Going AWOL

For the next week Master and I will be relaxing in the sunshine and hopefully I’ll be snorkelling with one of these:










That’s a whale shark and luckily it eats plankton and smaller fishies and not people, ’cause damn that’s big.

See you when we get back!

I’m blog-arthic

You know, lethargic about blogging…i.e. I’ve got fuck all to say and absolutely no energy to do it. So of course, like all good bloggers, I write a blog about it…about the fact that I’ve got nothing to write about and can’t be bothered writing anything 🙂

I spent the entire weekend cleaning and gardening. God, those are the two things I hate most in the world. I think I’m allergic to the vacuum cleaner because my body literally rejects the thought of having to take it out of the cupboard. In fact, I’d rather sweep the floor than vacuum it. How fucked up is that??

I clean for one reason and one reason alone – because somebody is coming over. Oh, and don’t ever just ‘pop around’ to my place. I need at least 3 days notice of impending visitations or shit will hit the fan (the one that I haven’t cleaned for two years). In hindsight, it’s probably a good thing that I’m forced into cleaning to a standard that I would normally never even try for every now and then, but when it’s less than one hour to lift-off and you’re still cleaning windows in your gross cleaning clothes with bed-hair, you know you’re in trouble.

But it actually turned out okay and Master made vast quantities of scrummy food for our guests so all was good.

And that was our weekend.

I came home from work today to find a parcel sitting at our door. It was the ballet boots! Squee!

I ripped open the parcel as soon as I got in the door and slipped them on. Funny enough they were…big. For the first time in my life I put on a pair of boots *without* having to undo the laces and that was very disturbing. Even more disturbing considering that most boots that come from China are barely big enough for me to squeeze my forearm into let alone my leg. For some reason I also wasn’t prepared for the clunky toe. I know what they are supposed to look like, but when confronted with the reality of something that definitely wasn’t elegant I was a bit taken back. I guess I’m just used to Master’s preference of pointy, pointy toes and stiletto heels.

But we shall see what Master thinks of them on Wednesday when he gets home.

(see, told you I’ve got nothing to write about!)

What’s the best thing about blogging?

The entertainment people give me.

Seriously, I nearly pee myself sometimes with the things people say.

Like yesterday, I opened up my inbox and there was the question to end all questions:

“hi. i have a question.  do masochists enjoy getting periods?”


Now, I’m sorry if that was your question dear reader, but I really can’t let that one slide without poking some fun at it. I really and truly can’t. The universe would cry out against me if I did and I don’t want to piss off any gods – especially the lotto gods who have yet to bequeath mountains of cash upon me.

The first thing Master said in response to the question was,

“Well, that’s obviously a guy and he has never lived with a girlie before.”

I’d have to whole-heartedly agree because there is no conceivable way that a girlie or someone who has lived with a girlie and felt the effects of the red plague first hand could even think about asking that question.

And in case that didn’t spell out the answer to the question clearly enough,

“Are you fucking insane? NO!”

Now, I know it’s easy enough to make the “masochist=loves pain=therefore any old pain will do” equation, but it’s definitely not the case. TPO is very important and to you and me, that means time, place and opportunity must align.

As an example, I went to the dentist last week to have my teeth cleaned. OMFG….my dental hygienist was the gorilla grooming champion of the dentistry world. She poked and scraped and prodded until every last bit of plaque and calculus was gone and when she’d finally finished my bib looked like it belonged on the set of ‘I-saw-what-you-did-last-dental-appointment’ and I had more gaps between my teeth than a redneck on crack. It was so painful that I came home and took copious amounts of drugs and curled up in my blankie and slept (of course, my TMJ didn’t help…)

I’ve been known to get juicy from a caning or a beating providing the TPO is correct, but any old pain does not do it for me – especially not during my periods where I feel soooo sexy swollen up like a beached whale with fluid retention, where my insides feel like they are coming out my eyeballs, where I just want to throw things and cry simultaneously and, last but not least, where really gross, alien-looking stuff comes out of your privates.

