Wrong, so wrong

Curled up in bed finally, after what felt like the longest day on earth at work, one small slave heaved a sigh of relief. One shift of four was completed, although dying death wasn't completely imminent and He was feeding the hell beast others would know as Ms Kitty. All might not be right in the world, but one was safely tucked up in bed and contemplating sleep. What could possibly go wrong?

What went wrong was He opened the door to espy parcels on the door step from our local postie. Now to be honest one has mixed feelings about that man. Historically  he has delivered some nasty arsed things in his time. In fact he is rather like Santa... the one that gives out both good and bad shit, unlike the benign one of Coke's creation.

Anyway this time he managed to do both in one visit. There was a soft, stretchy black dress that will be perfect for nipping out grocery shopping and visiting our vanillas and one that He chose. Now to be honest one hesitates to call it a dress. It looks more like a collection of strings held together with vertical elastic bands.

His taste in stripper apparel knows no bounds L

Wonders idly if it is possible to take out an order of protection against someone's clothing choices...

Found Under Carnal Knowledge

Today was one of those days... the not brilliant kind. Firstly the sore throat has expanded to include a runny nose, watery eyes and that lovely barking cough one has become so intimately acquainted with over the years.  The new glasses that we picked up today don't seem to be sitting quite right, but it is impossible to tell if that is an adjustment issue or if it is because the nose is so swollen and tender due to the above. Then we went to the doctors to pick up a script for the cholesterol medication and had a breast examination. The doctor found a small lump in the right breast.

Before you start to get worried some breasts are more prone to fatty lumps than others and they have been found in the past. Meanwhile all one has to do is get through this week and there will be two glorious weeks of holidays. Holidays, that at this stage, are set to be filled with new medication, optometrist visits, radiography and possibly a mammogram.

And we were wondering how we were going to fill up this time...

Strangely our vision included more anal...

Rather than being royally screwed by the body K

Plague house

People often wonder what happens when a slave is sick, but really the interesting question is what happens when you are both sick... at the same time. It is then that the relationship pecking order is revealed.

See there we were, both on the couch under our respective blankets dying of some unknown malady, when He asked will you get me a Pepsi. Now that was framed as a question... there was a definite lift to the last word that everyone knows signals a question...

Um... really rather not and you are closer. Now you would think that unassailable logic like that would win under the circumstances. Besides for one small and very sick slave to get there involved getting up and scrambling over Him. It is something that often requires more energy that the simple nature of the act would imply. It's all that dodging of the grabby hands one suspects, not to mention His legs which often seem to get in the way.

He smirked and then his hand reached up inside of the PJs and a finger was run along the side of the shin bone. Not sure about you people, but frankly it is a sensation that produces a disproportionate amount of pain and annoyance. Then the hand slid inside the bootie that was warming the foot and traced along the arch of the foot. Back and forth it ran like a nail on chalk board until one could stand it no longer. Snarling in defeat one flung off the covers and went to get HIm his damned Pepsi with all the surly grace that could be mustered.

The entire process took less than half a minute.

Master 1

Slave 0

Warning Will Robinson

We trotted over to our vanillas for an afternoon of a new RPG. They had been given their rule book to study and support material in the form of two TV shows to give them a feel of what they were supposed to be doing. Yes people, He gives homework assignments with his games. Oh don't worry his mini me likes to have house rules for all the games and delights in making manuals for them. See one isn't the pedant some of you think... one keeps company with twoo pedants.

Anyway we found that they had not done their assignments. In fact we found them in a state of shock. They were positively reeling from their news in fact. You see they are pregnant. Oh yes, two intelligent, well educated people had been having unprotected sex 'cos they thought they couldn't get pregnant anymore. And worse she relied on him to be responsible for it. Snickers oh gods are we going to give them grief for that.

What they didn't take into account was her loosing 20 kg (44 pounds) and him increasing sperm production and testosterone on this diet. If you want to get pregnant you lose weight if you are overweight, you exercise and you increase your protein intake. Check, check and check.

She is fluctuating between being delighted and ropable that she got so close to her goal weight and will now be getting fat again. He is suggesting names for the infant.

And watching this one couldn't help but wonder if some part of him isn't delighted at having found a way to sabotage his partner...

But that would be the deeply suspicious, paranoid pedant that isn't allowed out in company J

Rabbit tales

Did the blog post make you smile one enquired hopefully

Yes it did

Still it is a shame that you win. As a person one is fundamentally opposed to making you so happy

Ah now you see that is where you go wrong. Your ego...

