Well it had to happen

After putting it off for a long as possible one finally bit the bullet and went through the bras. After the cull there are now exactly three bras that fit and one that sort of does... providing you squint just right. There is a shelf full of corsets, both the lingerie and the more exotic lace up kind, that one is frankly too scared to even try on.

This is heart breaking... not to mention devastating to the wallet. There are bras in a bag that have been worn once, never worn but are without tags and brand new with tags. Thousands of dollars worth... all too big L

The body moved from a 38F to a 36FF and then to a 36F before settling on a 36E... right after one had just forked out for the 36Fs. Unfortunately, loath though one is to spend more money, the breasts are still too big to be allowed to roam around in an ill fitting bra. So out came the wallet again...

As it turned out we had to get Him some new work pants 'cos the new work shirts have finally arrived. He no longer looks like a pirate, but the work pants had taken on clownish proportions. As we were scampering past Simone Perele a bra caught our eye. Now one small slave hasn't darkened their door for a long while. Although they do up to a G (an Australian F) cup they are notoriously thin strapped and only have two hooks and eyes on the back. They just don't give enough support and sometimes looking fabulous is just not enough... well not at their prices

Standing there transfixed like a bunny in headlights... there was a small and very unladylike trail of drool creeping along the chin... one made inarticulate gargling noises

He bent down and said go and see if they have it in your size...

Don't wanna spend that much money on a bra that might not last more than a few weeks

They might not even have it in your size He countered in a perfectly reasonable tone

Well it is very pretty...

Go and see He whispered

And so one meandered into the shop and all was lost

Shhh... if you listen very quietly you can hear small whimpering sounds and it's not one small slave.

The bra while a good fit was too big around the back so it has been sent to Melbourne for alterations. Oh there will be pics. That bra makes the breasts look... spectacular J

Joy sucker!

He wandered into the bedroom as one was settling in for the night and asked do you love me?

Yes

How much?

Lots and lots

Would you do anything for me?

Nope!

Well, that isn't very nice He said, sounding hurt

Don't have to. Been reading on Fet and it says that not having limits is wrong, and dangerous, and not very smart and will ultimately lead to you being an axe murderer... or worse

I can fix that He replied

How?

Oh not them. You being on the net

L

Bastard!

Not such a Good Friday

He came home and we scampered around getting into gym gear before trotting off to the gym for a run. Well one of us ran while the other slogged up an imaginary hill... rather a steep one judging by the sweat forming on His brow. After torturing ourselves we returned home with dancing visions of a good breakfast, a leisurely shower, wild kinky sex and maybe a snooze. Sighs really we should know better 'cos life just isn't happy unless it is tossing some random spanner in the works.

In this case the spanner took the form of no power and weather creeping towards 30 (86 F) degrees. It seems Mother Nature didn't get the memo that it is autumn and is trying for a very long summer instead. So we sat there for a few minutes before snuffling around in the fridge for anything that could be eaten without heat. It was a very short list... He got the last of the ham while one small slave foraged in His mother's fridge for the fish cakes that she had offered as we left the house. Sighs in that dancing vision they were topped with fried, runny eggs... oh well at least it was food.

Well one declared, at least we can shower.

Not for too long He admonished. If this power doesn't come back on soon I'll need hot water for another when I wake up... make sure you don't drain the tank.

You know that man has a talent for sucking all vestiges of joy out of things. It's like a natural talent... all effortless grace L

Getting out of the shower one realised that the body was starving. The fish cakes while yummy... she does them with a curry mixture in the fish... were more than a little deficient in protein. And there was a singular lack of caffeine too...

In a flash of inspiration one remembered that our corner store can make coffee and their signs had been on when we passed them on the way home... so they must have had power. So off one scampered in the pursuit of coffee to help take the mind off the stomach that was screaming for food... sometimes even on small slave can't face a protein bar that early in the day.

It was a happy woman that returned triumphantly through the door bearing liquid gold. To find that the power had not been mysteriously turned back on and everything was heating up in a very unpleasant manner.

We sat there eyeing each other off...

Well I'm going to bed He announced. Are you going to come and join me?

Meh suppose there is nothing else to do...

Well that's lovely He said affecting an injured tone... which we both knew was bogus. That man wouldn't turn down sex, no matter how indifferently it was offered J

So we were lying in bed cuddled up next to each other masturbating... it was too hot to attempt anything more creative... when suddenly He stopped. Grasping a breast in each hand He applied a vice like grip on each nipple and pulled

Master?

Yes He said, as though he was actually interested in what one had to say

And honestly what one was going to say was that hurts. At least that was what was going through the mind. Of course what came out of the mouth was a sigh... well more of a whimpering sob.

It was at that moment that He leant in even closer and said cum for me

And the stupid, treacherous body did

He didn't stop there...

In fact He applied more pressure and said keep cumming

For the first time in its life the body obeyed quite independently of its free will. To the point that one actually said OK can you make it stop now?

He laughed and said right after you have climbed on my dick and made me cum

Mutters you know one can't help but feel that one might have been conned with that last manoeuvre 

The rabbit's revenge

Easter is upon us and one thought it might be a good moment to look at the star of the show... the chocolate bunny.  Now not being a great chocolate lover one doesn't get too excited about this time of the year and frankly as a former country girl, one firmly believes that the only good rabbit is... well dressed and on the table or turned into something useful... like an Akubra. Needless to say one doesn't find the lure of an Easter bunny quite as irresistible as some.

