Just...

For everyone else this is the best time of the working week. It is nearing the end of it. For us it is the worse time as it is our mid week. By this time we have got to the stage of a quiet desperation of loss and a crawling, aching need to be with each other.

Instead we get to see each other for an hour in the evening. It is just long enough for us to stumble into each other; both of us sleepy though at opposite ends of the body clock, grope each other with idle threats... on His behalf at any rate, the other one of us wouldn't dream of doing such a thing... before stumbling apart... one of us heading to work while the other heads to bed.

By Friday we just miss each other... horribly L

It's the little things

Anyone who has ever been in any type of long term relationship will tell you that it is the small kindnesses that make the wheels go round. It's the small thoughtful acts that go a long way to smoothing over the gaps and glitches that pave any long cohabitation with other people. At work it is the work colleague who doesn't spray their manky perfume in the lunch room while you are eating your lunch, who puts away what they used and cleans the bench down so you don't have to... the list is quite endless.  Our intimate relationships are no different.

Even He, from his lofty exalted position, does the occasional random act of kindness that just makes one small slave melt. Little things like coming home, late due to a missed bus, and finding that He had peeled the prawns that were going to be dinner... all six of them. And He took time out of his morning, at the cost of going to the gym, to stop and find one a shoe horn so that the ridiculously tight unbirthday boots (that he had bought) could be eased on...

They are a fabulous fit it's just that with high arches come a high top of the foot that just wouldn't flex enough to get the damn things on

Of course it is also the little things that make our relationship not quite vanilla...

Like the way He picked up the shoe horn, hefted it thoughtfully in his hand and then delivered a series of stinging whacks with the damn thing.

Hmmm... that's quite good. I think you can hang that on the whack rack He suggested helpfully.

Like hell! That bloody thing is going as far from His reach as possible. At least the next room L

Forsaken

Apparently He has the latest episode of the Valleys downloaded for us to watch

There should be laws to protect the innocent from this kind of torture...

God help...

Oh wait if that's Him... as he would like one to believe

And He's the perpetrator...

That's it! Another convert to atheism

No doubt He will be thrilled that one is joining him J

Completely non-consensual

He has a secret addiction... which we will return to in a minute. Round here when He gets involved in something, everyone else does too. He just has to share... rather the way some do the common cold. Only it's a bit more deliberate...

Of course round here one has the whole proximity thing to deal with as well...

There is no escape.

And what is the latest horror to cross our doors you may be wondering? It's a TV show called The Valleys. It follows the hopes and dreams... by which one means the assorted delusions... of a group of young people as they try to escape the Valleys of Wales to make it as stars.

If you can imagine all the attendant violence of a road accident and combine it with the worst natural disaster imaginable, you still wouldn't be coming close to the horror that this show represents.

OMFG!!!

This show represents the death of TV... or it should

He thinks it's the funniest show on earth

L

'Cos you asked for it

One happy snap of Him...

Taken in the garage (hence the crap lighting) 'cos He is too tall to get in the shot otherwise... couldn't get back far enough in any other place and he wouldn't sit on the stool for some reason...

Oh and don't come running to one small slave complaining when this becomes the gateway pic to cock shots K

Revisiting George

This morning one awoke with clear lungs and a completely blocked nose. Taking that as a sign from the body that it wanted to go running... honestly it is the best defence against allergies and sinus issues... one small slave reluctantly hauled on gym gear and running shoes. It was reluctant because one deeply suspected it was going to hurt far more than would be pleasurable. As it turned out that belief was mistaken...

The run was fabulous though short. Coming down of the side of sense it was only two miles, but the lungs remained clear and there was no pain at all. Maybe the upside of the running is that not only was the illness not a severe as it would be normally, but that the recovery phase is much quicker too. Either way it left one floaty and at peace with the world... and able to breathe again J

You know I can't believe you didn't like Julian He said skimming through the blog after he got home. He was my favourite character and obviously the leader of the group...

Yes, well you are rather like him...

The others always deferred to him He said, warming to his theme. He was the brains of the group, the go to guy and let's be honest; no one wants to be Dick. And I always thought Anne was the better female character. She was obviously prettier than George.

Suddenly things started to become clearer...

Where we went wrong was that George ended up with the insufferable Julian when He wanted to be with sweetly submissive Anne

Well perhaps you should have got an Anne rather than a George one replied tartly

Oh I've had them and they always end up broken He replied, looking slightly mournful around the whiskers. No, I figured it was much better to get a George and retrain her...