And then the lecture went on for some time as He waxed lyrical about one's fundamental failure to allow the ego to be superseded by that desire to please him.

To be honest one was just back from the gym and had consumed an elicit apple... all that sugar was combining with the endorphins to give one a very pleasant buzz. Listening to His voice rise and fall in a slightly hypnotic cadence one did feel somewhat like a pupil at the feet of a guru. In fact one did ask if He could repeat all of that with an accent.

Bad, bad slave... hangs head in shame

Acquiescence would be easier

There is a fabulously entertaining thread going on Fet at the moment about the word no. It has given one more than a few hours of quiet giggles. And how could it not? It has stretched across the gamut of everyone has limits to kittehs being amputated.

Sitting here reading it, as one is informed vicariously (just not allowed to enter these sorts of debates and it seems like such a shame... they look like fun) yet again that one's life with Him is a figment of the imagination, one wonders once again at how we are doing it all wrong. You see one is allowed to say no. It just doesn't mean what others seem to think it means.

Around here the word no is almost like a barometer for how much He wants to do something. The more one says it, the more He becomes interested. You know thinking about it the word no is like running from a predator. It just makes them more curious. Perhaps one should just say yes Master.

Sighs either way He wins... it hardly seems fair L

The good, the bad and the oh dear

Like a lot of people in this country we love not only our computers, we have one of the highest rates of home computers in the world, but what you can access through them. From the comfort of our study we can reach out and buy almost anything we need. And there are many companies to facilitate just that thing. Of course in the land of online shopping the odd thing can go wrong...

Coming home, dodging the cat rather unsuccessfully, one plopped down the oversized work bag and the other bag, which is usually exclusively devoted to the schlepping of food, on the bench. It was there that one espied a small item of lingerie. Picking it up with care one spun it to the light wondering what on earth He was thinking when he ordered the item. Well one rather knows what He was thinking... it was more wondering how Pinky and Perky were going to fit into the damn thing. There was enough padding in it for two A cup girls to have some left over.

Then one realised that not only was it black baby doll with a red lace trim, but that there was a luminous metallic green woven in amongst the red. Sighing one put it down wondering if Masters should be allowed to shop unsupervised. To be honest one deeply suspects that they shouldn't... but who is going to tell them that... and live to tell the tale. Bags not one small slave

Wandering into the study and the source of this small piece of tackiness one found a note explaining it was not what He ordered. He has contacted the company and is awaiting their response...

Meanwhile someone out there is probably wondering where their lingerie is...

We certainly are K

Lethargy

The day started with hitting the snooze button three times, having sex and it sort of stayed horizontal from there on in. So horizontal in fact that it required phoning in sick. Actually there were large amounts of sleep bracketed by food and it was wound up with watching Arrow. A show might one add that while not the worst thing on TV, is perfect for an evening spent horizontally on a couch while trying not to drool.

And on that note one is going back to bed to sleep.

Tomorrow is another day...

The question for the day

Why is it that sex sometimes gives you a massive headache? Right out of the blue and right after the orgasm. It's almost like the body was itching to have one, but was saving it for a good moment.
For the record it was lousy timing, whatever the body may have thought L

This is a PSA

Today was supposed to be a simple run to the optometrist with a side bar to pick up some smaller bras. Of course it was several hours later before we made it home, but that is not what this is about. This is about the optometrist. See we have had a very long term relationship.

We first met shortly after one's arrival in this country and he has out lived three partners in that time. The man always had the best glass frames and not only was he a generous soul, always making sure one had back up contacts... mainly because he knows how many frames have been bent out of shape during sex... long sordid stories in their own right... but an honest one too. Oddly enough we even share the same first name.

It has been a long happy time during which he has got married, got his bike licence... with lessons provided by a large burly biker on his Harley. That must have presented the neighbourhood with a sight in its own right as they rode off down the street... one burly biker and one optometrist on his moped. And of course they had a couple of children as people are want to do. They have a nice middle class life that they both work hard for and have been blissfully happy for what must be going on for twenty years.

That blissful state changed this year when his wife was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was lucky; they caught it almost immediately... ironically because she was late for an annual screening and it had grown in that month's time. Her prognosis is very good.

