties that are hardly serious competition and who will give their preferences to one of the above... after some petty wrangling for concessions on subjects near and dear to them. On some issues it is getting harder and harder to tell which major party is which... not exactly choice now is it?

A common feature of O/p relationships is that the owner decides who is going to be voted for... it is one of the many things that spark hot debates on most boards across Fet... but one digresses

This year... well frankly one begged Him to say who to vote for. To be honest it wasn't one small slave getting all owned on Him... it was more one doesn't want any part of this election on the conscience.

He said no

So much for that potential avenue for abdication of personal responsibilities

Bastard!

Memories

It is raining here which is code for flooding in low lying areas. Mostly it creates nothing but transportation hassles. Mind you if they opened the dam before it started to flood... statistically the weather forecasters have to be right once in a while surely... it might have saved them from having to run it off during the onslaught and flood one of the only two access roads to work. A decision which resulted in a pleasant two hour bus trip to work this morning and an hour and a half home L

There is a small upside to all this rain. On the way to the bus stop one has to pass a place where the home owners thoughtlessly planted some of the smaller members of the Cypress family. Thoughtlessly because although not a native to this climate, if they survive, they will happily expand outwards at an impressive rate... right over the foot path in this case. The only reason one hasn't mentioned them to the council is that when it rains the air is redolent with the smell of Cypress and that smell takes one back to childhood.

In that brief moment of inhalation the present recedes and one is a child again. As a child growing up in a cooler climate they were common place. The property one grew up on was bordered with a member of the Cypress family... enormous Macrocarpas that were close on to 60 feet tall. Every time there was a storm pass through you would find auntie peering at them anxiously. She always expected them to come down in the next big storm. But then auntie had a flair for the dramatic and the histrionic.

The first time one ever brought home tadpoles resulted in her standing on a chair shrieking. And frankly her explanation, that her mother had been scared by a frog while carrying her, did little to dispel one's belief that she was utterly illogical. It did however, give a small child the ultimate weapon... and a frog was quietly produced from a pocket on more than one occasion. In one's defence what child isn't going to try and replicate sending an adult up on a chair shrieking?

This does however digress from the trees...

It was in some of those trees that uncle started to build one a most fabulous tree house... he was very handy... and it was always something of a disappointment that it was never completed. It wasn't until a visit home a few years later that one realised why. The bloody tree house was close on to 20 feet in the air, with a downward slope on one side of it. Auntie had most probably come out to the orchid to see what uncle was up to and had a fit.

While she might have been prone to illogical flights of fancy, she was logical enough to work out that the tree house was a serious injury waiting to happen J

See all of these silly memories evoked by a simple smell and the only price is having to walk on the grass for a minute. Besides Cypress don't like being hard pruned that much. They are just as likely to die back in retaliation and then one of the last tenuous threads to childhood will be severed. Far better to keep quiet and inhale...

A win and a loss

As one has mentioned there have been some issues with the collar... well more the neck rejecting it... sensible thing that it is. On Tuesday, while at the gym, one hopped on the rower and noticed that it seemed to be hitting all the sore spots on the shoulder, clavicle and neck. Figuring it wasn't a coincidence one hopped off the rower and move on to the weights.

So after staying away from the rower for the last couple of gym visits the collar was reluctantly put back on for work. And guess what? The neck doesn't feel like a cricked up mess. So guess who hasn't got an excuse to not be wearing her His hated collar? Yeah that was the good news...

The bad news is that the rower is the only bit of cardio equipment that one actually enjoys using.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit....

Not happy... on so many levels L

Only round here

As some of you know we live in the family home... in separate quarters of course. What separates our dwellings is a breezeway... so known because of the doors at either end that lets in the most fabulous breeze... it is a shared no man's land that we use to shove the odd unfortunate guest in.  Anyway one digresses...

Sharing domiciles like this has wins for both sides of the breezeways... but every once in a while it presents some unique situations.