So one was only mildly interested when He bought home a copy of Women's Health because it proudly claimed to contain "12 ways to burn off that chocolate bunny"... or so the cover promised. The interest in the magazine waned even further as one looked listlessly through pages of skinny models (who frankly looked like they could do some work other than avoiding their dinner plates) and page after page of ads promising to make one younger and firmer and more beautiful... if only one would use their miracle cream, unguent or potion. Sighs there was a time when it used to be a good magazine.

Thumbing through the magazine one finally found the article... Coulon, Crystelle. "Burn Bunny Burn!" Women's Health April 2013: 92-93. It was easy to miss as it was only eight suggestions, of which only two involved chocolate rabbits. Though in fairness there was a full page picture of a rather chunky chocolate bunny exercising on its bike in a gold foil bib and brace outfit. Obviously someone thought it was more appealing than the rest of the article. Frankly that bait and switch approach to journalism is one of the many reasons why that magazine leaves a lot to be desired. Anyway one does digress... as always

The gist of the article was as follows...

To burn off one small Lindt rabbit will require you to do... 60 minutes of running at a moderate to fast pace. Yeah if you are running at that pace then you are not going to be snuffling through tinfoil chasing the rabbit.

One small egg (about 40 gm or 1.4 oz) will need half an hour of tennis... and one assumes they don't mean sitting down watching the game. Shame really, if they could have swung that it might have saved the article

A small (20 gm) egg will require 16 minutes of walking up stairs... preferably holding your water bottle above your head to engage the abdominals. Are they freaking kidding? As a fit person one would be loath to tackle that... how the hell is the average person meant to achieve that as an exercise?

It was a handy how to get rid of the Easter indulgence guide... well we think it was supposed to be helpful. Both of us were a little unsure after reading it. To be honest we found it was more a scary indicator of how useless exercise is as a way of offsetting bad eating habits. And frankly Mr Rabbit has never looked more repellent than when tacked onto that much exercise. Maybe that was what this was all about... payback for all those years of eating rabbits... chocolate or otherwise. That or maybe the author was taking up where Beatrix Potter left off. Either way Mr Rabbit will not be sticking his chocolate nose around our door any time soon J

Quote of the week

I am very lucky to have you. You are my special slave

Is that like has own bus special or more like snowflake special? And please be aware that neither one is better than the other nor an acceptable answer

Sort of a mixture of them both He hazarded 

Mutters honestly it is a miracle that the man is alive some days K

A small health warning

When you are in the shower and the boss comes in and says bend over and touch your toes...

Don't be a smart arse and actually do it if you have very low blood pressure

It seems the heat of the shower and being fucked in the arse in that position makes the blood rush to your head. Standing upright doesn't seem to improve the situation one whit... in fact it makes the blood pressure tank completely

Though He didn't seem to miss a beat K

Bastard!

Gifts from above

We were in the office as one was going through the winter skirts to see what is worth taking in and what will never be in the wardrobe again. Sometimes a skirt just isn't worth the hassle or time and sometimes altering them will change their overall shape too much. Sighing with resignation one commented that with an hour glass figure finding well fitting skirts was always something of a challenge. This was always the problem when one was younger... by the time they are a good fit everywhere else they are huge around the waist. Jeans were even worse with their gaping backs... at least they make a demi-curve jean now so it isn't so bad.

He looked up from the computer with that calculating look in his eye. So what size are you now He enquired

That focused look should have been a warning but...

Like a lamb to the slaughter...

Umm... probably between a 10 and a 12 depending on the manufacturer one answered absently, still thinking about skirts and how one was going to alter two fabulous purple skirts.

He perked with a sudden keen interest. As soon as I have some spare money I'll start looking for that Wonder Woman outfit He said, looking way too happy

Mutters why doesn't one feel the least bit rewarded? 

Sun, sand, sweat and sunburn

Waking up later than normal one tottered to the computer bearing mouse and sat there drinking it peacefully. He was not home yet needless to say. The plan had been to go for a run before He got home, but really it was too late. At least that was what one thought... the body had other ideas.

The peace turned to a listless sort of energy and before one knew it, gym gear was being hauled on along with trainers and off one small slave trotted to the gym to squeeze in that run. It was a small and dripping slave that waited to greet HIm at the door. In fact there was a rivulet of sweat that was quietly dripping off the tailbone... ugh! To be honest all one was mindful of, as one knelt there naked and waiting, was getting His shoes off and getting to a shower. Bad, bad slave... again

He came home and suggested we walk down to breakfast at the waterfront and poke around the markets...

The man is an instinctual sadist L

So off we trotted in the cool, grey light that threatened rain... again. Mind you one of us did suggest we take our bus passes just in case it did turn nasty... which as it turned out was somewhat prophetic.

That overcast day parted as we hit the corner to reveal scorching sun and heat that beat down on us and enveloped us as we scampered along. In fact our t-shirts were soon plastered to our bodies and we were wishing heartily that we weren't wearing jeans. But the lure of breakfast drove us on... well that and the fact that there wasn't a bus due to take us home for another hour. So onwards we trotted, hot, sticky and cursing the change of weather, until we reached the coffee precinct.

It was an area that turned out to be a seething mass of people and their small dogs. You know one has mentioned in the past that one doesn't understand why people insist on bringing their dogs into heavy foot trafficked areas like markets and today it was no clearer

They love their dogs He said.

Is that why they torture them like this?

No, it's why they want to include them in their day.

Apparently He had read an interesting study on dogs and why they have achieved such a successful level of domestication with humans. It seems when a dog looks you in the eyes that it triggers the same emotional response as when you fall in love. People literally fall in love with their pooches.

