Such sweet sorrows...

Today was spent cleaning and organising and cleaning and assembling and cleaning... oh and moving furniture... heavy furniture.

Yeah the games have a home...

And everything that was behind them and under them had to be cleaned...

There are not enough martinis to make up for that kind of cleaning, but it was nice to rediscover little treasures.

The plate that was bought in the eighties... no idea who made it, but anyone who can throw a twenty inch stoneware plate can throw clay... and the colours and social commentary painted on it caught the feel of the town one was living in at the time. But at least one can find the damn plate if not the artists name... we take the wins where we can :)

Bits of jewellery that had become scattered in amongst the vases and quirky teapots became reunited.

The mobile phone collection that we are still not too sure what to do with. They might have died, but there are some rather graphic pics on them...

Lamps were cleaned off and put back on a power pack so they could be turned on... not that we spend much time in there with mood lighting

You know stuff that accumulates on flat surfaces... collecting dust. All cleaned and organised... so it can collect dust again.

Whispers maybe one is more masochistic that first thought

Communication issues

You know when He says I'll treat you like a princess...

This was not what one had in mind L

Sunday morning

His mother has just popped in bearing a batch of light, fluffy scones. She's developing a rather deft hand since His grandma abdicated due to failing health... not that she is likely to die or anything anytime soon... she's the sort that will linger, being a bother, for years. Anyway back to the scones...

Piping hot, gentle curls of steam when you split them open...

And one small slave is sitting here with morning mouse and scones slathered in butter and jam

Don't hate J

Well, alive at any rate

Ambulatory enough to get to the doctors and sit in their waiting room for 40 odd minutes past the appointed time. Honestly that place is worthy of a rant in its own right... but one doesn't have the energy. Their best guess to date is that the pneumonia is living in small pockets in the lungs and coming out for sniper attacks. Not bad enough to flag their attention... until this time. This time was bad enough. It was the two days spent sleeping 22/24 hours a day with a raging temperature wasn't it?

Actually that was a creepy sensation. One minute you were laying there thinking probably should eat something and the next the eyes fluttered open again... an hour and a half later. Throughout this He has been a faithful companion...

Growing up we used to have Dachshunds. They are bright, intelligent dogs who were originally bred to hunt rabbits, hence all that loose skin. They are an ideal working dog because carved into their DNA is will work for food. Not that ours ever did anything as menial as work of course. They were pets in every pampered meaning of the word.

Whenever one was sick as a child they were sick too. Now, one would like to say it was because they were fiercely loyal, which they were, but one is still somewhat inclined to believe it might have been linked to the fact that meals were delivered to the bed on trays at very regular intervals... far more food that one small sick child could eat alone. Never the less they were there on the bed until called away for their three meals a day plus a hot drink last thing at night. Oh yes they were pampered dogs... the British are literally a little barking mad about their pets. They are a family member and accorded full rights as such J

He is somewhat like those hounds... there. Whenever one woke in a fit of coughing His hand was there reaching out to pat one gently. Every time the eyelids fluttered open for longer than a few minutes He tried to poke some food down. Admittedly He does seem to have a hazy idea of what suitable convalesce food should look like... Chinese chilli noodles are probably a stretch, as is a nice cold cuts sandwich or mint slices... shudders... but he did manage to follow instructions to the letter and produce some scrambled eggs.

And His mummy made freshly squeezed orange juice from tree in the back yard...

Who could ask for more? J

A Temptation resisted...

... is a true sign of character. - Louis Dega in the film Papillion. 

Her illness continues but it provides such beautiful targets.

 Have passed on your well wishes and I am sure she will reply to all when she is once again ambulatory.

Another day at the beach

The day dawned overcast, grey and bitterly cold thanks to the gusting winds. It was in short a perfect day for the roofing crew to turn up en masse to rip off the old fibro roof and replace it with something less hazardous to health. Like many of the older houses around here the roof was made of asbestos. Being by the beach people wanted things that were impervious to the weather and time and, as it turned out, modern medicine.

Needless to say it was something of a relief to flee the house just as they were assembling on the front lawn... even if it was to go to work. He was not so lucky; his arrival coincided with them actually knuckling down to it. His day was filled with the sound of men tramping around overhead and the continual roar of a generator. It was a very sleep deprived man who picked one up at work several hours later.