The other day His mother came scampering down the hallway to ask if we had read the book "Fifty Shades of Grey". Apparently they (it is a trilogy) marched up the Times Best Seller list and she thought we might like it. We glance at each other and then at her looking somewhat askance. It's very racy she says, as though that explains why it's a must read. Ah huh we reply in a neutral tone of voice.

She mentions it in passing a few more times... persistence does run in the family.

Finally getting curious He finds a copy and proceeds to subject one to random comments...

At chapter two... think this is going to be a BDSM novel

It is and it is a really bad one

It's poorly written... floggers aren't feathery

They can be one pipes up tongue firmly planted in cheek

No one is that naive at 24

Oh great another generation being sold the idea that an emotionally distant, but rich man, is going to sweep them off their feet

You have to read this, it's really bad... wondering what one has done to warrant this punishment one smiles nervously while backing away

His mother pops back a few days later... I'm thinking about reading the book she announces

We look at each other and say nothing

It seems terribly salacious she giggles

It sounds like the new Peyton Place one commented somewhat dryly

That was well written He quips

It wasn't considered that at the time one shoots back. In fact it was considered drek of the first order... even though it too made it up the Times Best Seller list

A while later she comes back and says well the book isn't in the country yet, but I've ordered it and with that she sallies off...

We are left looking at each other...

Oh crap... L

He's not funny

Lying next to Him one pointed out he was abusive... see no good ever comes from reading Fet

He asks would you have me any other way.

Pausing for a few seconds one replies, in a dramatic tone, that it has been so long since one felt love or tenderness it's hard to tell

Reaching down to caress one softly, His fingers play across the tender, bruised spot from the other day and go... poke, poke, poke

That's not love

No, but that is tenderness

Yeah, really they are not as funny as they think L

A little something for beginners

And why you can never downsize...

We spent the day scampering around with His mother; lawyers followed by the heart specialist. While she was with the latter we slipped off to a sex shop. As you do when escaping parental responsibilities... well we do at any rate J In the shop we found the small version of the Rosebud.

There it is next to the XL one just so you can see them side by side and you will notice that the major difference, other than the overall size, is not the jewel but size of the surround.

Now as far as we can tell you can't seem to find them online*, but they are probably tucked away in some little case in your local sex shop... should you be escaping your parents J

Now why did this follow us home you may be wondering?

Well we were looking for a little something... a more discrete little something and thought this might be fun. 

The pros:

• It would be perfect for a beginner
• Range of colours
• Very popular with strippers apparently... probably stops clients trying to stick their fingers where they aren't wanted while looking good
• If you had a desk job and wanted a little reminder it is ideal 

The cons:

• If you play with larger toys... and it has got used to a certain size... your arse will eat it. 

Oh it it is heavy enough that it will pop back out if you sit upright, stand up or walk around, but the minute you are relaxed your sphincter muscles do what they were designed to do... suck it up J

It's not that your arse will stretch out of shape with anal toys and sex as much as it develops a muscle memory. Muscle memory is that fabulous capability that aids people who were fit to get back in shape faster than those who have never exercised before. It is also why you often show sooner with your second or third child than you do with your first. It is not that muscles have memories, but we retain the ability to remember how to do something we have done before and it becomes more of a reflex every time we do it.

The body is amazing thing and it does so try to be helpful given half a chance. 

Now if one small slave could just turn it off at will... it was such a pretty shade of blue L


*Finally solved that little mystery... it seems that the plugs come in two sizes L and XL... this tiny baby which is only about 3" in total is the large

Pain applicators

That is how they are described and that is exactly what they do. Now the lovely items here were made by a friend... well rather her owner. She swears that all she does is help finish them off. Yeah sounds innocent enough doesn't it?

Then how come he reinforced the damn things to make them unbreakable?? Huh??? Bet there was a small and distinctly feminine hand in that L

Anyway one has mentioned the paddles once once or twice before, but we thought it was time to do a proper review...