Yeah wonder how that's working out for you K

And so it begins

The latest update to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, the DSM-5, put out by the American Psychiatric Association has delineated happy kinksters, who do BDSM for fun (paraphilias), in a separate category from those who do it to cause distress or harm to others (paraphilic disorders). That is the underlying message of the very specific language that they have gone to great pains to create for this event. And many are heralding it as a new beginning for kinksters.

It will be the beginning of far reaching changes in law, courts and social attitudes. Mind you it will probably take years before it pays real dividends 'cos none of those wheels turn with any great speed. In fact most of them are notably slow to change. But the seeds are about to be planted.

And where does all this good news leave those of us who don't regard this as some sort of power exchange or play and those of us who blur the lines of consent, often on a daily basis, you may be wondering? Ahh... well we are where we have always been. Just outside of the umbrella...

Mind you it does mean we can move just that little bit further away from those who call themselves kinksters...

That can't be a bad thing surely?

Dear Enid Blyton

As a child the adults in one's life had a firm non-censorship of reading material policy. That is to say if one was curled up with a book they never thought to ask what it was one was actually reading. And it was probably just as well 'cos most of it was not age appropriate. Let's be honest where is the fun in that?

Now most books came to one in round about ways. Mother always had books; well she was a school teacher, so the house was always full of them. Auntie always provided comics... with cash liberally inserted so one could afford to eat... meals were often in rather short supply with mother. Grandma would just buy books that one fancied (again regardless of intended age) and everyone had massive book cases jammed full of more... inappropriate reading material. 

That was how one ended up reading the Marquis De Sade at about 10 and living on a steady diet of Denis Wheatly and Mills and Boon (courtesy of auntie). Uncle's book taste ran to massive gardening tombs and historically inaccurate adventure... yes let's call them that... stories. Collectively their reading tastes were often sexual and somewhat lurid thinking about it. But that is not what this is about...

This is about a book that grandma bought one when we were out and about somewhere. It was age appropriate and sat on one's book shelf quietly forgotten about for quite some time before one got around to actually reading it.  It was the first of the Famous Five books and frankly one was most enamoured with them. Oddly enough one wasn't quite so enamoured with most of the characters.

In fact one thought Julian was an insufferable know-it-all, Dick was largely forgettable, poor long suffering, submissive Anne... well let's just say she was a contributing reason to why one never wanted to be a mother. Well her and the other rather dodgy role models one had. Honestly one used to read about her rather disturbing need to wash dishes and tidy up after everyone and feel an overwhelming urge to push her face in a cream bun.

George on the other hand was a character one could relate to. She was unrepentantly boyish, free and smart enough to not want to do housework voluntarily. Now she was worthy role model. More importantly she was one who wore the same rather boyish taste in clothes. Well dresses were never any use when climbing trees and eeling in the local creek or cycling or horse riding...

In fact George gave one hope that ending up like sweetly submissive Anne wasn't inevitable...

And you know thinking about it...

Much of the trouble that one small slave finds herself in can be attributed to that hope...

So really much of this is Enid Blyton's fault...

Sighs yeah thanks for that...

The eagle has landed

Realising that one couldn't stay at home for another sick day...

What is it with the modern work place that we are so understaffed that sick people can't actually take off their accrued sick days? He has weeks worth racked up and some of the girls at work have months of it.

One small slave staggered back to work. It was not exactly a triumphant return, though the errant work colleague has returned from her trip completely determined to go back there. They had a fabulous time J

She, ever tongue in cheek, bought one back a picture frame from Universal Studios. Her thought being that one could put a picture in it for Him... Umm... don't think she quite realises what type of pictures He takes. Or maybe she does...

The thing is though that one doesn't own a single picture, not even of Him. Personally one has always been loath to have them... it's a unique combination of being quite camera phobic and not having family. The thought always was if one died some random stranger would probably have to go through them and throw them out. It always seemed a bit pointless having them.

But as it stands if He was to suddenly drop dead there would be no pictures of him. Except for those rather scary baby photos His mother insists on hanging in her hallway. Oh and His (and his siblings) graduation photos that peer at you all bright and beamish from her lounge room walls.  What is it with those sorts of pictures?

Honestly one doesn't understand it at all. But then one was brought up with nice solid English pastoral scenes depicted in oils and equal numbers of pictures of the Queen and God. So it was obvious to the casual observer that one was not favoured over the other.