We sped off home... one of us had the night off and the other one of us has tomorrow off... beams happily... to an early dinner and an even earlier night. There was a perfunctory offer of sex in there... which was turned down in favour of the sleep that was reaching up to claim one's body and managed to keep it for a solid 10 hours. He was not so lucky. His body expected to be a work and was a little unsure of what it was doing in bed at that hour. No doubt He was awake dreaming up mean shit to do to one small slave tomorrow L

A spark of rebellion...

And how to stamp it out

Taking a purple top out of the miniscule wardrobe and putting it on a hook, one pulled out the boxes of bras. Peering at them one selected a nice bright red one and put it on. Slipping into the top one adjusted the neckline...

He walked into the room, looked at the colour, smiled and said I like you in purple. It was a smug smile of victory.

Reaching for a bag the neckline moved to reveal the red bra...

He laughed and said I see you are still in denial

We scampered out for what was supposed to be a few quick items and ended up as something else altogether... as it does.

See while we were out one noticed that the "Skylanders" games and characters were heavily reduced. It was something one had noticed that He had lusted after quietly, it is the Xbox answer to the Spyro of old, but with toys collectable figurines. He had looked, but resisted up until this point... mainly because He knows what he is like... slightly compulsive.  So turning to Him one asked if he would like it for a combined birthday and Christmas present. He gave one with that look...

Yes, you can have it now... honestly it was easier than listening to the wheedling that would have ensued

So we ran around all over the shopping centre... to come up two characters short.

There is a road trip planned for tomorrow... there is always a road trip L

And the evening was spent with one small slave hopping out of bed every five fucking minutes to change the character on the portal... and it had to be a different character so He could try them out.

I think when you aren't here I will just pop the portal on the end of the bed. It's going to be very frustrating to have to do this all the time.

Yes, yes it is!

Bastard!

Fear... the great motivator

Getting off the bus one noticed a chill in the air that hadn't been present a couple of hours before. We have had a couple of days relief due to cloud cover, but the last two have been a clear blue as far as the eye could see. Now the temperature was starting to drop again. By the time one got home, showered, snacked on some peanut M&Ms in lieu of dinner (really need to go back to the gym ASAP) and made a cup of tea the temperature had plummeted a couple of degrees... we were in for another cold snap. Stop snickering... glares at a friend from Sweden who giggled all over Fet's message wall... you would die in our summers and after one of those this is freezing.

Wandering over to the couch to huddle under the covers one thought, not looking forward to meeting Him naked at the door tomorrow. The internal dialogue carried on...

Well why the hell are you going to?

Well He would be disappointed if one didn't

Small scoffing sounds emitted followed by that's all you've got?

Well there would be reprisals

Oh please it's not like He would kill you.

No, but it would be something fitting and horrid

You know you're like a child... anything He could do isn't as bad as you can imagine

Oh not sure about that... some of His stuff is nasty

So you're frightened of Him?

No, not of Him

So you're frightened of what He might do?

It's more that one has a healthy respect for Him and what he might do

Oh what crap, you are frightened of what He might do. Child!

That may be the case, but one is going to be the naked child waiting at the door for Him tomorrow morning J

A helpful slave...

Peering over the kitchen bench from the comfort of the couch below, one watched Him making a snack...

You know one said conversationally, a paring knife might not be the best tool for cutting a block of cheese.

That may be so He replied, but the best tool for the job is sick...

Maybe that was a cry for help...

Perhaps one should have pointed out the proper knife...

Hmmm... on second thoughts maybe not. Perhaps that sense of self preservation isn't completely dead after all J

Mor food porn

After what proved to be a cunt of a day one staggered in the door to find these little beauties sitting on the bench...

They are coconut cakes before you ask

As His grandmother becomes increasingly difficult... quite an achievement in her case... and slightly doolally his mother has been striving to save her recipes before it is too late. Unfortunately they all have to be test baked...

And here is a little secret gentle reader...

As much as one loves Him

As great as the sex can be

As wonderfully perverse as He is

His greatest talents are surpassed by this one little fact...