Well that certainly explains their almost stupid behaviour... and bestiality. It certainly doesn't help dodging the small yappy things as one is trying to get through a cafe door L

As it turned out the dogs were trying to warn one small slave that the food, while generous, was largely indifferent... not to mention expensive. Maybe one should learn to speak dog... though the fact that it was the only cafe with spare tables and chairs should have been warning enough. In our defence though, by that time all we wanted was the sanctuary from the sun that the cool darkness of their interior offered.

Even though it was too late by then... the sunburn that one acquired during the walk will last for weeks.

Oh well, at least we had bus passes to get home with...

Another downside

He came in as one lay there with an upturned arse... quietly plucking eyebrows and minding one's own business... and straddling one small slave with those long, lean legs He snuggled up as close as he could get. There seemed to be a lot more air between us than there used to be. Sighing contentedly one snuggled up against Him. That was, as it turned out, a bad move...

Sensing his prey was relaxed He sat upright, pinning one against the bed with those legs...

To deliver a couple of those double handed spanks on ones upturned derrière, with enough force to raise a shriek of protest from His victim.

Dammit those hurt a lot more since losing weight

Really He said, sounding surprised

Down the hands came again... crack, crack

Owww one squawked in protest while squirming around... heh can do that now His legs have got thinner... to confront the abuser. You are a mean, mean man one levelled at Him in aggrieved tone.

Really? I was just making sure He said, sounding completely innocent

Mutters it hurt the first couple of times... it didn't need a repeat in the name of science L

Hopefully

The last few weeks have been chaotic with shift changes at work, having to spend more time and money than we had replacing our wardrobes... well two or three times in His case... and all of it conspiring to ensure that we were never home for more than a couple of hours. Hopefully that has come to an end and we will settle back into more familiar territory. That is to say having the sex that we prefer... with the odd pics to prove it.

Now why is one putting this out in the universe you may be wondering... given that the universe has a rather perverse sense of humour and that this is just tantamount to asking for it?

You know that wonderful state when you look at the calendar and it is empty... sort of... and full of wild possibilities...

Well one wishes to have a reminder of how that moment felt, before having large objects shoved in one's arse ruins all the optimism J

The curse of the t-shirt

As He has moved through his wardrobe, his little school chum has been the major beneficiary of the cast offs. Though for the record one must state that someone who is barely five foot something does look a little strange in His long cargo shorts. It is hard to work out if they are short longs or long shorts on His friend, but one is erring on the side of looong shorts. The friend of course fell in love with them and all their handy pockets... enough to overlook the fact that he nearly trips over the length. Men are such strange creatures...

As He has moved out of the larger sizes and is working his way towards a medium, his Tuesday night vanilla has become the lucky recipient of the clothing bags. See all along this process one small slave has been washing and folding and sorting clothes into bags with people's names on them... some of those clothes still had tags on them He has marched through them so fast.

And may one just say that his friends face lit up like a Christmas tree when he found a Judge Dredd t-shirt in the bag.

In fact it was pulled out of the bag and worn with an almost childlike smile wreathing his face. This was in spite of the fact that He was also wearing a similar Judge Dredd t-shirt at the time. Honestly it's a good thing that we weren't going out anywhere together... it was slightly creepy in a mini-me kind of way.

Now where things went a little wrong was the other night when one was putting away that other... now freshly laundered... Judge Dredd t-shirt and realised that one couldn't find its mate. The identical one to the t-shirt worn ... and judging by the look on his face is probably still being worn... by His friend the other night. Though his wife might have managed to prise it off his body while he was asleep... maybe

Searching for the missing t-shirt revealed it nowhere to be found...

How in the hell does a t-shirts disappear like that?

You can almost sense what is coming next can't you?

Yes that's right...

The message just came back from the vanillas... one small slave gave the friend the wrong Judge Dredd t-shirt. That is to say the large not the extra large shirt... which must have found it way into the bag for His little school chum by mistake. Worst of all one can't find another t-shirt anywhere on the net... well not in His soon to be size... in that design

As one sits here waiting to tell Him the good news that his missing t-shirt has been found, one can't help but feel that the argument that it was going to be too big in a couple of weeks won't hold much weight...

He's Scorpio... very Scorpio

Sighs it's been lovely knowing some of you...

A day in the life of...

The other week ancilla_ksst wrote about her day... and frankly it was exhausting just reading it J

It did however, make one think that it might be a fun meme to pass around... A day in the life of...

So here is what a typical Wednesday looks like round here

6 am The alarm goes off with unrelenting urgency and an escalation of sound, as fingers frantically fumble around searching for the bloody off switch

6.05 One small and bleary eyed slave shuffles out in the general direction of coffee

6.12 Finds one small (and still bleary) slave sipping coffee and proof reading the days blog post... it does nothing towards improving grammatical errors, but it does give time for the eyes to stop trying to squeeze out the bright morning light... before posting it

6.30 Breakfast of sausages, eggs and toast is under way while one rips apart and rinses off the four lettuces that will make up the basis of an assortment of salads over the coming days, clean off a packet bean sprouts and make a packed lunch for one

7 am Breakfast is served followed by cleaning up the kitchen before jumping in the shower and getting dressed for work

7.45 Evacuate the premises to go to work, putting on makeup as He drives along

8.30 Start work which is interspersed with lunch and two snacks until the finish of the day at 5.30 and wait for the bus

6.45 pm Arrive home, haul off the uniform and heat up some chicken saag and vegetables for dinner before changing into gym gear