Of course at home with the parental units no wall was wasted with art when it could be covered with a book case or some bit of Chinese pottery or porcelain. Sighs no wonder one is inclined to nudes... it was the only way to offset such an upbringing.

So yes... maybe it is time to shove Him in front of the camera for a change...

There's a nifty stool that He could be tied to...

'Cos like most keen amateur photographers He is camera shy too

Why is it that in this relationship one of the camera phobes gets shoved in front of the camera regardless while the other...

Oh, yes, of course...

Silly slave

Mourning a loss

We have been together about 15 odd years... taking a guess here as one is, as some of you know, somewhat vague about anniversaries and the like. That is a long time to be having sex with the same person. After that amount of time your bodies learn to work together. You know how your partner feels, where they are as a spatial relationship... all sorts of intimate things that make sex work with the charming predictability of familiarity. All of that changes when they lose a lot of weight.

At this point He has lost about 38 kilos (just under 84 pounds) and officially weighs what he did when we met (give or take a couple of kg). Except... that is where the similarity ends as He does not resemble that beamish boy from our past at all. There is more muscle and a lot less fat. Gone is the puppy fat that marked His youth and our beginning. Gone to is the layer of comfortable fat that covered everything, from the tips of his fingers to his toes and marked our middle years together. He has stripped down to a long legged, lean athletic frame, which neither of us suspected was there.

Sitting astride Him there are hip bones ghosting along the bottom of one's thighs and one can feel ribs rubbing along the inside of one's knees. Lying under Him there is nothing between us except air and ribs. During sex He reaches places he didn't before and grinds against things that had more padding once upon a time. That solid weight, that comforting sensation of being pinned to the bed by a familiar body... it's all gone. In fact He feels like a complete stranger in bed.

It is rather disconcerting, made all the more so because He does not seem to be having the same experience at all. Apparently one feels just the same...

Well you have always felt sort of solid and muscled, so there's less of you but... He petered out seeing the look on one's face...

See time together gives you that capacity to read your partners facial expressions... often too late to stop you putting your foot in it, but...

Three fucking dress sizes to feel the same! Grrrr...

All of this loss is of course placed up against the gains. The sleep apnoea has gone along with the hypertension, the diabetes, the snoring and the faint noise that could be heard when He breathed due to a deviated septum. A condition that has ironically seemed to clear, which may be due to running theoretically resulting in reduced inflammatory proteins in the nasal cavity. In bed He has the stamina of a 17 year old...

So really there is only one thing to do...

The best way to get over an old love is to get under someone new J

Threatening behaviour

On Sunday night one small slave went to sleep with the threat of being used unmercifully if one woke Him up coughing. It was the best night sleep of the week. There wasn't as much as a peep out of the lungs, let alone their usual barking, hacking cough. Figuring the end of the chest infection was nigh one scampered off to sleep last night for another good night's sleep... or so one thought.

It was not to be. The minute the head hit the pillow the cough started. Hell it even woke one up several times to do encore performances. That was kinda strange... 'cos He was the only audience and he was most certainly not demanding more. It was so bad He didn't even try the sex thing.

This morning found us both bleary eyed and sleep deprived. The worst of it is that one is left unsure if it was the sex or the threat that achieved the good night's sleep the other night...

What is a slave to do?

Asking for sex isn't the problem...

The problem is what if it was the two prong attack?

'Cos let's be honest no one in their right mind is going to go up to Him and say please Sir, would you be good enough to threaten your slave...

Seriously the self preservation thing hasn't left the building completely

Insanity

They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome...

Over at the SW group it has been a week of "I fucked up, help me" posts. Skimming through them there is often other common themes...

They had a rule that they broke, he got pissed and dumped them and they don't understand what happened and where it went wrong...

Consequences people, is what happened. Where it went wrong? Oh that one suspects is a slightly different thing.

Now it may be that in their world there aren't actually consequences to their behaviour. Well not one's that they have enough insight to work out are actually connected, or it may be that growing up there weren't any consequences to breaking rules... well not one's that actually sunk in at any rate.

Mayhap they hadn't worked out that he had this strange notion that obedience was mandatory, rather than a whim of theirs.

It may be that they just aren't used to men who don't heel the way they have grown accustomed to.

Perhaps they didn't understand the rules, well not as he intended them at any rate.