His mother bakes J

Day four

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

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

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

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

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

What's this...ohhhh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Summer maid

For some reason He thinks that house work is better when you are dressed for the occasion L Needless to say in a climate like ours that isn't the case. So when He went to America he came back with presents, a set comprising of a frilled collar and cuffs to be precise, and a pair of panties to match.

Bastard!

Trifling with Christmas

Well today was the day we trooped down the hall for presents... and some wonderful gifts there were. There was even a portable studio and lighting kit for one small slave (to enable better quality pics of shoes and toys). Well that was the excuse; the real reason is that like all keen hobbyists He is trying to infect one with his particular disease. Best of all though the nasty, large, painful presents are all lost in the mail for the moment. Honestly a girl has never felt so safe...  

Of course that feeling was temporary... in fact there were signs of how temporary it was going to be...

It started last night when the first slice of fruitcake appeared with a tiny cow sitting atop it. OK a manger (ish) theme perhaps? It turned out that as the year had been a little hectic she hadn't used the cute decorations one picked up for her cupcakes (which for the record are divine and a thing one likes to actively encourage). Rather than waste them she decided to use them on the Christmas cake. In hindsight one should have seen it as an omen...

We meandered back later on for lunch. Now we voted against the traditional hot Christmas dinner this year. In part because after the turkey incident we were none too keen to have another repeat and because we thought something simple would be less stressful for her. That was the idea; of course the reality would indicate that nothing in this household would be that easy. In spite of the simple menu of prawns and crab salad she still managed to make a break for it round the edges...

First she had come up to see what time to get lunch ready for, which we came to an agreement on and toddled down at the appointed time to find everything was still in the fridge. Then she put on a Christmas DVD for us... and proceeded to slice the homemade bread throughout it... using an electric carving knife. Actually that one might have been a kindness... Anyway she then proceeded to bring out the food in what can only be described as an eclectic manner. That is to say bread, sea food, salads, followed by cutlery, then the actual serving utensils... well one set of them... followed by glasses and an exploding bottle of sparkling apple juice. OK that last one can happen to anybody, but one is still unsure what the bowl of gummy bears was doing on the table from the get go... they did look festive though.

We proceeded to work through lunch as she bemoaned the loss of the cooked lunch, and insist that it was really no trouble at all. Given the haphazard nature of lunch one is unconvinced by that particular assertion... but we may let her have her head next year in the name of science. In the end as we cleared the table, after convincing her that tipping the lemon and prawn infused finger bowls into the pot plants might not be a good idea, we brought out Grandma's infamous trifle. Yeah for the record all that booze mixed with dairy products was not enough to stop one being profoundly disturbed by her inclusion of blue jelly on the top of it.

As she went to get the homemade sweets to finish off the meal, He reached out for an after dinner mint... to find that they were Turkish delight. It seems she had picked up the wrong tin and as they were a good price had been reluctant to exchange them...

Maybe what one is witnessing is not the beginnings of old age taking root.

Maybe messing with peoples' food is a mother daughter thing...

It might account for why His sister made the chocolate spiders with milk chocolate this year instead of the dark kind, and why she stuck jellies on their backs turning them into red backs...

They are trying to kill Christmas... nods it's the only explanation

Seven of nine

Curled up watching Leverage, the final scene closed with Jeri Ryan throwing some hapless man on a bed. The slut one quipped, without malice.

Oh like you would turn her down.

Only like her in her costume

He laughed and said you are such a nerd

Not a nerd.

You would turn down a woman in the top one percent because she wasn't in her costume. That makes you a nerd

Well more a geek... admittedly a specialised geek...

Sharing intimacies... with the lounge

It was one of those strange days where one came home, had a snack, put some dishes in the sink with sudsy water and trotted over to the lounge to read. Feeling cold, and unbelievably sore from the gym yesterday, one dragged a quilt up and snuggled into it. The lounge's soft skin warmed up and moulded around one's recumbent form as only leather can do. And before you know it the last thought was hmmm... it's only 7.30, there is time for a nap before He gets up at 9.30.

