Peek-a-boo

We had finished grocery shopping and one scampered across to the bakery for some Pane Di Casa bread and rejoined Him as we went down the escalator to the parking garage. We had the boot open and were putting away the groceries, when one indicated the loaf and said want a peek... it looks divine. He of course immediately pulled at the neck of the top one was wearing to peer into cleavage. Wriggling out of His grasp to carry on putting away the shopping one pointed out that was not the right direction. Whereupon He slid his hand down the back of the jeans one had slung on to go out in.

Moving from His grasp one slid around, commenting that the jeans which had seemed so promising when bought, had relaxed a little too much for safety. He of course had to test that as a theory and slid His hands down the front of them. No they seem fine He said as he slipped in between lips to rub in a distracting manner. Fearing the worst one went to shimmy out of his grasp, only to be caught firmly in his arms while He probed and rubbed all the while muttering lewd things in ones ears.

To the casual passerby we probably looked like a couple meshed together in a passionate embrace... and frankly He wouldn’t have cared if they didn’t think that and one was beyond caring about anything. As the body start to tense He escalated the rhythm and pressure firmly rubbing and stroking until one came... held upright, gasping in warm fetid petrol fumes. He left one standing there, feeling dishevelled and disorientated as He calmly walked off to put the trolley in the return bay.

Bastard!

Our tax dollars

In this country the Government is committed to certain issues. Domestic abuse is one of them and to that end it runs phone lines and advertising campaigns. Now, one is the first to admit it is a serious issue, though it pisses one off to no end that that base assumption is that the perpetrators will be male and the recipients female... but that is another issue. The trouble is that in these types of relationships some of this propaganda is as useful as those equally annoying red flag lists that crop up in BDSM land... along with chants of SSC and RACK... but again one digresses.

Last year’s little outing from our Government was this colourful poster. In this case it was displayed in the local ER... nothing like trying to reach your intended market. Now let us not get caught in the semantics of whether banning that  jumper is in fact a kindness and agree that the phone is an abominable colour. Let us focus on the message and note that He failed this one... 100%. And He probably won't be alone in that.

This year’s little offerings are displayed in women’s’ magazines... noticeably ones aimed at younger women. They are brightly coloured with catchy slogans and simple messages. Of course when perceived through this relationship filter it gives some pause for thought... just not the one our Government was aiming for one suspects. He reads all of the mail one receives, not only because He is the nosiest person on earth, but because He likes mail. Preferably stuff He doesn’t have to do any work for. With great responsibility comes perks... living vicariously through your slaves experiences is one of them J

All of this brings us neatly to the next image... Again let us not dwell on the fact that dirty is such a subjective word, one worthy of a diatribe in its own right, and focus on the photo thing. It has been a personal observation that, with the notable exception of the odd exhibitionist, most slaves don’t like having their photographs put up for public view. And one is no exception to this despite the fact that He goes to great lengths to create wonderful images... the problem is that how He perceives one is not the same as one’s self perception... an issue we will visit at a later date L Guess what... we don’t get a choice. Why you may be wondering? Well they get to make those sorts of creative decisions because they are the boss... and they can.

The bottom line in all of this is that every time you try to make something universal you will fail. And in the case of these campaigns produce something that is unintentionally hilarious... rather like those red flag lists.

Oh and Master... you are an abuser. Our Government says so J

Rough with the smooth

This morning one was hauled out of a deep sleep by Him grabbing the collar and using it to pull one into a kneeling position. Grasping one by the hips He pushed his way into the vagina with small thrusting strokes. At this point one came to enough to point out helpfully that the alarm had been set for 5.30am. Well it is nearly that now He said punctuating his comment with a deep thrust that made one instinctively try to get away.

His response was to get a firmer hold and pummel the vagina into submission until He came with a particularly vicious final thrust. Disengaging himself He went to grab first shower, leaving one to dab ineffectually with a tissues while wondering how close it was to 5.30am. Finally the need to know drove one to pick up the clock and peer at the screen. He had been 10 minutes early and had robbed one of precious minutes of sleep... bastard!

We dropped off the car and proceeded into the city by train. On our way to breakfast, we got adventurous and went somewhere new, we discovered a lingerie shop that stocked larger sized bras. After one finally convinced the fitter that one was the requested size, one was shoved in and out of underwear by Him with her acting as his co-conspirator.  For the record even with air-con it was way too hot to be trying on bra after bra... and let us not mention corsets. Finally one was released from the fitting room and we carried on our way.

After breakfast we went to a wonderful bookshop that we assumed had disappeared, where He spent way too much money with gleeful enthusiasm and little regard to the sheer weight we would be lugging for the rest of the day. Later as we stopped for a rest and a drink one suggested we clean off the coffee table at home to hold His newly acquired "Private Collection". He peered over his drink in a mixture of bemusement and disbelief.