Maybe it was an excuse to move on before his wife found out.

Or perhaps neither of them was particularly good at communicating needs and expectations.

And perhaps, most unpleasant of all, he was a complete dick and they had a lucky escape. 

Whatever it was one can't help but wonder why they are always surprised pissed off have a tanty flounce deactivate their account when people point the obvious out to them...

They fucked up

A fact that even they had mentioned when they wrote the post

Maybe the definition of insanity is not repeating the same mistake and expecting a different outcome, but answering your own questions and expecting to like the answers...

When psychological warfare turns...

As most of the readers here are aware one small slave is very sick at the moment. Oh the body is putting up a monumental fight; in fact it hasn't completely succumbed to the inevitable annual bronchitis due in part to that increased lung capacity one suspects. It has however, killed the capacity for a good nights sleep leaving one tired, emotionally drained and utterly, utterly exhausted. It has also killed our sex life for the moment.

Oddly enough even He recognises that sometimes one needs oxygen and sleep more than one needs to be receptive to his particular brand of relentless charm. There's been a sort of uneasy cease fire in place. A cease fire that has left Him with more free time on his hands than common sense would dictate wise. And what has He done with this time you may be wondering?

Ah well as some of you know He has an unhealthy interest in electricity. Unhealthy for one small slave that is, who hates anything zappy with a passion... a rather noisy passion that has been well documented. So in one's emotionally vulnerable state it was something of an unpleasant surprise to find this left, ever so casually, up on the computer when one awoke after five fraught hours of dozing in between coughing fits.

It was like the first rocket coming over your head when you thought negotiations were proceeding in your favour...

In fact hostilities resumed in full when He came home...

There was the usual soap and sodomy shower scene and a rather fraught sex scene later on in the day. It was full of what, to the untrained eye, would look rather like rape. There was lots of no and struggling... in fact one almost made it out of the room.  All of it proved to be of no avail... 5'3" is not going to win against a determined 6' even if the 5'3" is small and vicious and equally determined L

The coughing that ensued was fierce... mind you so were the orgasms... so much so that one suggested sleeping on the couch that night so as to not disturb Him. It was an offer that was waved aside graciously... with caveats. If He got woken up by it, he would take advantage of the situation with... you guessed it... more acts of involuntary sex. Obviously sleeping on the couch would have been more sensible, except the weather conspired against one small slave. It turned unseasonably cold with frigid, dry air that was just bound to make for a miserable night in the much colder lounge.

Rock meet hard place K

Obviously one has been deemed on the mend...

That or He wants to make the most of the coughing before it is too late. Apparently it makes for interesting sensations when He is buried deep in some little... very little after the cease fire... orifice

Bastard!

Death rides a bike

Standing at the bus stop this morning the usual swarm of cyclists shot by. Round here they hold a special place in the hearts of the local motorist... and no bloody wonder. This morning though one zipped past not wearing the traditional cycling gear. A lone maverick in the midst of a sea of bright lycra, sponsorship logos and well known name branding...

He was wearing form fitting black lycra...

With a skeleton emblazoned upon it.

It seemed strangely apropos to a dying woman standing there watching them go by. Not to mention it was probably a nod to the danger of the sport K

Life on an outer ring of hell

At the moment the body has a new party trick... wake up at 4 am and start trying to expel a lung

It has also added a migraine for full effect

And best of all one still has to go to work 'cos there is no one else to do the shift

All we need now is for Him to develop man flu or worse, Master flu and hell on earth will be complete...

'Cos He will want one small slave in the nurse costume to complete his recovery process

Grumbles that bloody present had better be spectacular L

In related matters

The upside of being sick is more time to read. When unable to breathe very well the gym is the last place one can be found, which frees up a whole hour in the evening. There is a silver cloud to be found everywhere it would seem. That is how one has found oneself on the third book of the Kushiel's Dart series and it is starting to feel like a HBO series. You know... less nudity and sex, but there is escalating violence with every passing episode.

It's still a romping yarn, but one gets less sure as to why the series inspires so many to give name to their proclivities and scamper off to ye local dungeon. Mind you one isn't that much of a masochist... which may be colouring the perception. Even so, the less than sanitary conditions that the heroine is currently residing in are... disturbing. And not in a good way might one add

OK not that much of a masochist and something of a cleanliness freak it would seem J

Confidentially speaking...

When you are sick...

Work sucks!