See because life is still a little frantic we sort of have a date night on Saturday. Oh not dinner and a movie... hell who has that much time? No, it is a date for something that is far more important to us... sex. As one has mentioned before sex for us is intimacy and without it we don't function as well as we like.  Actually we don't function very well at all.

The sound of the heavy glass door being rolled open woke one up... kind of. Hey you it's 10.30 He said peering over the lounge. That is when He gets up to get ready for work. Shit... haven't made you lunch yet one mumbled, struggling to wake the rest of the way.

Well you would have been up earlier. I came out at 9.30 and you were sound asleep.

Sorry.

You even slept through the fireworks.

The brain tried to process that, while surreptitiously checking for wet spots. What fireworks one asked, wondering if He was still speaking in code?

There was a huge fireworks display up the road. It woke me up. So did the cat banging on the back door. You slept through the lot.

Oh... really, there were fireworks?

Struggling to escape the lounge's embrace one made Him lunch while looking longingly back at it. We have shared so many good naps... each one gets a little better.  But now one is starting to wonder if the leather lounge is a little evil. Not only is it stopping one from being a good slave, it's interfering with our sex life. The damn thing is more insidious than the other woman L

The stuff of dreams

The day started with a drilling sensation behind the eyes and a fan blowing cool air in all the wrong places. By 7.30 one conceded that the migraine was only going to get worse, like they do anything else, and called in sick. He came home to find one kneeling quietly and contemplating which migraine drug to take. Yeah not quite the normal slave devotional stuff one hears of, but there are choices...

The first one works fine, the migraine is usually gone within three hours, and reduces the nausea. The second newer one works much faster, when it works, but makes the nausea unrelenting. In fact the only reason the doctor prescribed it is because he doesn't have to wait on the phone for an authority number as it has been streamlined. Decisions, decisions... wibble, wobble, flip, flop. In fact the only thing one could decide on was that breakfast was really needed and the thought of cooking was more repellent than one could bear. Particularly as the heat was already cranking up, along with the humidity L

God that He is, he turned on the bedrooms air-con and whisked one out the door for Hungry Jacks... know to the rest of the world as Burger King. Not here it isn't... damned if they didn't lose that fight J While their food is generally mediocre, it does dish up grease and carbohydrates with a rich selection of protein... in this case a bacon, steak and egg wrap... and more importantly you can't smell it being cooked while you wait in the drive through.

Going home happily snuffling through brown paper bags one decided to give the new drug another go. It worked in about an hour. That is to say it deafened everything to a stage where one could contemplate a shower, with assistance. Though to be honest, one isn't entirely convinced that coming in one small slaves arse isn't taking advantage of her rather than assisting. But, drive through treats have to be paid for, one way or the other.

Shuffling off to the bedroom, which was deliciously icy, suitably fed, medicated and sodomised one curled up to watch mindless TV until it was time to give Him a put me to sleep orgasm. Duties performed one was evicted back to drift around in the lounge. On the bright side it had at least started to cool down due to some very welcome rain.

So there we are... the hot fantasy life of a slave. 

Domestic dreariness

It was a day of it to be honest. Silly things like restringing the washing line. Nothing lasts forever in this climate and plastic coated anything is no exception. Of course as soon as the washing was hung out on the new line, it started to rain. It wasn't real rain, more a mist that you could smell and feel. There was enough however, that the washing had to be brought back in to the undercover line.

Apart from that it was hot, there was a low grade headache from the heat and a sore arse from yesterdays little endeavours. All in all it was a day spectacularly devoid of anything of interest. It happens in the best of households...

In fact it was so dull even the cat avoided us J

Sharing... and its opposite

It was nippy the other evening and both of the t-shirts one likes to haul on in a hurry were in the wash. So what is a slave to do? Well being practical one grabbed one of His. Well He was asleep and unable to defend them.

Selecting a nice, soft, slightly worn item one slid it on and pottered around... until He got up.

He took one look and grumbled what are you doing in my shirt?

Umm... it was cold and the others were in the wash? It is just a loan one hastened to add.

Looking unconvinced by either the argument or the temporary nature of the arrangement, He delivered the lecture about the sanctity of his t-shirts.

For the record He has a double wardrobe full of them... rolls eyes... it's not like it's his last one.