Pros:

• Wood is a lovely medium being easy to clean and having a natural antibacterial nature
• Easy to swing and use
• Heavy enough, but no so heavy it becomes a chore to swing (a friend kindly allowed one small slave to road test this on them, so one speaks from experience here)
• They are a no muss no fuss toy
• They make a quite unique sensation

Cons:

• Paddling is not as intimate as spanking... but that is purely personal
• Every one of those sensations mentioned above is pain related... the only difference is the kind.

The heart shaped one is just plain stingy and painful while the round one is surprisingly thuddy... and painful. If one had to choose then one is forced to say the thuddy one is far better. Of course being a smart arse one just had to say afterwards that His hand was preferable. That was how the arse ended up looking like a sky at sunset.

Honestly L

Comings and goings

This morning He came home and somehow one ended up bent over the bench... Not sure how that happened to be honest. One minute we were discussing why the collar is causing so much neck trouble... the only thing one can come up with is that being finer it gets caught between the muscles (large amounts of time at work actually involve reaching up for things) and being lighter it floats rather than sitting on the neck... either way it is an ongoing issue.

The next minute one was bent over the bench while being held in place by the bloody collar, as He slid his fingers, first into the cunt for moisture and then into the arse, as one small slave squirmed and squeaked in protest. Then just as the arse was starting to relax and the sensation began to feel pleasurable, one was frog marched off into the bedroom, where one was hustled onto the bed arse up. To add insult to injury one was ordered to masturbate while He fucked one in the arse. An arse fucking that was done with enough enthusiasm on His part to make one squeak even louder. Then just as it was starting to feel quite promising He came...

That was how one ended up being taken to work horny, with an arse full of cum...

Life is full of unfair at times L

Guilty pleasures

Along with that little guilty pleasure in the form of Judge Judy there is another one. A vice so shameful one can barely say it out loud. It exists on Fet in the form of... peers around furtively and whispers... the Submissive Women's group. Now, one is not a member... apart from that singular lack of a submissive personality... there are other issues. We aren't going to go there, that's not what this is about...

This is about a fascinating thread on there asking what is in your aftercare kit. You know some of us had never heard of aftercare before Fet... we feel very gypped. Personally one is still waiting for that iPad so one can communicate with Him after...

Yeah that's not going to fly is it? L

Anyway one digresses from the kit...

Now this was what some packed...medical kits, toiletries, snacks, drinks, their teddy bears, a change of clothes... Actually some of them packed enough for a week from what one could read, including soft shoes or slippers... anyone who has ever worn high heels can understand that one, but PJ's? Seriously, after strutting your stuff you are going to slip off the cross and slip into some PJ's?

We have never been to a club or munch and one has to say, after reading that, one is even less inclined to want to. There is this dancing vision in one's mind of these very women walking in done up to the nines with hair and nails and high heels and smart ports, straggling out at the end of the night clutching their teddy bears and trailing blankies, sporting PJ's.

Talk about reality...

Hell that's like getting married L

Status update...

You know just occasionally, after a vile day at work, there really is nothing better than the ritual of shoving a glass in the freezer, while hauling out the ice, some decent gin and some vermouth. Then shoving them in a shaker, swirling them around gently before spearing a few olives. Getting the glass out of the freezer and swirling again before pouring the contents in the glass. Then setting the olives in to drown... honestly they are the best part. Then neatly folding a cocktail napkin and plopping down with a very dry martini.

Nothing better...
Well maybe sex...
But it comes close... damn close

Sex

The lovely Histora wrote a great blog entry that is very hot and interesting. To be honest one doesn't quite get masochists, not being one that isn't too surprising. OK there are some masochistic tendencies that are quite specific, but... OK the body can sexualise pain, but there are some things it can't process into pleasure at all. Mutters that bloody wand being one of them L

Hot anal sex aside, what made the post interesting was her emotional responses to it. Now, one can understand how you can come to feel this way about sex, only too well... just want to say that upfront. What one can't imagine is having those sorts of feelings about sex... of any kind. Personally one has sex for the same reasons other people clean their teeth; it not only feels unbelievably good, but it has beneficial side effects.