So he is on a mission to make women aware that they should be screened at regular intervals... particularly if they are over the age of 40

And one small slave thought it was a good idea to pass that message on... mainly because one is on the worst offender list having not had a breast check for going on 15 years...

Get your breasts checked. It could save your life.

If you are a mature woman get them checked annually. It could save your life. 

Confronting images

I bought you a present He said by way of greeting.

He had that smirk on the whiskers that always makes one small slave wary. Did you? Is it the kind of present that is good or the kind that isn't?

Oh I think it's very good He replied evasively.

There was a silence during which one of us raised an enquiring eyebrow

It's a very sexy bikini He said, by way of reply to the unspoken question

Sighing and is it a ringed, tie bikini in leopard print one asked, knowing where His tastes lie... rather firmly in Playboy circa 1970.

No! Well it does tie He added, still smirking.

With a sinking heart one followed Him to the study to see what little horror was about to enter one's life. On the screen was a very sexy bikini. A very small, sexy bikini. Not quite itty bitty small, but its close cousin once removed.

Um... you do know that one is nearing half a century and that there is a point that women should stop wearing such things.

No I don't He replied. I know that women reach a point of censoring themselves and other women. Don't stop being a *damned whore by becoming one of God's police.

Sighs it's just so... small :(



*Damned whores and God's police

Ideology of sexism in Australia, the nexus of oppression, sexist stereotypes past and present. Google Books

Published: 1975

Author: Anne Summers

The return

It arrived back today; the shirt. It's sitting there on the wardrobe door on its hanger, silently mocking one small slave.  It sports broad vertical bands of soft buttery cream, that are bisected with stripes of an almost trellis like design of mustard golds and reds, interwoven with red flowers and verdant green and black foliage. Those cream stripes are in turn alternated with broad vertical bands of that mustard gold, again sporting assorted flowers and foliage winding along an almost geometric Greek key design.

It is a study of harmonious shades that somehow conspire to make the eyeballs cringe in their sockets, desperately clawing their way as far back from the sight as they can. Honestly one would take a picture if not for fearing for the phone... and unleashing that sight upon you all. Even the most ardent of you bus tossing readers should be spared the reality that is that shirt. Or maybe one will just keep it as a threat... rather the way some do nuclear weapons. 

Frankly one doesn't care one whit that it graced the pages of a Vogue magazine in its day and cost the earth. His mother should have said no! Yes that's right gentle readers, she might have refused to buy Him a $20 balloon as a child, but she bought him that shirt. That woman has a lot to answer for.

You know there aren't many men who can still fit into the clothes of their teens...

Mutters and one is starting to suspect that too may be a blessing, did their partners but know it K

From the Master dictionary

Did you see the link I left up for you, He enquired from the depth of the study.

Yes.

What did you think, He probed

Um... that it looks incredibly uncomfortable and more than a little painful

I thought it looked cute He said, sounding surprised that one didn't

Yeah again... that word doesn't mean what you think it means. 

So excited

Today for the first time ever, one small slave officially hit 12DD status. Now some of you may be looking at this askance, but from a bra perspective it is very exciting. Normally one is stuck in the land of the specialty bra shop 'cos things like E, F and FF are not catered to by the average bra company. DD though... oh that has opened up a wealth of choice J

In their time Pinky and Perky have grown from a 12B to a C, then to a 14D, a 14DD, 14E, F, FF and finally a 16E. By then they were expensive to dress, not to mention difficult and with limited choices. But all that has changed...

OK one does admit to probably being the first woman in history to be excited about going down in (several) bra sizes, but...

Does a little happy dance...

With appropriate support of course J

Trust not

He has made some interesting clothing choices for one small slave of late. To be honest one wasn't aware that they made compression garments in the shape of a dress... until one turned up via the postie.  And one was happy in that state of ignorance might one add... very happy. It is strange how one tends towards comfort while He seems to prefer vacuum packed.

Mind you the emails one found confirming items from a company with the word "costume" in the title are also deeply disturbing... in a completely different way. Mainly because one can't find out what the costumes are... there are no pictures or links to the item

No good is going to come of this...

Confirmation

You know you're living with a geek when...

There is the smell of a hot laminator in the air.

It is confirmed when the person operating the laminator is plasticating RPG cards for a game

Danger alert

When we met He was wearing a shirt of epically bright proportions. Lurid is probably a better description if one is honest. Not Hawaiian shirt bright, but damn close. Well He was a drama student so at the time one just put it down to a certain flamboyance of nature and didn't think more on it. He grew out of the shirt so it wasn't like one was going to be confronted with it again...