Having said that though, I’m sure someone, somewhere has a fetish for it and undoubtedly there is a website for it.

Oh, and whadayaknow…a quick google search turned up this gem from the TotallyNSFW Gallery (DO NOT CLICK THIS IF YOU ARE AT ALL SQUEAMISH ABOUT SEEING PERIOD BLOOD EVERYWHERE!)

But thank you for taking the time to ask the question, for providing me with entertainment and giving me a blog topic (and of course for making me do the google search that proved to me once again that me and my kinks are pretty damn tame!)

What’s hard about slavery?

This question might seem like a bit of a no-brainer because a lot of people think being a slave is cushy- my domly one included. In fact, I’ve lost count of the times he has said to me,

 ‘But all you have to do is be obedient! How hard is that??’

Well, here’s a bit of a news flash…it’s fucking hard. And what exactly is so hard about it you ask? I’m sure some of the answers that come to mind are indecently big butt plugs and cruel and unusual punishments (like having your innernets cut off…god, that would make me want to slash my wrists…) but by far the hardest thing about it is doing things for someone other than yourself all of the time. It may come as a surprise, but people aren’t wired to be like that.

Human nature is selfish – survival of the fittest and all that. Self-preservation drives us and if it wasn’t for self-preservation no-one would be able to force anyone to do anything they specfically didn’t want to do.

‘What you’re going to blow my head off if I don’t open the cash register? Yeah, well go ahead. Make my day!’ isn’t something you hear a lot. It’s more like, ‘Please, please I’ll do anything you say, just don’t kill me.’

Giving an example of something a bit closer to home, we wouldn’t resent family/partners/children/work etc. taking up our free time (our ‘me time’) so much if we weren’t wired to be focussed on ourselves. How many people feel burned out and sucked dry by the demands others place on us? If we were truly self-sacrificing we wouldn’t care about having our time wasted, our efforts being unappreciated or the fruit of our loins using us as a bank, a restaurant and a laundry.

I struggle with the problem of why something I think I want to do so much can be so damn hard, but it’s simply because I’m not meant to be focussed on someone other than my self. Let’s face it, trying to live your life in a way that is ‘all about them’ instead of ‘all about you’ is like trying to fuck while standing up (i.e. looks great in the movies, but is impossible unless your man is a midget and your thighs don’t touch.)

I’m not saying it can’t be done, just that it’s not natural and that’s why slavery is so hard.

So why do we do things for other people at all? The simple answer is because it makes us feel good. Once again, we’re only doing it because we get something out of it.

It’s interesting how doing something for another person can fill you with a warm glow. Give an elderly person your seat on the bus and you’ll spend the next few hours feeling like a good samaritan. Let another car into your lane in front of you and give yourself a pat on the back while you’re at it. Intrinsically we’re not designed to do things for others, that’s why we feel so damn good about it on the rare occasion that we do.

Slaves do things for their owners because giving their owners pleasure gives them pleasure in return. It’s not a ‘give all, get nothing back’ relationship and a D/s relationship will quickly fail if there is no ‘acknowledgemen’t of the slave going out of their way to do something for someone other than themselves (i.e. their owner). The ‘acknowledgement’ can be provided in a variety of ways: use, interaction, reward etc. but ultimately the slave isn’t going to keep putting their all into a black hole of service from which nothing is gained.

Because we’re human and we’re wired to do shit for ourselves, put effort into things that benefit ourselves and to get what we want. Slavery is all about turning this fundamental concept on its head and that’s why it’s hard.

So why do we do it?

That’s a question I keep asking myself and one that the answer to seems tantalisingly just beyond reach.

7 things about me

Just in case you haven’t had enough useless trivia about me, Lexi tagged me, so I’ve got to share another seven nuggets for your reading pleasure.