Somewhere along the line a completely hedonistic view of sex developed. To the extent that a little more reservation might have been a good thing... you know, looking back. As an adult no friend was usually safe... come to think of it they weren't very safe when one was a teenager either. Part of the trouble was that one didn't really attach emotions to sex at all. Well occasionally boredom... that's a feeling... right?

Maybe what one needs to do is grow a few inhibitions... 

Sighs bet He won't agree to that idea J

A clear mind

There has been a mild storm in a tea cup on Fet over a word. Well a sentence to be precise. But it was the use of a single word that sparked off the storm. A storm that flitted across two groups, an assortment of memos and provided untold clarification as to why some should learn to brush up on their comprehension skills and turn down their emotional responses, before sallying off into discussion groups... mainly because someone almost always gets the wrong end of the stick and looks... well we will get to that.

Now some of you may be wondering what awful word it was that had so much power to cause so much destruction. That word was delicate... yes that's right the word delicate. It is a word which means sensitive in feeling or manner. A word that was used correctly and appropriately it would seem, given that it also means to be easily damaged and requiring tactful treatment... something that many proved was the case.

See it wasn't the word itself that was at fault, but the way in which it was interpreted to be somehow less than and the way that some tacked on the term "flower" to it. It is strange how that word is like a red rag. The really stupid thing is that it was originally used by someone self identifying as being a "delicate flower". Not by someone using the term at others, though frankly some didn't let that little fact get in the way. Oh no, when they ran with it and their butt hurties to another group, they omitted to mention that salient little fact. But we will get back to them in the fullness of time...

Firstly though we are going to look at what really set them off... it was the sentence itself. Actually it was more the language it was couched in. To be precise it was how they heard the tone in their head... though it would be fair to point out they were not alone in that bit of hysteria. See many of them read it and related it to some incident in their past. The tone set them off...

This brings one to an interesting point... because try as you might you cannot convince some that tone is all in their head. Written words don't have a tone... you have a little voice that reads them out loud in your mind.

Don't believe one? Read the above in a nice, bland, monosyllabic tone... go on, try it J

See all the heat and passion is filled in by you and your comprehension of what words mean.

Reading things dispassionately is a skill. You learn it with practise. You learn to read something and walk away, if you feel yourself having an emotional response to it. You learn to examine why you are having that response. You learn to reread when you are in a clearer frame of mind. You learn to keep walking away until you can get that clarity and actually deal with the content. You also learn to look up any words you don't understand and to not presume that your cultural assumptions about that word are the norm across the board.

Otherwise what happens is you get the slightly erroneous end of the stick... in this case that slaves aren't allowed to have emotional responses... and run off with it to another group. Where you start up a thread, they join in your hysteria and make bold and equally emotive responses and then you all end up looking... well... sensitive emotional histrionic unbalanced worked up... over being called delicate. 

Wednesday

The day started late and progressed slowly. Outside was grey, with gusts of rain swirling around. It was filled with simple things like chatting to a friend while cooking a late breakfast. A leisurely making of a salad, followed by the not so leisurely realisation that it was way past lunch, which led to scrambling to cook some garlicky prawns. All of this was rounded off by looking at each other and realising that neither of us had made it to the shower yet and it was time for Him to go back to bed.

This of course is how one ended up being in the shower lubed up with soap and being sodomised against the walls... once more.

Soon all of this will come to an end and it will be too cold to shower together and there will be less salad and more soups.

Winter is coming... and so is having to front up at work for another week. Unfortunately while one is in the almost distant future the other starts tomorrow L

Balls of steel

He has a lovely anal hook that has been floating around here, in one of the many boxes under the bed, but these took his fancy. He saw these ball hooks in a pic on Fet and just had to chase down the supplier. It is amazing how proactive He can be about communicating on Fet, when it involves something new to brutalise one small slave's arse with L

So after much ado (the supplier's automatic mailing system wanted to charge more than the cost of the hooks for postage) and toing and froing the supplier suggested a compromise that we could all live with. A solution that bypassed the automatic postage calculator might one add, so if you are in this part of the world don't be afraid to ask for a better postage rate. And then we settled in to wait... see below*.