Sighs yeah that just shows how wrong you can be... but we will get back to that.

So we have been on the great shirt hunt for a while now. Not sure how things are in your parts of the world, but here the check has reigned supreme. There are small checks, large checks, plaids, mono-plaids, picnic cloth plaids and the list goes on. All of the prints involve a square of colour against a contrasting square of colour. He hates all checks with a passion. So when He gave a coo of delight at spotting a shirt one was more relieved than concerned. That was until one saw the object of His lust.

It was a bright purple paisley print with contrasting purple trim. You look at it and your eyes start to do strange kaleidoscopic things in time to the pulse of the print. Now in any normal relationship when your partner aims at these sorts of things you can gently, but firmly, lead them away from the object of their affection. Or in the case of our vanillas the object will mysteriously disappear, die of simply be put in the bin at the first opportunity. She has a unique way of dealing with the distasteful.

In this type of relationship that isn't an option. Well not if you want to live with your things... personage intact included. All you can do is voice an opinion and get used to your eyes going slightly insane as they try to follow the print... or not. Honestly one found it was easier to focus on His eyes over dinner and just not let them drop... ever!

But that isn't what this is about...

No gentle reader this is about His family and their squirrel genes.

'Cos we came home and He took the shirt down the hall to have his mother give it a quick press, after all as a keen quilter she has an ironing board set up permanently... unlike us where it has to be dug out of a cupboard and then we have to find the iron. Not big on ironing around here. Anyway the conversation turned to that lurid shirt of our beginning. And guess what?

Yes that's right, she has kept the damn thing and best of all it fits again. As we speak it is being lovingly washed and pressed.

Isn't that fabulous L

A win!

We have been together a loooong time. Coming up to 16 years and although all advice says that the more you have in common the more successful your relationship will be, we are somewhat contrary to that advice. We have different hobbies, interests and even though we go to the same gym, we rarely go together or do the same things. Even our tastes in food are widely diverse.

He has a fondness for cheeses that need to be double wrapped, sealed in plastic, put in a cooler and still need to be transported in the boot when we buy them. Personally one thinks that you can't go past a nice piece of blue vein... something He delights in pointing out was discovered by accident when some poor shepherd was forced to eat cheese that had gone mouldy. He doesn't like hot things while one personally believes that chilli improves the taste of everything. Needless to say dining out together can be difficult at times...

"What do you fancy?" is not going to cut it at all as a negotiation point J

In fifteen years we have never eaten Vietnamese, Tai or Indian together. In spite of one pointing out that there is a difference between spicy and hot. OK there might have been the odd experimental nibble of something that lead to Him being able to breathe fire... but hot is very subjective. As a result He had trust issues that weren't laid to rest.

That has changed on this diet. On this diet taste has become very important and His taste buds seemed to have changed. So much so that He has branched out to trying the odd curry... made mild of course... very mild. Cannot emphasise how mild enough here. In fact one isn't sure they could still be called curry J

Anyway the war against bland has been won. How does one know this you may be wondering? Ah well He came home this morning and said "I fancy a chicken korma for breakfast". Standing there still sweating from the morning run one consulted the taste buds as to whether or not they would accept Indian for breakfast... they seemed surprised it was on offer.

Then of course we had to drive all over the place to find one. An hour and a half later we were in possession of a curry. By which stage either of us would have eaten the plastic bag we were that hungry.

Why is it that a win around here never feels a sweet as it could?

Oh that's right...

M.A.S.T.E.R!

Walking at a dead run

Round here the locals are very fond of a brisk morning constitutional. Apart from the MAMILs (middle aged men in lycra) roaming the streets on their unbelievably expensive bikes, the rest are content to walk. And some of those little old dears can put on one hell of a pace.  In fact one was nearly mown down by a couple this morning. They zipped past with bright and chirpy good mornings...

It is an affectation of the locals to be unrelentingly cheerful and friendly, and oddly enough you can always spot older residents as opposed to new by it. The new people have the grace to maintain a surly silence.  In fact one has taken to a certain vindictive pleasure in saying "morning" just to see them cringe.