7.30 Hit the gym for an hour of weights followed by a quick 10 minute run

840 Run home narrowly missing yet another bloody shower

8 45 Haul off the wet gym gear and scarf down a couple of passion fruit, some low fat cheese and some spicy chorizo as it is being cooked ready for His breakfast while flicking through Fet

9 pm Put a load of dishes in to soak while having a shower before doing them

930 Make Him breakfast and pack his lunch before cleaning up the kitchen once more

10.30 Feed the cat who can no longer be ignored as it tries to rip down the back door and totter off to bed

Tomorrow will look depressingly similar except it will start with coffee before running at 6.30 am until 7.00 and coming home to cook breakfast for one and wash, rinse, repeat... without the weights at night... which will leave more time for cooking food

It's completely glamorous isn't it? J

So unfair

You know there really is nothing worse... well there may be, but on this particular morning there wasn't... than stumbling to the computer, clutching coffee and finding things like this on the screen. As a rule one is sort of exempt from a lot of these sorts of toys due to that pesky latex allergy and the fact that most of them are too big to fit. This one seems to overcome most of those issues

Sighs why can't those creative types be a little less... well... creative L

Date night

Or why you date dragons with care

We did something so very normal it was almost slightly surreal. Putting on some spiffy clothes... in His case before they get too big... we went out for dinner. A dinner might one add that was unbelievably good. So good in fact that He cleaned up an entire days worth of protein in one serving by the time he ploughed his way through the steak, prawns and calamari... not to mention all those beer battered fries.

Personally one opted for a very good Guinness and beef pie with a side of colcannon (for those of you without a childhood filled with comfort food it is a mixture of creamed potato with onion and cabbage) and soda bread. Oh my god in that one mouthful of colcannon it was like stepping back through the years. It is strange how some foods do that... Mind you in those days one could eat like that and not end up the size of a house. Sighs happy, happy times...

Anyway He wandered down to his mother's end of the house to say we were going out... more of a courtesy than anything else. Now most normal people would have commented on how good He looked and boy did he look good. She of course while lovely, is not normal. Oh no she commented that He was spending too much money on clothes and he needed to stop losing weight...

Needless to say one small slave went to have a chat with her...

And she knew she had done wrong. She looked up from her large packet of chocolate coated coffee beans, saw the look on one's face and nearly choked on the damn things. As one pointed out to her being depressed about her own increasing girth is not an excuse to project her depression onto her offspring...

Yeah you are getting an idea why people find one small slave so... confrontational at times.

But we had a lovely night out and He looked so damn young and lean that one felt like the queen of jungle... well very cougarish at any rate J

Sunday morning...

We were lying in bed and one noticed how big a rib cage can now be seen on Him. In fifteen years one has never seen ribs on Him and the sheer size of them was staggering. Reaching out to explore them... OK there might have been a little prodding involved... enough to make Him recoil in fact. Of course one just had to do it again... more than once

The retaliation was swift and brutal...

Before one could even scream red... for all the good it would have done... one was rolled over and His hand descended on one's upturned arse... repeatedly.

He is a mean, mean man. Who seems to be under the impression that violence is the way to controlling bad behaviour. It was with a heavy heart one set out to explain the error of His approach... seriously no one likes to tell their Master they are doing it wrong...

He said, in that slightly bored and reasonable tone, that it was very effective. Apparently the fact that one had ceased and desisted the bad behaviour was proof of that. As one pointed out He was again in error. The good one of us was the only thing holding the bad one back... see Geminis... always that duality of nature going on. There was a war going on and the burning bottom was only factoring into the good behaviour of one of us.

He suggested that what were needed were more beatings. To which one replied that rewarding the good ones behaviour might be far more successful. Actually what one said was that He should add the odd carrot to the repertoire...

He suggested the carrot, a cucumber and a strange assortment of other vegetables

Sighs honestly the man is beyond all help. If He isn't going to accept the guidance of his slave on these matters how is he ever going to improve?

Chicken fetching

Oddly enough this is not some new fetish, though it did come up in connection with our lives. That virus that kicked off the beginning of the week came back... well tried to, but the aggressive amounts of Vit C and Zinc seemed to put it on the back foot. It has however, left one with very difficult taste buds... one's that can't face the thought of red meat and still want flavour, but don't know what they fancy, but still have a long list of things that are yuck... You are getting the idea.

So it has been a week of very bad dining on foods that normally would rarely darken the doors. See it is an odd fact, but the body has no issues with eating things when sick, that would generally make one utterly sick if eaten under normal circumstances. Anyway coming home this evening one found Him at the computer, looking very bleary and rough around the edges. It seemed that his body had decided that five hours sleep was all He needed. He was not of the same opinion... Before tackling that issue though, He offered to take one up the road for some chicken.

Looking at Him with deep suspicion one wondered what the catch was

Smiling sweetly... well it was more of a leer... He said, just put on the chicken fetching skirt

Chicken fetching skirt?

Well it raises a lot of cock

You know it is bad enough that He thinks that denim skirt... oh who are we kidding, it's a belt... is suitable attire, but the jokes?

Mutters there are so many things that would be hard limits if one was in charge... that sense of humour would be the first thing on the list

Status update

It's not ours, but our vanillas. They have taken the healthy life to a new level...