On that note may one just say that the vendor is very good to deal with generally, they answered emails promptly and we wouldn't hesitate to use them again.

The implement:

Heavy stainless steel hooks with a ball on the end rather than the usual rounded hook tip.  He bought both the 38mm and the 50mm ones. To be honest one found the smaller one a bit small, but the big one was plenty big... though the smooth nature of it meant that the arse just tried to eat it... somewhat against one's will. It is a sad thing when your body will blithely try and hurt its self in the pursuit of happiness.

The pros:

• Smooth finish
• Easy to clean
• Very comfortable, even the curve was a perfect fit 

The cons:

• Like all large objects it was easier to get it in than out... but that may simply be a natural reluctance to let go of anything that feels that good 

And oh boy did it feel good. This was supposed to involve a whole bondage thing... using that lovely rope from Twisted Monk... it would have looked really pretty too... except...

Well it started with Him taking advantage of one small slave. Just to see how it felt... you know how that is. Anyway it felt so good one kinda begged for more and feeling obliging He ended up... well doing it again except in the missionary position. 

It was at that point when one made an interesting discovery. Apart from the fact that the body completely overlooked the tail end of the hook as it laid on it... that tail rubbed along the bed in sync to the fucking. It was like being double penetrated by the most superbly synchronised duo in history. In fact it triggered an orgasm so long one was actually begging Him to stop in the end. It is a strange fact that men do not understand, but an orgasm can reach the point of no longer being enjoyable. Of course He didn't stop there, but eventually he gave into the pleading for mercy.

On the condition that one mentioned it in the blog...

Yes He made one beg for mercy... during sex.

And so gentle reader you now know our dirty little secret...

The reason why we do so little bondage is not just the heat and the complete lack of time in our busy lives, but that we start with desert and it kills any desire for dinner. It seems our mothers were right after all L

*And a fun story that was because the postal service at Christmas is a challenging system. For days and days the package sat in some little mail centre in America... well according to its tracking number at any rate. Then out of the blue, just as we were emailing back and forth again with the supplier they rocked up. 

The hooks were not only trying to break free, but the package had been sitting in water somewhere along the line... and it wasn't here 'cos we hadn't had rain for weeks by that stage... long enough that the customs declaration was no longer legible.

Now we get a lot of stuff from the States and every bit of it has enough Sellotape to entomb something. We deeply suspect our American friends have a bit of a sticky tape fetish... that or they have shares in the company. In this case though that tape was the only thing holding the box together as you can see...

So bless you diligent wrappers of the world... may your parcels always arrive safely at their destination J

Perception management

We were in the supermarket yesterday, grabbing a few things after work and He picked up some chocolate. Pulling a face one said you could have got a flavour one likes.

He smiled and said yes, but then I would have to share it.

Oh don't think that abuse of power won't end up in the blog one retorted.

Oh typical He replied. Don't mention that I haven't slept because I spent all afternoon crawling around setting up the new equipment so that you can watch TV shows.

Of course one isn't going to write about that. That one implies a high level of sloth, while the other makes one look put upon and abused. Smiling sweetly one paid for the groceries and off we went.

Now the truth is one doesn't watch TV shows without Him. Well there has been the odd time, but it was sort of accidental... blushes guiltily... and one has never heard the end of it so... Generally one watches box sets of murderous and geeky things that He has little interest in, usually while he is asleep. Recently they have changed the format of our downloads and He had to wiz out to by new electronics. New electronics that allow Him to stream directly from the computer rather than putting them on a memory stick. So for the rest of the next morning all one can hear are comments from the lounge like...

Oh we can have slide shows... yeah there is a new type of torture L

Oh this will be great for RPG nights; you can access YouTube videos directly... again another form of torture L

And so this is going on for a while as one is trying to do other things... including eradicating the migraine that has come for a back swing... and suddenly all one can hear is that bzzzzzt, bzzzzzt noise that makes all the little hairs stand up. The body knows that sound... it doesn't have good memories at all. Then there are the sounds of little yips of pain... He's playing the clip of the Neon Wand.