That is all

Oh, and the bloody work colleague who started this had better bring a nice gift back from America to make up for it J

A path of discovery

One of the many strange things about this weight loss, mainly because a strip down diet largely targets fat deposits, is the strange places one finds on the body. Like the deep groves that form in the crook of the elbow when the arm loses more weight. They sort of smooth over and vanish after a couple of days. Until next time... and then back they come. 

There is a groove appearing along the thigh that has never been there before. Even at twenty kg lighter it was never there. And sharp pointy elbows... never had those before either. Oh and the beginnings of bony knees... they are something of a surprise.

Probably will be to Him too when he runs into those one dark night...

That brings us to Him... and his nasty cold hands. See He has always been delightfully warm... something of a human hot water bottle. Not that one was actually allowed to use Him like that. In fact there is a strict no cold feet rule which just sucks. Since the weight loss however, He feels the cold. In fact His rather prodigious collections of jackets, which one thought something of an affectation in this climate, are going to be essential this winter.

Meantime there are those cold hands. Freezing cold hands that He keeps planting all over one's warm flesh making nipples ache, the clit disappear and flesh goose bump in response. Acts which are accompanied by slightly maniacal laughter might one add

Sighs only He could turn a disadvantage into a weapon L

Relationship styles

He hopped into the car bearing a bag of assorted treats including a bag of nuts. Seeing one's eyes light up He clutched the bag a little tighter and said "mine"

There is no "I" in team one retorted smugly

This is a dictatorship not a team He replied. And there are lots of "I" in dictatorship

Mutters two isn't lots...

God dodging

So, you going to worship me, He enquired from the study after reading yesterdays post

The only thing being worshiped today is a bed and maybe some paracetamol. The loose collection of symptoms of the last week has coalesced slowly, but surely, into a chest infection. No surprises there, but it will be interesting to see if all the running pays off.

You know I think you mock your god sometimes was His despairing reply

Yeah well that whole getting dressed thing killed the mystique. Generally when a god appears they are fully clothed... the whole thing's a bit more tah-dah!

Oh I'll appear... the next time you have a shower

Needless to say one small and frankly very sick slave took great care to shower while He slept. In fact there was a lot more avoidance through sleep perpetrated for large chunks of the day.

Wonders quietly if He is a vengeful god...

'Cos at some stage there will be a miraculous recovery...

Sanctuary? Has anyone found that damned sanctuary yet?

The god complex

Or texts from the edge...

Waking up to a bad head, blocked nose and a throat that felt like razor blades were still firmly lodged in there one did the sensible thing and sent Him a text...

Lift please please

No prob look fwd to seeing u

You are a god

Kneel b4 me and worship

Why is it all paths round here lead to one small slave being on her knees? Honestly between work (where some fool designer left a three inch gap under all the stands that everything rolls under) and home, one spends more time on them than seemly L And why does a confirmed atheist seem so at home with the title of god? That first one was more rhetorical in nature, but the other one seemed worthy of asking...

To which He replied all gods are created by people worshiping them.

So you're saying that this is all one's fault?

I am your creation He replied, flashing that almost lupine smile

And on that unsettling note He resumed getting dressed. An act that one was somewhat relieved to note still required Him to put on trousers one leg at a time.

The blame game

How was work He enquired, as he stumbled out of the bedroom

Work was hell, made worse by the fact that one is now as crook as a dog... a small farewell from a work colleague, before she skipped off on the trip of a lifetime, which has got worse since Saturday

He made frantic warding signs with his fingers

Don't try and avoid this. It's all your fault

He carried on making warding signs while cowering behind them. Somewhat ineffectual against someone who was in the middle of making Him lunch one suspects. The contact spread of germs is well documented. He's as good as dying... he just doesn't know it... yet.  In fact He made some weak arsed argument as to why it was all one's own fault

Don't try and duck this. You promised a three day weekend of deep and meaningful communications... er that's code for lots of sex. And at the time one did say we shouldn't discuss the idea out loud 'cos the universe just delights in screwing with our plans.

See really this is doubly His fault... first he put it out there and then he flaunted it

He does not see it that way at all

Sighs sometimes He is completely unreasonable K

Relief

He was still asleep so one small slave slid into the shower for a quick sluicing off before bed. Round here showering needs to be well timed... otherwise bad things can happen. You know like the pipes playing up, hot water running out... getting trapped in there by Him. As some of you know... peers around and whispers furtively... showering is a dangerous business round here.