You mean like a coffee table book He enquired. Well yes, where else are we going to put that enormous heavy book one replied. You do get that the point of a coffee table book is to show it off to others He countered. Smiling a small vindictive smile, it was getting close to lunch and the blood sugar levels were probably getting low, one said well we can invite our vanillas over to see it. Of course it means you are going to have to let her touch it...

This is probably a good moment to point out that there are people you should never lend books to. She is one of those people; she is a turner of corners, a breaker of spines, a folder, a creaser and these sins are often committed with greasy licked little fingers. Even at RPG night she gets her own PDF copy of things or the book is held at a safe distance from her reach.

He blanched at the possibility and the conversation turned to the location of lunch... a much safer topic J

Crime and punishment

There is going to be pizza for dinner.

A voice call out from the study put the oven on. To which one replies (having just got off work and in a horizontal position on the couch) up you get. Pause. Slave put the oven on. Yes Master... off you go. Pause. So it is Zorbas (the most divine pizzas which unfortunately have soy in the bases and one is not allowed them often, if at all) for dinner then He asks. Pause. Ooooh, peers over the kitchen counter, the one with jalapeños on it one enquires hopefully. The look emanating from the study indicates that it is intended as a dinner for one.

The thought of their wonderful cheeses filling the place makes one twitch. The thought of watching Him eating it while nibbling on a salad tips one over the edge... fine putting on the oven L

Mutters this is so unfair... it’s not like one expected His half to have chilli on it and one even managed to skilfully fit in a yes Master as per the request. Honestly He is utterly unreasonable sometimes...

Where the wild things are

Occasionally you encounter people in power exchanges who are interesting, but you deeply suspect you are never going to understand them. They are so different from yourself and your relationships that you end up with more questions than you do answers. It is not that one thinks they should fit into a mould, as much as you are driven/ compelled to try to understand them on their own terms. The trouble is the gulf between views.

Extremely submissive people are one of those groups. In particular people that are so submissive that almost by default their partners are dominant. We are not talking here about dominant people who deliberately seek out a more submissive mate... though maybe they do on some level. It is more those that as they explain their power structure, the more there seems to be an absence of active domination and more a passive dominance.

To try to explain what one means is complicated... so one will try an example. Today you will do X. Yes master. This response is not because they are obedient, well trained or happy to comply, though they may be all of those things. It is more that any other response just does not occur as being submissive is what they are. They are compelled towards compliance by internal drivers, one struggles to comprehend, to be submissive and agreeable.

Maybe that is the issue... as a person one has no compulsion towards being agreeable. As a person one is anal, aggressive, hostile and prickly... rather like the cat... no wonder we clash. You either stay on top of one small slave or she will stay on top of you... and resent you for it. Not your submission, though it will probably alert all those predatory instincts, as much as there is a deep abiding loathing of all the work that is needed to maintain the power.

And it is work maintain dominance over people like us. It is not that we don’t want to be submissive and to be obedient, but that we will make a break for it every once in a while. Any chink will do... we’ll be there. It’s a bit like herding cats... mean slightly feral ones L

On the road again

There is a discussion on Fet (in the group) at the moment about owning things and it has veered along the issue of pets as a side bar. Questions were raised about whether pets were welcome in the beginning and who owns them in the unlikely event of the dissolution of the relationship.

May one just take a minute to categorically and unequivocally state for the record;

He gets the cat.

There will be no mysterious boxes sent with or to one small slave.

Also the cast iron frog doorstop is going with... That is non-negotiable.

Thank you

Names and other places

People often say that names have power and while one doesn’t entirely disagree, one suspects it is more that language has power. Historically when the British invaded sorry... colonised countries the first thing they did was dismantle the other culture. They banned things like dancing... killjoys that they were.  They also systematically destroyed the native language by superimposing their English language over the top of everything. And they wonder why the Irish and the Welsh (to name but two) don’t love them like they could.

In this relationship He has done a similar thing by imposing a more formal language over our existing one. He didn’t do things like rename one with a slave name, to be honest He rarely uses a name at all except to introduce one to other people (and there  is always this little moment when one has to think who is that). For everything else He just uses that functional word- slave. Often in that tone... you know the one.

In the beginning of the fall down the rabbit hole He simply became Master... preferably used in an acquiescent yes Master. Sometimes one used a more formal yes my love, ‘cos sometimes Master is just not appropriate. Mind you even that caused the odd unexpected complication. The first time our Tuesday night vanillas heard it they thought it was so sweet.

It was pounced on and held up like a trophy of romanticism. Actually it was about then that we decided it would be much easier to tell them the unvarnished truth. It was a relief... don’t think one could have got through another one of her demonstrations of how a man can get his own snacks. Though one will always concede that he is awfully well trained... he even knows which bowl to use and everything. Anyway one digresses...

Over time there was more using His name and less yes Master, and with it came a more relaxed attitude to the few protocols we had. To the point that He hooked a finger through the collar the other day, at the supermarket, and pointed out that there needed to be way more yes Master. It seems He thinks that familiarity breeds contempt... rather like the British ;)