It would seem He can stream everything on the computer L

Fuck new technology L

More tales from the other side

It had been a long, shitty week for the both of us, so after dinner and some TV we both tottered off for an early night. Actually one came in to find Him with the air-con on and the window and door open. You know air-con works better in a sealed room one enquired.

Actually it works fine like this just to cool it off quickly He replied. And I thought it might help remove some of the humidity that is making your hips so bad.

Oh that was thoughtful of you... wondering if it was code for because I am going to make them so much worse by having sex with you. See trust is utterly unnecessary in these relationships and highly over rated J

Anyway as one was fiddling with the TV controls the air-con was turned off and by the time one moved back up the bed He was out cold. So after watching TV for a short while and setting the timer on it, one snuggled down to sleep. To be honest after spending three days at work moving shelves and stock everything ached... the shoulders worse than the hips. None of this aided by the fact that the neck has developed a bit of a crick in it from not sleeping on the collar very well, might one add.

Just as one was drifting off a hand reached out to massage and tweak a nipple. Mmmm nice nipple... tweak, pull, tug... massage of breast. The hand was hot and heavy... and slightly sweaty. Reaching out one touched Him to find he was as hot as hell. You are burning up. Are you OK?

It's hot He replied.

It's not that hot.

OK I'm hot He muttered

Well one of us is sore. Is it OK to take of the collar?

The eyes snapped open to reveal a distrustful blue light. Why?

'Cos everything hurts and one would love to get some sleep and not be in pain absolutely everywhere.

Hmmm alright He said reluctantly.

Monday morning one comments that the shoulders are still as sore as.

He looks up, why is the collar off?

Umm one asked last night and you said OK.

He gives a blank stare obviously with no recollection of the night before... and even less trust in his eyes.

See the trust stuff... utterly unnecessary J

Miscommunication

The day started with a sore neck and a sinus headache... and finished up with migraine. In between was filled with petty aggravations in the form of people. In short it was a vile day that was capped off with a bus trip home from hell. Getting through the door, the migraine medications and one small slave made a bee line for the couch.

It was a line that involved gathering snacks and procuring a list of the intended order of play for Bab5 and its movies. See this is the stuff of geeky dreams... interspersing episodes, in the order the creator intended them to be played rather than the way the networks showed  them, with the movies. Last year's annual playing of Bab5 was interrupted by lending them to our Tuesday night vanillas. Who hated it might one add... and one lost serious respect points for them in response. How could you... let's not go there shall we?

Anyway just as one was really settling in the glass door slid open to reveal His looming form. He had got up for date night... which is a euphemism for sex... something one had completely forgotten about with the migraine. Really we need a better system for date night... six times out of ten one of us is feeling like shit and the other one has no way of knowing, but one digresses. Instead He curled up on the couch munching breakfast while one tottered around making his lunch.

Returning to join Him one whined about the stiff neck. The body still hasn't adjusted to the collar and is sleeping on it the wrong way. He smiled... which one pointed out was not the correct response at all. So feeling stiff and sore and sick... that is the defence... one asked if He would massage it in the shower. He actually has very talented fingers. The trouble is just as it is feeling good He loses all interest and stops.

Peering over His breakfast, eyes gleaming brightly, he says sure. But there is a price. There always is, but one was happy to pay it... or so one thought. Now this was how one ended up being mashed into the tiles as He drove repeatedly into one's arse with hard thrusting strokes. That is not what this is about...

This is about the fact that the arse fucking lasted way longer than the massage.

It hardly seems fair L

Random stupidity

We were both reading a flowery, schmaltzy piece on monogamy. In fact the piece even went to looking deep into your partner's eyes as you made sweet love. It was sickly enough to make both of us uncomfortable... in fact one small slave had to stop reading. He of course took the path of least resistance and deflected with...