So there was one small slave, all sudsy and slick, enjoying the hot water cascading over sore limbs when He emerged. Standing there pretending to be invisible... well there might have been a small eek of surprise... one waited for the worst. He walked past, smiled, used the toilet and washed his hands. And then left the room...

The man must have been half asleep or completely off His game... though the water did run a little cold while he washed up. There was no door reefed open, no brutal sodomy with soap as lube... In fact He used the toilet rather than peeing all over one small clean slave. Maybe He's coming down with something...

The giggle for the day

His long awaited t-shirt arrived today...

He is not amused

Snickers quietly...

Bad slave K

One dark and stormy night

Well His t-shirt did not arrive in time and one small slave had a pile of clothes to re fold and hang, but he did look very hot as we scampered out the door... yes you guessed it... running late. There would have been some quick snaps of us, but as we got ready to leave it got dark and then absolutely bucketed down with all the fury a sub tropical climate can produce. Needless to say our only thought was get into the car and on the road to our vanillas before we were any later. Traffic goes a little insane around here when it rains.

We all had a fabulous dinner in Chinatown before joining a queue of people to get into the venue. And then it got rather strange...

We were carded by someone old enough to be our son, grabbed a drink and He headed straight to as close to the stage as he could get with us all in tow. So we settled into wait, shouting above the music how strange it was to be in a venue completely free of the pervasive smell of dope. Actually it was completely free of any type of smoke whatsoever... which to a non smoker was something of a blessed relief.

Then, with little fan fare, They Might Be Giants emerged to do what could only be described as an intimate rock concert...

Seriously the venue only holds about 400 and it wasn't sold out, so there was no massive crush in what would have been a mosh pit at any other band. The crowd was largely His age and incredibly polite. There was no crush, no surge, no bottles rolling around on the floor... just diehard fans that had aged with the band. There was however, a massive amount of heat generated from all the bodies so one small slave, who had ended up surrounded by tall people, slipped out from the crowd to stand on the edge of the action.

Securing a place by an open window, where the sound was particularly good rather than just loud, one spent the time with a cold breeze on the back and a wall of radiating heat on the face. It was actually rather a pleasant sensation. And best of all there were no tall people to block the puppet show...

Yeah there was a puppet show in the middle of it...

This did provide a stark contrast to music that made every organ feel like jello it was so loud.

It was a great show; the band gave it their all which was rather a pleasant surprise. Often when bands are touring they are tired of their old music and tired of touring. But they attacked their music with gusto, interspersing their new material throughout it. They came back for two encores to thunderous clapping and stamping. They worked their arses off and the fans were thrilled. What more can you want?

Predicting patterns

It was a day that was entirely too domestic. Housework, mostly laundry... how do two people go through so many socks... and tidying up a mound of discarded clothes. OK that last one was mainly caused by one small slave trying to find something to wear for the show tomorrow. There was success in the end, but it was at great cost.

The trouble with a new wardrobe is that things are bought as separates with the view to making an outfit. Sometimes things that were bought to go with something else work in theory, but not reality. The trouble is that you don't know until you physically try them on. And occasionally find along the way that the fabulous top, that was such a good fit, is no more. Sighs rather like that leather mini skirt L

He of course is not so organised, holding out in the vain hope that the post delivers a t-shirt he wants to wear. There is no plan B or even a secondary backup plan. The man just makes one twitch at times. How does He live like that?

Mutters you wait, as the organised one of us is trying desperately to get into the study to retrieve the clothes, He will be smack dab in the middle of it all... trying on t-shirts and footwear and changing his mind about jeans. And then, just as one has given up all hope of getting dressed, He will waltz out looking fabulous to complain that we are running late and enquire why it is that one isn't ready K

Twitch, twitch, twitch...

More notes from the edge

The morning started with a run and ended up with being brutally sodomised in the shower. For the record His icy cold hand (what was up with that it wasn't even that cold this morning) on a very warm clit feels like the worst kind of torture.

(Insert other mostly domestic type stuff here... Shopping for a Mother's Day present, which is next Sunday here, finding an amazing pair of snake print jeggings (there goes Word again and one refuses to enter jeggings into the data base on principle) that one really doesn't need and spending the evening playing His latest acquisition Legendary a Marvel superhero card game. See how one small slave is tortured???