Mind you that whole morning greeting ritual is part of an overriding need to congregate on street corners, having conversations at the top of their lugs. It is a contributing factor to why sleeping in round here is a rare thing... we live on a very popular corner... one on the way to the local convenience store. We get them coming and going for their morning papers and milk L

Anyway back to narrowly missing being muscled into the gutter...

Hell some of those little dears can run Him into the ground and used to do it with embarrassing regularity when he went for an early morning walk. We used to wonder out loud how they did it. His theory was that they shortened their stride thereby enabling them to move faster. Personally one always suspected it was driven by a competitive need to make it to the next corner and catch up on more local gossip...

Either way the end result is ferociously, aggressively cheerful bands of elderly people roaming the streets in the early morning light, spreading their particular brand of bonhomie...

To be honest the MAMILs, though hated and despised by most, are almost preferable. They don't pretend civility as they sweep you off the path with their wake. 

Meeow!

You know, I think I see the appeal of kitten play He announced, from the confines of the study.

Fearing the worst one scuttled to His side. As a person who still only has a hazy grasp of the appeal of pet play, living with a person who has never expressed an interest in it at all, one could only assume the worst. There He was roaming around this fabulous site. And some of it is fabulous, in fact one was most enamoured with an electric purple and gold ocelot fur.

Oh they do a nice rabbit He said

Wanted electric purple ocelot one said, in the best petulant five year olds voice ever. There might have even been a foot stamp thrown in for good measure...

You watch there will be no sexy, voracious predator costume. Steam punk bunny will end up arriving. Why? Well 'cos He is M.A.S.T.E.R. L

Accessorising after the fact

As some readers here will know one small slave has a bit of a shoe problem. A problem that lends itself to an annual cull to keep the numbers down to a manageable level... with only moderate success if one is to be completely honest. Losing weight has also had an odd side effect on the shoes. Some have had to be culled because they no longer fit. Now this has made the odd friend happy beyond belief, but that is not what this is about.

Aiding the issue of having room at the inn (otherwise known as the cupboard(s)) has been the fact that the world seems to be full of ugly shoes this season. In fact one has been rather under impressed with the offerings to say the least... to the extent that no new shoes have been bought. Now you would think that this would not only make space issues a thing of the past, but be an opportunity for the wallet to rejoice.

Oh gentle readers you don't understand addictions or compulsions very well at all if you think that is the case.

See addictions are rather like Whac-A-Mole. For those not familiar with the game the idea is to hit the "mole" as it pops its head up out of the hole. Addictions are like that because you no sooner hit one on the head than another pops up to take its place. Which brings us to that weight loss thing because it has allowed the boot to reign supreme this season... nods addictions are nasty things

All that weight has come off everything but in particular the leg which has allowed one the pick of almost any boot... a hitherto unknown freedom having always been rather generous in that area... years of ballet, cycling, hiking, weights... you get the idea.

It has been ugly...

To the tune of about six pairs... so far... the boot sales haven't really begun yet...

And they take up more room than shoes

In fact the latest pair won't even fit in the cupboard due to their length.

They have taken up temporary residence on the couch.

Um... this is a cry for help...

Nestled in amongst the drooling J

M is for...

M is for mean

And...

S is for... the brain reused point blank to come up with some pithy little adjective. It is a rare thing to be at loss for words. Never the less one moved on...

T is for tyrannical.

E is for egregious.

R is for... still can't think of anything beginning with S

Supreme Being, He suggested helpfully

Um... no! Wrong direction entirely. It needs to be something horrid

Mean and totalitarian, egocentric, reprehensible.... The S just isn't coming

Slovenly He suggested. And one was almost inclined to agree until He carried on...

Lazy

Anal retentive

Vicious

Excuse making... no! Excuse ridden, He amended

You aren't helping... still stuck on S. Anyway, whenever one uses the term Master from now on you know what it means. Apart from that annoying S word...  do you really think that one is slovenly?

Well more slack He said, as though that was an improvement

And lazy?

Well it is probably more lax than lazy... when it comes to slave duties He added as an afterthought.

Yes M.A.S.T.E.R!

.

.

.

You know self centred would work...

Petty frustrations

Today was a strange day that started with promising sunshine and ended with bitter cold. It was also a day spent doing domestic stuff... mainly putting away discarded outfits from yesterday. Honestly one is starting to suspect we have an evil sprite that lives here, who comes out when our backs are turned to spread crap around. It's the only thing that accounts for the amount of clothes and correspondence that ends up littering every flat surface of this place in a matter of hours.