Monogamy? You could probably make a paddle out of that.

You know reading Fet together is not a good idea... it gives a sadist way too much material L

It feels like...

This is the first morning that has the tang of autumn on the air. It is crisp, cool and quite perfect. The morning is quite at odds with how one feels though. There is a deep feeling of annoyance and restlessness slipping around under the edge of the skin. It makes you feel like you are smiling on the outside and would cheerfully take a knife to anyone standing in front of you. It must be something in the air... the cat bit His mother as she went past. Sighs she has already had one tetanus shot courtesy of the cat...

The cat is growing bolder too now that it has worked out the dog is no more. Before when you put her out the back door she used to shoot between the bars of the pool fence. This was an odd behaviour given that she used to beat the crap out of the dog on a regular basis... and go down to its end of the house to do it. Now she saunters around the back yard... tail in the air... a small and vicious queen in her domain.

Unlike the cat though, the cause of this feeling is not the quiet pleasure of winning. This is the feeling one gets before circling around the downward spiral of a mild depressive episode. An episode brought on by a mild dissatisfaction at work and the lack of sex. See for us sex is communication. It is intimacy and connection and most importantly it is the best anti-depressant one has found. Unfortunately Skyrim has robbed one of that drug... in fact one could lay claim to a widow's weeds... except they are kinda dull J

After four weeks of very little sex one is left scratchy and cross and difficult and cranky and... With scales that are starting to lift and clack. If one had had wings they would be starting to unfurl ready for the flight of the dragon shrew...

Sighs but as one is supposed to keep that famous temper in check it turns inwards and begins the downward spin instead.

Fortunately He came home and taking one by the wrist dragged led one off to bed...

You know that old joke about how do you have sex with a porcupine? The same applies to sex with dragons...

He chose the sneak attack... which while dirty pool was probably a sensible approach.

So soon the feelings of aggravation will pass... until one gets to work at any rate. Let's be honest, going to work never improves anyone's disposition J

Tales from the other side

You know, one remarked coming out of the bathroom, although one will deny ever saying this, the new collar is very comfortable. It's lighter, it doesn't get in the way so much because it's finer... you almost forget it's there.

A look of distaste/ disappointment/ annoyance flitted across His face.

Smiling one scampered off to bed...

Putting His head around the door to say goodnight, one turned to say goodbye and the damned collar snagged one across the throat. OK it reminds you it's there one grumbled... when you least expect it L

He smiled and said good! I don't want you forgetting it's there. Looking pleased and delighted He went to work...

Bastard!

Bloody collar!

On the sly

Lying on the bed contemplating getting up, one of those American TV court shows was playing in the background...

Not Judge Judy which one confesses to a secret enjoyment of, but another one which isn't so enjoyable. Mainly because the judge keeps trying to pretend that they are in a serious court of law, rather than providing the entertainment that they are supposed to be doing.

The attention was snagged by the case of someone complaining that the drops she was slipping into her husband's food were not increasing his sex drive at all. In fact they were a dismal failure and she wanted her money back.

Meanwhile He had wandered in and we were both curled up engrossed in the drama that unfolded. The husband, whether it be the truth or retaliation on his wife for dragging him into court to be publicly humiliated in this fashion, blithely confessed to sleeping with someone other than his wife. A move that lost his wife the case... along with any credibility to her claims about the non functioning nature of the product.

You know if he wasn't performing there are probably way better drugs on the market one remarked. If it is a lack of desire then hormone replacement is available. Of course if that was an example of their communication, where one of them goes around slipping drops into the other one's food, it is probably an indicator that there is something seriously wrong with the relationship.

An odd look flitted across His face.

You would secretly drug one in a heartbeat wouldn't you?

Well how else would you know if it actually worked and wasn't just a placebo effect, He replied.

Dear gods, menopause is on the horizon... if this is an indicator of the level of care one can expect... where is the slave union rep?