They have quit smoking

Are up at 6 am exercising

And are pulling clothes out of the back of the wardrobe

His cholesterol has dropped to single digits

The snoring that was wrecking their lives... well the sleeping together part of it... has stopped

The caffeine has almost been eliminated from their lives

OK now we have known them for... what... going on five years? See one doesn't just forget our anniversary... it's quite across the board. In that time they have been inclined towards endless cups of tea, cola, cigarettes and they have been strictly nocturnal in their leanings.

We are starting to wonder who they are...

Their children must be terrified

He, of course, just smirks like a proud parent. Like a lot of people who enjoys... adjusting people... he can be... well he doesn't really care if its friends or loved ones'. In the real world there are ethics committees to protect people from people like Him. Round here we are on our own. Sometimes He uses his powers for good, sometimes he uses it for... well adjusting hem lengths

Oddly enough they seem to be far more grateful than one small slave  K

The curse of google-fu

Or why you will be ordered to do menial shit for Master when you have it

It was a glorious day and we kicked it off by going for a run. Well it was more of a slow stroll for the one of us, who was being kind to the body after the virus thing. To be frank one managed to crank it up to a pace any geriatric would have sneered at. We had breakfast together and started to get ready for work. Well one of us was going; the other was playing chauffeur at His usual perfectly reasonable rates.

And that was where the fun began...

Him finding something to wear

First off He had the trousers and the sneakers nailed and then he moved to the t-shirts...

That was where it all went horribly wrong really...

There are t-shirts in the wardrobe that the trousers were bought with in mind. Except somewhere between last week and this His body had dropped a t-shirt size. He is now too small for most of his large ones... unless the company who made them used that particular street urchin, who seems to be handed around amongst some of them as a size model... and too big for a medium

The whole thing is unfortunate 'cos all the t-shirts He has been waiting to wear... for years in a couple of cases... peers around furtively and whispers 15 years those things have been taking up space... are now too big. He sort of missed that boat... or it missed him to be more precise.

That was why one spent the evening tracking down a particular t-shirt all over the net

You know this whole slave thing is far more glamorous than people realise. Mutters can't imagine why it isn't more popular K

Do(es) a little dance

Well the day dawned, way too early as they are want to do, and one stumbled around getting ready for work. He was driving one small slave to work... yay... so there was a whole extra 20 minutes this morning. Most of which he seemed to take up with putting on his shoes. Never in the history of dressing has there been anyone slower than Him... think a small child who doesn't want to go to school slow. It is enough to make one insane just watching it.

First there is the selection of the shoe. Actually it starts with the socks. They are pulled out, carefully inspected to ensure they are indeed a pair... they are all white socks... the same brand of white socks. Then there is the putting on of the shoe and straightening the tongue just so...

You know He said conversationally, over tying the shoe laces...

It's those bloody double knots that take the time... that and evening up the lace loops before He ties them in those knots... and the measured pulling of the laces so that the pressure is even...

You were very lucky that you were sick last night otherwise you would have been rudely awoken...

See while He was acquiring several sets of knight armour in a range of colour ways... he couldn't make up his mind which one he liked the best... and killing off what looked suspiciously like dinosaurs to one's obviously untrained eye... one small slave slid off to sleep.

Those oysters made me too turned on to sleep He explained, in an aggrieved tone

Now here is a small and probably quite useless factoid. Oysters may be considered an aphrodisiac, but it has never been proven. However, they do contain high levels of zinc which is essential for testosterone and are also high in D-aspartic acid and N-methyl-D-aspartate (which have been shown to increase testosterone in rats). They do seem to have quite a profound effect on Him... mind you he gets hard if the wind changes, so one is inclined to consider this a possible placebo effect. Anyway, He had the oysters because they are a wonderful zinc boost to someone fighting off whatever bug was ailing his loyal and faithful companion. The one who was asleep as He was armour shopping...

So off we tottered to work where one was delighted to find that they had conned someone else into doing next Monday and Tuesday. So no working six days straight... Yay!

And He was feeling too sick to work himself, so he picked one small slave up as well... Double yay!

Now all one has to do is pay for all these courtesy rides...

And the interest incurred over the weekend due to being too sick to put out

And the penalty rates for leaving Him too horny to sleep... yes it might have been self inflicted, but one had paid for the oysters... so obviously it's all one's fault...

Bad, bad slave...

Who is now the indentured sex slave...

Probably for the next lifetime given His compounding interest rates

Wonders idly if it is actually safe to go to bed tonight...

Bleh...

The day was spent on periodic bursts of housework interspersed with a nap.

Still sick, still miserable and still whining...

Come back tomorrow when no doubt one will be far more entertaining...

Maybe.

Oh and on an unrelated note one owes a couple of you emails... haven't forgotten you, just too damn sick this weekend (well ours at any rate) to sit and do them.

Words fail

Somehow the day started with being upended on the couch, as He unloaded himself into one small slave before he went to the gym. Sliding into the newly vacated office chair before it had time to cool down one took a cautious sip of morning mouse, while catching up on some reading, only to noticed that the mouse had a rather strange taste. It was then that one acknowledged that the throat felt raspy and checking around the body revealed sore limbs and a headache. Crap! That could mean only one thing... some bloody virus had taken up residence

He came back to find one quietly sulking in the chair. You see one has exactly two days before returning to work...

They have put one on a Wednesday after taking the Sunday, the favourite shift of the week, off one on head office's orders. All senior staff has been deemed too expensive, now that they have to pay us penalty rates. This has caused all sorts of roster complications 'cos we are in an industry that is not noted for qualified juniors. In fact one is expected to run across six days the following week 'cos they can't cover the shifts (there are a couple of people on leave) any other way. It is ironic that the only day off next week is Sunday...