Life was much easier when we had limited wardrobes. Mind you the clothes seemed to go on easier too. Clothes were selected and pulled on... no muss, no fuss. Now everything we own has to be wriggled and squirmed into and then discarded when we don't like the combination that we chose.  Mutter, mutter, grumble, grumble...

Mind you on a completely unrelated note we did manage to squeeze in some awesome anal sex. We were trying out some new lube we picked up on the trip home yesterday. Wet Stuff, which traditionally makes water based lubes, has brought out a silicone lube. Now it is nowhere as good as the Pjur Backdoor... much thinner and runnier... but they do produce it in an economy sized litre pump bottle. And unlike a lot of the other silicone lubes it comes in under a $100 for that size.

Honestly it's not bad... doesn't dry out, good for anal sex... but it is more inclined to spread around being thinner. To be honest it wouldn't be a preference for large toys, but yeah... not bad at all for sex with another person J

A is for art

We spent the day in the city having gone in to see the V&A's touring quilt exhibition. A word to the wise... do your shopping after you have trekked across one of the many bridges that cross the river that bisects the two halves of Brisbane. Particularly if one of you has purchased two rather heavy RPG books... pretty sure His shoulder had a dent in it after carrying those things around. Though to be honest the quilts were worth it...

There was aquilt that contains one of the oldest pieces of fabric in the world, one that was made of ribbons from the 18th century and one made by the female convicts aboard the Rajah. What caught our eye though was the spectacular geometric quilt, in still aggressively bright colours, made by a British soldier while stationed in India. The fabrics appeared to be from the wool uniforms of assorted regiments. He must have been there some while 'cos each little hexagon was about the size of a finger nail.

 

When we stepped out of the exhibition we were confronted with this rather spectacular piece of installation art. It is a serpent by Huang Yong Ping that spans about 170 feet in length.

It was a sharp contrast to these little guys that grace the footpath on the return visit to the city. This one is part of a small group that cluster together around and on a bench on George Street, that were made by Christopher Trotter in 1999.

Mind you for sheer art chutzpah you can't avoid being impressed by the installation near the courts. This is part of wall that has divided feelings...

Titled Thousands of Eyes by Yukio Kasama it's $970 000 price tag also raised more than a few eyebrows J

Swirling around

It is one of those mornings when thoughts just swirl around and refuse to coalesce into anything that could justifiably be called a blog post. The body is impatient to scamper off to the gym, the mind is refusing to speed up the need to ruminate over coffee and they are at odds with each other as competing needs... the power of the bean is strong, but then so is the need for endorphins.

Sighs one just hates being piggy in the middle...

Wishes and horses and beggars...

You know one said, with faint hope, it would be nice to sleep in tomorrow. Sometimes by the end of the working week the body is tired. It survives on inadequate sleep and crams too much physical stuff into that time slot. By the end of the week one feels... old

Well you could lube up your arse before you go to sleep and I'll give you a surprise wakeup call when I get home He suggested helpfully

Umm... how is that going to aid the mission to sleep in, exactly?

Well it will aid my morning no end He replied

You know the idea of sleeping in sort of vanished...

See people are difficult like that...

And fear doesn't really aid sleep at all

Mutters whatever He may think

Oh Grandma!

At the moment there is a hunt for a winter coat going on. A hunt that is somewhat impeded by the fact that one isn't quite sure what is wanted. Oh there is a very clear idea of what isn't wanted; no blocky shapes that go from tits to hips... it needs to have some curve in the design. And it can't be too long... more a jacket than a coat. And it needs to be soft too... a little bit snugly in fact.

Anyway in the end one did find the perfect jacket. It was lambskin with the fleece still inside, all in the most beautiful shade of red. There was even a hood... which did sort of lend it a very Little Red Riding Hood air. And it is a snip at just over a grand. Oh come on it was over 11 thousand dollars originally. It was a great buy...

He said no...

Well it was more a chocking, wheezing laugh really...

You know a girl could freeze and He wouldn't care...

Bastard!