Now this morning He had to take his mother to the heart specialist... so one had plans. Coffee, computer, catch up time and a little light housework... yeah one should have learnt by now L The morning started with promise... coffee, computer... and then the net and phone system crashed completely. Something it did again later in the day for the rest of the night... only they included the TV in the deal as well. And people wonder why we have two separate phone companies in the house... it's so you can phone up to complain about the other one.

So with crushed hopes one grabbed the t-shirt and started on the housework and laundry.

What are you doing in my t-shirt, was the first question out of His mouth when he saw one scamper by.

It's still the same one... not cleaned or anything... more of an extended loan.

That is how it starts. You steal them, He said and a harsh, accusatory tone.

OFFS that was one t-shirt, one time and it was years ago. Look at it this way, one is doing you a favour and stopping you looking disreputable.

It's all it takes... one dangerous precedent.

Later when He came home and was stretched out on the couch... fighting peak hour traffic will do that to you... he lifted his arms in a universal signal for a hug. Sliding on top of Him, one snuggled up... and felt him slowly lifting up the t-shirt. It was not in the least bit sexual. He was trying to get the t-shirt back.

Bastard!!

Mind you one did get a bit of revenge... we had to go to a work related birthday function this evening. He got the pleasure of seeing one in real clothes and shoes.

SMITT01/TPU-RPT

In fact one even managed to get back into the first pair of high heels in a year.

And He got to sit across the table for hours of excruciating chit chat that was work related... though the girls had very kindly herded the men folk down one end of the table to chat amongst themselves. There is nothing like a work function to extract a little pay back J

Sunday bloody Sunday... again

It's late in the evening and one small slave was thinking about showering, and other little ritualistic behaviours... most of them conducted in a horizontal position. Somewhat early might one add, as one is being dragged into work tomorrow to do an extra day. Wouldn't you know it one did have plans... He is leaving early to do a shoot up the coast and one small slave was planning a little lay in, coffee in bed, catching up with a net buddy, oh and some light housework so everything would be nice and clean when He got home. In fact one was even toying with the idea of a little shopping. All of that was laid to waste by staffing issues... other peoples might one add.

Anyway back to puttering around thinking about showers...

He says I need your packing skills.

Umm you usually consider them excessive.

As an aside laying the wardrobe out so you can check it is the best mix and match combo, with accessories, is a sensible approach if you want to maximise both flexibility and space. And everyone needs a packing list...preferably attached to the suitcase. How else are you going to mark things off so you don't forget them? Needless to say His packing looks like a slightly demented squirrel; a quick rifle through the wardrobe as a few t-shirts are tossed, along with an assortment of socks... what is it with that many socks?... onto the top of the neatly packed suitcase. Why this casual abandon you may be wondering? Well He is secure in the knowledge that one small slave has thought of everything else... like toiletries and shavers and, and, and...

They usually are He retorted, but in this case they are going to be handy

Perking with interest one hovered in the study door with dancing visions of artfully packed camera and equipment bags.

I need sun block.

Umm... do you think it might have been sensible to mention that while one was still at work?

Well we have some.

Yes, but do you even know where it is?

No, but I have you and you will know where it is.

Yes and it is right here... reaching out to the shelf nearby one checked the bottom for an expiry date... and you are in luck.

I need a hat

Looking at Him the interest started to wane... this is not the stuff of packing dreams... more a search and find mission. Moving into the study one picked up the hats.

Sounding exasperated He said I don't want those ones.

Of course not. Digging around in the recesses of the hall cupboard one found some older ones. Coming back in the room one enquired, which do you think says I know what I am doing more? H R Pufnstuf or Ren and Stimpy?

Looking less than enthusiastic He asked is that it?

Well they are your hats.

Standing there one desperately tried to keep a straight face as He tried them on... for the record it is very hard to takes someone wearing either hat very seriously.

I need a new hat He said somewhat mournfully.

Helpfully one handed over the others saying please don't even begin to try and suggest that the Jedi Training Academy hat is remotely...

He glared at one as he tried them on finally settling for ... not the Jedi hat one noticed, which was a shame as the shape suited him.

So there He is all packed...

And here one is... deeply disappointed on so many levels L

Ta-da!