Sighs there really isn't time to be sick so the body has the next two days... it has been informed of this fact in no uncertain terms...

Taking up residence in the office chair and reading yesterdays post He said, you should be more grateful that I provide you with all this material for your blog. See your god is also a bountiful god. Be grateful for the bounty that I bestow upon you. All I require is that you dress in the appropriate sacrificial I mean ceremonial robes and worship me in an approved manner.

Ummm... thank you Master?

So if you will excuse one small slave she is going back to bed... to be sick in between loads of laundry and washing up and worshiping her god rolls eyes

Highlights and lowlights

You are a mean, mean man one levelled at Him over breakfast.

And vengeful... don't forget vengeful He added helpfully.

That went without saying... utterly unnecessary to even mention it

Oh I have the perfect t-shirt for you He said, still radiating helpfulness. It's one of those fundamentalist ones...

My God is a vengeful God!

Is one small slave alone in thinking that an atheist describing himself as a god is somewhat disturbing?

Later, when He came to pick one up from work, one of the work colleagues stopped him in his tracks and said there is something different about you. What is it? Have you lost weight?

Now the colleague is one of those people who rarely stops to notice anyone or anything else unless it's in her way, so for her to even have noticed anything means the change must have been pretty dramatic.

Yes I have lost weight He replied. As though getting accosted in this manner is perfectly normal... actually thinking about it for him it is these days.

Fabulous she said and went on to ask Him what he had been doing as one drifted away off into the background

Bitch hasn't noticed or asked if one has lost any weight... in fact virtually no one at work seems to have noticed. Mutters damn the work uniform must be unflattering...

Later as the migraine cranked it up another notch, dancing around the medication to do so, the desire for food with flavour intensified to a scratching, burning need. He very kindly took one to KFC for some illicit spicy chicken. Oh the chicken is fine... it's that spicy coating with its lethal dose of carbs and fat that is forboden. There was only one catch... that denim belt skirt needed to be worn.

So let's see...

The skirt is...

Only for round the house

Only for round the house and a few readers

Only for round the house and a few readers and for car rides

Do we see something of a progression here people?

And you thought one small slave exaggerated about Him being like the tide K

Recognising your own kind

The age old question in this world is always how do I attract the right mate. So we have developed all sorts of complicated rituals in an endeavour to do just that very thing, many of them involving dress. Some of them are so ingrained that we don't even know that we are doing it. Subsequently some people probably flag themselves without realising it...

A woman hopped on the bus this morning and the first thought was, probably a dyke. Now what lead one to that conclusion was the gaydar going off... see one might have been excommunicated from the sisterhood, but that doesn't dismantle the damn thing. There was also the visual clues including, but not limited to, her being short on hair, short on dress sense and wearing jeans and a leather jacket both at least one size too big. Now you are thinking that she just might have been very short of style and you might be right.

Some people just have an unfortunate look. Many moons ago we had a friend that had that look. We used to call her gay bait. You could plop her down in a gay bar and it was only minutes before she was being swarmed. She had the right look... which was unfortunate 'cos she was as straight as a die. But she did like to dance and drink... and lord knows the lesbian community in this part of the world likes to drink.

While others do it quite deliberately...

We might snicker at the clichés of the people wearing leather chaps to the dungeon and at the ridiculous dress stipulations that are needed to get in... must wear fetish gear... why is that even necessary. You're in a dungeon, surely you are all there for the same reason. And then the thought crossed the mind... well it does stop strangers wandering in by mistake. You can pick them off at the door. So it is like a signalling device... just used in reverse. You must wear a costume to enter this ride...

Of course none of this helps in the real world, where wearing leather chaps is probably considered a strange thing outside of certain parts of America and Sydney... of course in Sydney there is usually nothing on underneath... and even then only in certain areas at certain times. So we are left with imperfect systems like verbal and written communications, where we get to hope and pray that the other person isn't going to be offended or take what we say the wrong way...

Thinking about it it's a miracle that we ever get laid at all... let alone find the right mate. 

The bad thing...

You know how just last month one was commenting about the good thing in relationship to boots... well there is a bad thing. The rest of the lovely high heeled black boots, that are a staple in a winter wardrobe and were such a perfect fit last winter, are now... well... a bad fit. They sort of stick out from round the tops of the calf and make the leg look wonky.

This means that one is going to have to go on the great boot hunt...

It's right up there with bra shopping on the list of least favourite things to do 'cos it is so hard to find great fitting boots when you are petite and still have leg muscle...

Though He did rather fancy these when we were out the other day...

Mutters can just see those with a denim belt skirt K

The peacock and the peahen

Running into people we know has taken on a slightly surreal air of late. They stand there open mouthed at Him, gasping you are half the man you used to be. Oddly enough it seems to be the men who do it... maybe we just know more of them than women. He of course preens appropriately and basks while one small slave stands there, no slouch on the weight loss stakes, completely eclipsed. It's like being slightly invisible.

This has not been aided by some other features of Mr. Peacock. He looks taller and younger. Everyone says so... and it is true. His wardrobe has also become more colourful... and gods know it takes him longer to get dressed than ever before. It is also interesting to note that sales assistants are starting to flutter around Him, rather than doing the sales assistant duck*.  There is also a lot more hair touching and smiling going on... something one gets a clear view of from the background.

Meanwhile one has become smaller and the clothes shorter, but the colours this season are somewhat sombre. None of this is aiding the feeling of being dowdy by comparison. In fact one calculates that by the end of this process one should no longer be a peahen but a chameleon... capable of blending into almost any background surface. The perfect foil for His peacock...