Snap dragon

At the moment one small dragon is in the crankiest mood possible... which for a dragon is pretty vile. It started yesterday with the work colleague (who is the hardest working member there normally) who seemed to spend the day drifting around in a dream, achieving nothing in particular, when we had a mound of work. By the end of the day one could have cheerfully killed her. In fact one might have asked the manager for permission to do just that very thing... bad co-worker

That was added to today by His mother who occasionally seems to lie in wait for one's return home. At the end of a twelve hour day, including public transport, all one really wants to do is come home and eat. And yet there she was bobbing around as one stepped out of the shower... to chat about how no one knows how to tune His grandmother's TV. As one hauled on PJ's she asked where are you going? To cook dinner (it was 7.30 pm by this stage) was the tart reply as one looked meaningfully at the oven she was standing in front of... bad at subtlety too by that stage

And then He got up...

Really if one was able to go to bed like a small child one would but...

There was still His lunch to fix, his breakfast to cook, salads to prep, the cat to feed, washing to bring in off the line under the back porch and a bit of folding to do...

And Him bobbing around...

Bad slave L

Inured

Waking Him up from a nap... which is code for insufficient sleep so that we could go out... one snuggled up against him murmuring love you

So why aren't you riding up and down on my dick He retorted

Well don't love you like that! It's more...

Insufficient He suggested

You know it is a good thing that the ego is powder coated against you particular brand of charm. Another might end up completely ground down

That's not powder coating He answered pithily. It's dried cum

Sighs just sometimes one does wish that He would leave the illusions intact

Anti-invisibility

Women all hit this point of invisibility at some time or age. Oh men probably do to... why else would you have sports cars in countries that simply don't have the roads to support them. For women though, who rely more heavily on external feedback, it is more... noticeable, odd, dire? Anyway, you do. You wake up one day and realise that all that attention you took for granted has gone. Oh if you are lucky you still see it in your partner's eyes, but other than that all those little graces (like service in stores when you are looking around) dry up.

Well one is here to say that being shoved in a mini brings all that attention back. It comes back in an uncomfortable flood of appraising looks, head turns and help. Honestly in all the years one has been going to yea local music/electronics store one has been studiously ignored... probably for fear that one would want to know where something really uncool (like Neal Diamond CDs) were.

You know at the risk of sounding whiney one was happy with that invisibility...

It was far better than walking around feeling naked and exposed.

He was not of that opinion

Bastard!

Failing... on so many levels

The eyelids cranked open a scant measure to see how light it was. And to see where He was... smart prey always checks for predators before making a move. See mornings need to be treated with care around here, otherwise you find yourself separated from morning mouse. Unfortunately He sensed that one was awake. A hand clamped around a wrist that was foolishly left above the head and one was wrestled against Him and his hard on.

You know for the record the arse presents no defence against such incursions. A fact that one did mention along with expressing how much one hated certain body parts for their lack of protection...

Umm... when women say "I hate my X" that's not what they normally mean is it?

Oh well, failed girl 101 again L

In an effort to cheer one up He toddled off, with one small slave in tow, to a local department store in an endeavour to find a rather specific shade of red stocking to go with a skirt. As we drove along there was a fascinating series of interviews on the radio about with an assortment of female authors and directors discussing their works in dealing with female sexuality. It was the last author Nikki Gemmell that caught one's attention the most as she discussed her latest book I Take You, which is a modern retelling of Lady Chatterley's Lover. 

She discussed that what kept her character in the submissively sexual relationship with her husband was not social mores, but a ridiculous level of wealth that cocooned her from the outside world. In that highly insulated world she of course falls in lust with the gardener and...

That love affair teaches her to get in touch with her more natural, earthy, sexuality. A sexuality that is filled with a tenderness that is lacking in our post 50 Shades of Grey world. It is sexuality where she is not the passive person who delights in pleasing her partner, but a woman who explores needs of her own...

It was amazing how in that short sentence the author managed to negate those of us who are quite happy to do that very thing; to please our partners. It's that bloody word "natural" because we, who do not prefer our sexual experiences to be that way, are by default automatically outside of it and are therefore unnatural.

Oh well failed normal sexuality 101 as well

Adding insult to injury one scampered in late to a doctor's appointment to find out that the cholesterol levels were still escalating and that there is nothing left to do but go on medication. The new doctor was in fact most insistent. A suggestion that one was most reluctant to consider given that that medication will probably knock one flat on the arse 'cos the body unusually responds poorly to meds of any kind.

He brightly suggested, as we arrived back home, that one go on it during our holiday so there would be time to adjust

So failed health 101 and pleasant holiday prospects too...

Honestly on days like this one should have just stayed in bed playing possum L