1. I used to be a member of the Star Trek fan club and I’ve even attended a convention (where I saw Worf sans klingon skullcap). I also have in my possession the Klingon Dictionary (with audio tape) and numerous books including schematics of the Enterprise-D. And before anyone asks, no, I don’t possess Deanna Troi’s First Season costume.
2. I’ve never done a tim tam slam.Even though I am decidedly OCD when it comes to eating things in layers – in that I have to eat individual layers separately instead of together – I’ve never bitten the ends of a tim tam and sucked my coffee up through it. Oh, and if you’ve never eaten a tim tam before, what the bloody hell are you waiting for?
3. I haven’t eaten red meat (beef, lamb, pork) since I was fourteen. It’s a bit of a long story as to why I stopped, but I find people are generally okay when I say I don’t eat it. While I was living in Japan though, explaining to people why I didn’t eat it was a nightmare. Conversations would generally go like this:
“Let’s go eat yakiniku barbeque!”
“Okay, but I only eat seafood and chicken.”
“I just don’t eat red meat.”
“Don’t you like it?”
“Yes, I like it.”
“Why don’t you eat it then?”
“I just don’t.”
In the end I used to tell people I was ‘vegetarian’ but ate fish and chicken (for some reason, people in Japan were okay with that!)
4. I always read on the toilet. Am I the only person who finds those few minutes doing nature’s business to be mind-numbingly boring without reading material? I’ve even hidden catalogues under my shirt to take with me into the toilet at work! That’s how desperate I am to avoid being bored on the toilet.
5. My mother is gay and my father has been having an illicit affair with the wife of a priest for several years. My mother came out about ten years or so ago and I’m still amazed that she managed to ‘live the lie’ for so long. Since she found happiness by leaving my father and finding a partner, she’s a totally different person to the depressed, smoking, scarily angry woman she often was while I was growing up.
As far as my ‘father’ is concerned (and I lose that term loosely), I try to have as little to do with him as possible.
6. There are pictures of me in a big white dress and of my cunt on the innernets. Funnily enough, yesterday while discussing the up-coming nuptials of a friend, I innocently sent a link to the church I got married in in Japan and found a picture of my wedding on their homepage! I was…stunned. It was a picture inside the church where my hubby was lifting my veil to do ‘the kiss’. I have to say, I had a great dress…lol.
As far as my cunt is concerned, yeah, you’ve all seen it. But the place where I got it pierced also has a pic in their gallery on their homepage – which is kinda nice too 🙂
7. My illustrious working life started with an after school job at KFC, which in those days was still known as Kentucky Fried Chicken (before they decided that an anagram would remove that ‘nasty’ word ‘fried’ from their name). I then moved up the fast food chain to Pizza Hut. I remember the bacon fights we used to have and also the night one of the ‘cooks’ came in and was stoned off his face. He had a massive attack of the munchies and we found him in the coolroom with his hands in a bucket of chocolate mousse. I just kind of laughed in a knowing fashion when that whole domino’s video drama hit the news a few weeks ago. People do bad shit to food before it hits your table.

If anyone hasn’t done this yet – you have been tagged!

I’m a spoilt girl

Look what is coming in the mail for me!



Apparently after my abortive attempt to put on some thigh-high ballet boots being sold in a local adult shop on the weekend (two sizes two small and ridiculously over-priced) Master decided that he really *needed* some ballet boots in his collection, so onto ebay he hopped and soon they shall be in my hot little paws.

Although, perhaps I shouldn’t be too excited about them. I mean, seriously, how the fuck are you supposed to walk in them?

“I didn’t buy them for you to walk around in sweetie”, said the Masterly one.

Of course.

Having a poke around Youtube reveals some very talented ballet boot-wearers. My favourite one was ballet boots on cross-trainer:

All ballet boots are not made alike though, and you’ll notice that the ones in the video have a thicker heel and toe and are made to ‘walk’ in – or burn up some calories on the cross-trainer if you are so inclined. My boots, however, aren’t. So Master will just have to enjoy them where he likes them best, in his bed 🙂


I feel a bit funny after posting that video. Kind of naked and exposed in a slightly discerning way. It’s a little bit similar to the feeling I get every so often when my collar suddenly feels like it has shrunk an inch over night (either that or my neck has gone the way of the Michelin man) and it just doesn’t sit right.