* The sales assistant duck is a patented avoidance manoeuvre done all over the world when confronted by a customer that you know you can't fit... or you have had run ins with before and have mentally labelled as too much work for too little return.

The erosion of comfort

Today is not a good day by any stretch of the imagination. That bloody skirt started the tail spin. In the past eight weeks the skirts have shot up about 21 cm (8 1/4 inches). Unfortunately the comfort level has not shot up to match this staggering figure. And it sure as hell hasn't shot up the additional 14 cm (5 1/2 inches) to meet the latest hike.

See there is always a problem when His views clash with those of the outside world and one small slave... and yes one gets that his views are the only ones that count. Unfortunately one also has to live in that outside world. As one spent a not inconsiderable amount of time trying to explain to him, when you are a middle aged (well if one is middle aged, then one can expect a telegram from the queen... and will be the first member of the family to do so) old (yeah don't like that word either... a few years off) mature woman it is not considered seemly to potter around with your skirts up round your fluffies... if you have any.

He of course understands what one is saying...

He just doesn't agree with it.

Sighs so here one is... living in fear that the new shorter skirt length will become the new normal...

He swears that isn't the case. It is strictly for round the house...

Now you are all probably wondering why one has such trust issues aren't you. Well the trouble is that one does trust Him... to push things until they are where he wants them to be. Paranoid you are thinking? Oh hell yes and let's look at the evidence shall we...

We need a picture of the skirt for the blog so one suggests a nice little pic with the ruler so you can see how unreasonably short it is

He shoves one it and takes the pic... so one small slave can see how good the legs are looking 'cos that is obviously the issue rolls eyes

In that click of the camera only for round the home has stretched to include a few viewers

Already that bench mark has been moved... subtly, but moved nevertheless

This is how things are done around here. It is like a war of attrition...

And all of this nestles against the complex backdrop of wanting to make Him happy... shhh one does strive for this... when he least expects it... and the knowledge that one isn't supposed to fight him... well not quite so hard. Besides He usually gets what he wants... really one should just learn to roll over... it would be so much easier.

So anyone want to bet that come next year when we scamper off to the water park one is wearing an itsy bitsy bikini, a fake tan (so as to not blind some innocent) and that skirt?

Anyone?

Anyone at all?

'Cos you asked for it

Yesterday one mentioned that there were some new additions to the wardrobe and some of you wanted to see them. Now we were busy today... going back to the city to return His boots for the next size up... hence the lateness of this post. He made the rookie mistake of buying boots at the beginning of the shopping, before the feet had time to swell. So one small slave was slung off at a street corner to scamper off and exchange them.

Anyway for the curious here are the items in question. Now colour may not be quite true, all joking apart one does understand the issues that the creators of the shoe catalogue have. Reds and purples are notoriously hard to reproduce. Add to that there is no sun... actually one hasn't seen sun in nearly two weeks. When it is out one has been at work. Gods this must be what it feels like to live in the Northern Hemisphere. No wonder some of you have such high suicide rates L

 

Mind you that denim belt skirt doesn't make one feel all happy, happy, joy, joy either. It was never bought with the intention of wearing outside of the house. For some reason it just seems to give Him a perverse thrill to see one potter round in it. Seriously, one is buck naked most of the time, but that doesn't seem to interest Him half as much as being able to catch a glimpse of nudity under the "skirt" or bending one over a bench and yanking it up out of the way. Men are such strange creatures K

Edit: Excuse the pic placement and what have you today, Blogger refuses to cooperate in any meaningful manner. This was the improved version rolls eyes

You don't always get what you want...

Ages ago in one of our wanderings He picked up a new pair of Converse for his captured breeding programme and one small slave picked up a rather odd coloured dress. Well it was rather more of a body stocking with sleeves than a dress, but the breasts look fabulous in it. Today we went in search of shoes to go with the dress, which was when, as He was getting dressed, we discovered that he had picked up the wrong size... boy was he miffed to find out they didn't have them in his actual size... but we will get back to that later. This is all about one small slave and shoes... well it was supposed to be at any rate, but now we are getting ahead of ourselves...

The plan was a quick viper raid into the city to go to the favourite shoe store. Now what sparked that was the shoe porn they sent one via the mail. Honestly whoever shoots their catalogues should be doing porn. They are that talented that they manage to make a shoe look positively sexually inviting. Though if you were buying shoes via their mail service... let's just say some customers are in for a very rude shock when they open up their parcels.  Their colour reproduction leaves a lot to be desired. That was why one went in to see them in the flesh... so to speak.

On the bright side an extremely expensive pair of dark chocolate brown boots did not follow one home... due to that unfortunate colour reproduction, they were more milky than chocolate...  so one did save some money. It almost made up for the parking... two hours and $30 later. Why you may be wondering did it takes so long to do a viper raid on one shoe store? Well you had better ask Him...

The one who was being impeded by the new shirt and jacket and oh yes... the new pair of boots... that were slowing his getaway.

Anyway off we set to the discount stores to buy one an off colour pair of shoes to go with the odd coloured dress. A pair of shoes that one had no great desire to spend oodles of money on as they are probably only going to be worn once... maybe twice 'cos they are going to go with nothing else in the wardrobe...

Not even the denim belt skirt that He bought one. Oh you think one small slave is exaggerating? The damn thing has a one and a half inch zip. It barely grazes the cunt and if there was hair... it would look like a fringe at the bottom of the damn thing. It is the most pointless bit of clothing ever...