Changes

Some of you may have noticed a change to the background on some of the photos... from our purple walls or wooden table to a blue or grey colour. Well that is because our lovely purple walls are a shit to photograph and colour correct. They change with the light and basically refuse in any way to cooperate and let us not mention the glare from the wood J

So... in the pursuit of better pictures one small slave was given an Optex Portable Photo Studio and Lighting Kit for Christmas. It is ideal for photographing small and important items, like shoes, to share on the blog.

It looks like a medium sized box, that can be shoved under almost anything for storage, and it pops up to make this handy table top studio. Light bulbs go in either side to give even lighting... unlike our place J

A camera can be mounted on the small tripod and off you go... easy Optex.

Fleeting thought for the day

You know one has just realised why one feels no connection to the collar. It's simply because one hasn't earned it. See we did this for a while and He liked the idea of a permanent one and et viola... before you could say wink it was slapped on. Little did one realise that it was going to be for years and years. As you can see there was no process, no earning of it, no time to forge an emotional connection born of desire...

Maybe what needs to be done is for it to be removed until such a time as one feels these things... and begs for it back J

The truth

Truth is a strange thing. It has almost magical powers to make things go away and to bring all kinds of shit raining down on us. See the trouble with truth, as one remarked elseweb, is that while it is the first thing people ask for, it is often the last thing they want to hear. Truth is an uncomfortable thing.

It has the power to make us look at ourselves and our actions. It calls our beliefs into question and it can make us question our sense of self. Now you would think that would be a good thing, a chance for personal growth and improvement even, but as any whistle blower in history can tell you that is not usually the case. It is a sad fact that people don't usually handle the truth very well at all.

People are far more likely to turn on the truth teller, than to examine their behaviour. This response is a shame because unfortunately it doesn't seem to stop there. What usually happens next is their friends start striking defensive postures as well. In the end this response to truth costs friendships and feelings. It causes loss and pain because perhaps worst of all when a truth is told, you can't take it back. It is insidious, worming its way through all barriers and illusions with the ferocity of an avenging angel... the mean, sharp sword wielding kind.

We all have truth tellers amongst our friends and we know what they are like... brutal and often what we perceive as tactless. Oh we try to mitigate their worst excesses... we try to impose social niceties like if they don't ask, don't tell and concepts like people sometimes need to be protected from the truth. But at the end of the day they are amongst our friends because we know somewhere along the line we will need them. They are the human line that stands between us going out in those pants and us choosing not to.

At the end of the day perhaps what should be done is not to ask truth tellers to lie by omission, but to think about what we are projecting into the universe. Don't ask people to not judge, but consider what we are telling people and maybe keep our own council a bit more. And if you think that makes you feel shut down and repressed, imagine what asking a truth teller to not tell so much of the truth feels like.

Why should we ask more of others than we do ourselves?

This morning...

Is brought to you by residual crankiness and...

Grumpy

 

                                   Some more than others 

The arrival

Well the new collar arrived today... just in the nick of time.

He held it up and said I think there is a problem. It looks awfully small.

No that's about right one replied, checking it against those that had gone before. Half an inch makes all the difference between turning the head and doing this (mimicked raising a bar) without having the air supply cut off. Oh and you fitting your hand in there and one small slave still breathing.

He looked vaguely dissatisfied at that last one L

Putting it on one realised why everyone always raves about the stealth collar. There wasn't room for so much as a hair in any of the joints and due to the closing screw being inset from the bottom, the top has a smooth almost unbroken line. It is a lovely bit of work and one can't recommend the maker more highly. There are emails to let you know that the order arrived, to let you know when it is being made and when it is posted. Honestly if a few more online companies were this efficient we would never use shops again.

The collar is lighter than the other ones and slightly finer being only 1/4 inch. Of course He didn't let one keep the rather pretty O rings that came with it... shame really... they looked rather dainty. Instead He made one put the heavier one that has been used since the beginning, saying I prefer it look like what it is. He would... he doesn't deal with the dickheads people one meets. Well He does in a way; he gets to laugh as one whines about them...

Bastard!