Oh and there was an incident outside a clothes shop when He threatened one with a t-shirt bearing the word "Brat" on it. Not a brat! As one pointed out to Him it's more a form of civil disobedience than bratting. He remained unmoved by one's argument explanation.)

The day ended with cum on the face...

Oh and squeaking "clean hair" is not a safeword.

Who knew? 

Respect

When He comes lumbering out of the bedroom ready for night shift, one small slave usually greets him with some chirpy little version of good morning.  All hail glorious Satan is a personal favourite, but of late good morning skinny bitch seems more apt. The thing is that neither seems to amuse Him as much as they do one's good self. In fact He pauses on the threshold, blinking in the bright light, looking more like he would reach over and smack one if it weren't for the distance one sensibly puts between us. Hey that survival instinct isn't entirely dead J

You know one is half tempted to join one of those M/s groups and ask for advice...

How should you greet your Master upon his awakening?

The only trouble is that one suspects some wag will suggest asking Him. They usually get there quite fast when dispersing their wisdom. And really that isn't where one wants to go... at all.

We all know that His preference will have one listening for his alarm clock so that one can be kneeling waiting for his emergence, preferably naked... and winter cometh

No, think one will just have to figure this one out all alone...

Much safer J

Dance little lady

He was trying on a new pair of jeans... an activity one was taking a keen interest in. Right up until one needed to pee. Being well trained... cough, cough... one asked permission all nice and polite

Thought you wanted to see these on He grumbled

Well yes, but right now the need to pee is greater

Seriously there is this whole hierarchy of needs and you know something, it's interesting how your own body prioritises things completely differently from your lord and master

Nope you can just wait He said, taking his sweet arsed time about shaking out the imaginary creases in the jeans

Umm... kinda need to go... now!

Seriously one could have been and returned in time for the floor show by this time

Well you can just dance until I've finished

Sighs the whole thing did prove that His constant whining about how long it takes to do up a button fly is just nonsense... it takes waaay longer to do up one button and a zip K

What's on...

Some people read in bed as an aid to falling asleep. Personally one has a strict no books in bed policy. This is because, if the book is good, one is quite incapable of putting it down, turning off the light and going to sleep. No, one small slave is the kind of person who promises just one more chapter and as the dawn starts breaking on the horizon realises that the whole sleep thing just got bypassed. Now when younger that wasn't a problem... these days the body has some annoying need for sleep L

So last night the Kindle was left firmly on the bench as one reluctantly yielded to the body's insistence that sleep was an essential need. What caused this reluctance you may be wondering? Ah well for a change He put an engrossing little book on it, rather than the deeply disturbing and darkly misogynistic offerings that he normally loads up. He put on it a bit of BDSM porn, admittedly very soft porn, in the form of Kushiel's Dart.

Now as a rule one avoids these sorts of books mainly because they are crap... let us remember the 50 Shades of Travesty for a second. Hmmm... Maybe not... shudders quietly. Anyway let's be honest they are usually poorly written, even for pulp. This one however, is engrossing and quite a good read. Though one remains unconvinced that the pace manages to sustain seven books... we shall see.

This book is often cited as the reason some got into BDSM... and one has to say that the rich sensuous world is inviting. There are only a couple of glitches so far... well one did get to manage nearly a third of the first book while stuck in a traffic jam for three hours last night. The most niggling one so far is the idea that the young heroine and worlds great masochist is holed up night after night suffering such delicious guilt about masturbating.

Living as she does in a culture that celebrates the sacred whore and believes in 'love as thou wilt" one can't help but think it was put in there to make her seem less... well whorish. Particularly at her tender age of 14. Yeah don't really buy that it was until then before she started all that self love stuff either. Meh maybe one is just too cynical and maybe one can't help but feel it was just put in there to appease our modern brand of sexual unease... particularly in regards to teenage sexuality. 

Mixed messages

We were sitting in the car chatting... there was a few minutes before one had to reluctantly drag oneself into work... when His hand reached out to rub the inside of the thigh. With a steady pressure it circled and squeezed as it worked its way higher up the leg until it had nowhere else to go. Unfortunately neither did one small slave, trapped in the confines of the car as one was. Sensing that His prey was cornered he pressed his attack...

Until one came... oblivious to whom might have been around or for that matter parked next to us...

A state that left one with slightly soggy knickers and even less desire to go to work...

And He left one there...

Mutters think that was an apology for bailing on one yesterday after the first round

Bastard!