He thinks it's sexy K

Anyway He exchanged his Converse for another two pairs... that only took forever as he vacillated between colours... and one did manage to find something to go with the dress. Why is it that the pair of shoes that are bought purely for colour always turn out to be the most comfortable things you own? What is with that? And why do they never seem to be available in any other colour?

Sighs some days the shoe gods just hate one small slave and it's so unfair. It's not like one forsakes them... hell there is a shrine to them in the study... all 50 odd pairs of them (after the last cull) and still they turn their backs on one. Shoes are angry, vengeful gods it would seem L

The upshot

At the beginning of the holidays He reinstated  the rule about having to ask for permission to pee.  It nearly drove one mad. Right in the middle of doing something, when the urge hit... and bear in mind one does drink nearly three litres of water a day... one would have to find Him, ask permission, wait an eternity for an answer and then scamper all the way back to where ever it was one had been. At one point one did gently enquire if He was bored with the rule yet... you know purely for his comfort of course. It seemed He was not L

The whole two weeks that went on and on and on. It was annoying as hell. Not that one let on of course 'cos that would have just added to His pleasure. And that is not in the job description at all... well it shouldn't be.

Anyway for the two weeks one had to run and ask it was a conscious thing... need to pee... must ask Master. This went on until the end of the holidays and one needed to go and He was asleep. It was in that moment that one realised the mind had internalised the have to ask thing. It wasn't a conscious thing anymore, it had become almost like a reflex.

Now, one knows this because in that moment of realising He was asleep there was this little oh shit moment. The moment when one realised He wasn't available to ask for permission. And there was this little moment where there was a blind panic. How was one supposed to pee?

What happened was sort of a schism in the mind. Blind panic at not being able to follow an order and the rational part of the brain going well He's not available and he will not want to be woken up, so you will just have to do what you would have done before the rule was reintroduced. Go to the toilet...

And then there was a little moment of pure, unadulterated joy at the freedom of it all...

Bad, bad slave... who of course immediately forgot the rule from then on...

Until yesterday evening when His rather bored sounding voice... gods one just hates that tone... it never bodes well for one small slave... drifted in from the other room.

Don't think I haven't noticed you not asking permission

Oh really one said, desperately trying to sound as guileless and innocent as possible. Thought that was just for the holidays... didn't want to bother you. See really one should get that good slave award... one does try to make His life better... easier...

Oh it's no bother He said... not even bothering to try and sound sincere

Sighs bugger...

Now if you will excuse one small bad slave the urge is strong. And one does so like to get these things in before He comes home and we start our weekend. Sort of a free shot, so to speak J

Bones...

No not the TV show, though one will admit to being rather fond of it... perfect sleep inducing programme that it is... just the right combination of voices and no scary music sound effects, but one digresses. This is actually about bones or rather how damn sore they are. The ribs are killing one at the moment and it took a while to work out what the hell was wrong. It would seem that without their little fat covering, they are simply rubbing on everything; bras, the bed, during sex, handbags and the lunch bag (well all that food needs a serious lunch box and another shoulder bag of its own). The silly thing is when one was younger you could count every one of them and they were never this sore... obviously they build up a tolerance to contact L

That reduction in fat has also had another rather unpleasant side effect. After the leg work the other day one was nearly crippled. Don't laugh... one actually had to use the corner of the shower and the hand basin to lever oneself off the toilet. Mutters this does not bode well for the future... but it might be something to consider if we ever move... is there room for a railing near the toilet... hmm. The legs just couldn't do the job unaided... and although one hadn't done the work out for a while, it shouldn't have been that bad. Hell it's never been that bad before in all the years of working out...

The reason?

Well one suspects that without the little spare tire in the way, the legs are doing a much deeper squat. And add twenty kilos of bar to that squat...

Sighs this is the sort of shit that they never warn you about L

Logic fail

It is no secret that one likes nothing better than to drift off to sleep with the TV on. There are a raft of preferences; predominantly male voices (something about the sound of them at a low volume is particularly soothing), not too many ads, the ads need to not scream when they come on (not soothing at all) and so on and so forth. Things like Law and Order are perfect to sleep to, as was Perry Mason in its day. There are whole seasons that one has no idea what happened in the end... and one can live with that. Just as some children need their blankie to sleep, so one small slave needs a nice soothing show... well not needs, but prefers. It often doesn't happen when He is home. Mr Sleeps Like the Cat... you know one eye half open... well his ears swivel in his sleep and the noise is disturbing L

Needless to say when He is on night shift one small slave has not only free reign of the king sized bed, but of the TV as well. So along with the other little night time rituals, is finding the perfect show to go to sleep to. Some nights one has more luck than others and some nights the ads cause more problems than good. It was as one was drifting off that an ad caused some minor issues...  

At the moment they are running ads for a dating site that prides itself on finding people their perfect mate. They achieve this by "using science and personality profiling to find potential matches"... think that is probably code for really long questionnaires and some spiffy algorithms.

We, the viewer, then get to listen to these hopeful people awkwardly declare how successful the process has been for them and how perfect the people they have met are. And all one can think, when listening these ads, is...

Well they aren't that fucking perfect 'cos you are still single

And then one starts to wonder...

If you are going out on all these perfect dates...

Why are you still single? What is wrong with this foolproof system? Is there something wrong with you... or them? And why have you got to be that age without meeting someone? How impossibly high are your standards?

And why would anyone want to use this obviously flawed system that has failed so many times...

These questions and others do not aid sleep at all L