I mean I wasn’t peeing myself, having giant boogers dangling out of my nose or wearing menstrual blood (have I mentioned that he likes to stick his finger ‘in there’ and then wipe *whatever comes out* all over my thighs during TToTM?) so there wasn’t anything really ‘bad’ about showing it to the people of the internets, but I dunno, I just feel a bit ‘funny’.

But speaking of being naked, a couple of weekends ago I was invited to celebrate the first-year anniversary of  a neighbourly kinky couple by going to a day spa with the subbly-half of the relationship. When the day culminated in a bubble bath in a candle-lit spa room I was a little bit hazy as to why I was there instead of her domly-half, but what preceded that was actually hilarious.

We were told to strip off and lay on our backs, as the package was starting with a facial and sixty-minute full-body massage. So, being that we had been to numerous play parties together and I’ve seen her getting fisted and she’s seen me every-which-way of naked, we had no qualms about what was required.

A few minutes later the staff came back in and in a slightly shrill and panicky voice, told us that she didn’t need to see our jewels and to cover ourselves up!

It hadn’t dawned on either one of us to cover ourselves with the towels that had been left on the benches for that very purpose.

There we were just letting it all hang loose as we chatted away.

We couldn’t stop laughing about it afterwards, but for some reason our domly-halves didn’t find it half as funny as we did. I guess you just had to be there or something 🙂

Gratuitous porn

Thanks to the ‘overwhelming’ one response to my question (thanks DL’s fucktoy!) it appears that in 2009 there is only one way to post free porn to a blog.

And that’s by having a blogger account!!???!! WTF???

Fortunately, I’ve had one of those for a couple of years, but I’m wondering whether a butt plug and spanking counts as ‘infringing or obscene material’. Maybe it’s only infringing and obscene if you don’t use lube. Or maybe pulling out the butt plug and showing it to the camera afterwards is obscene. I guess it depends on whether you’ve had an enema or not 🙂

So even though this isn’t very elegant, clicking on the pic below will take you to the appropriate post in my other blog. (I don’t normally post anything over there, so don’t worry you haven’t been missing anything.)

This video was taken a while ago and I’ve finally decided that it’s passable. Master had kindly edited some other ones but I vetoed them ’cause my ass was too wobbly or I was sounding too incredibly wussy. I still sound wussy in this one, but I’m laughing and swearing and doing all the things I normally do when we play. It’s also kind of cute to hear Master doing his thing, so I thought you’d all enjoy seeing 2mins of my life and my asshole.

Bon appetit!

click here to go to video

A question

Anyone know where I can post some videos and embed them in this blog for free?

WordPress doesn’t allow videos on ‘adult content’ nor does flickr. I’ve already been banned from photobucket.

Pornotube is not co-operating with uploads.

Any ideas?

Humiliation=$12.95, Mind-fuck=Priceless

In this our third installment of, “kitten-is-shitting-herself-over-public-masturbation”, I thought I’d touch on the conversation I had with Master yesterday.

It’s a shame most of it was done on msn at ‘work’ where I can’t keep a log of the conversation. After chatting for a while with him about my hang-ups and fears, I remember coming to some sort of peace within myself and thinking, ‘I can do this’. In the harsh light of the day after however, I can’t for the life of me remember what was said and now all the angsty-ness is back again.

So I had another read of his blog and tried to glean some further enlightenment and picked up a passage I felt summed it up nicely:

My pleasure isn’t about her supposed self-humiliation, that’s her version, her self view. That is her free former self putting brakes and boundaries on her slavery. Unfortunately those boundaries apply to her and her alone. The reality is those boundaries don’t apply, don’t exist, she is self-deluding and the reality is she is my slave and will be obedient and will perform.

The ‘boundaries’ he talks of do exist and they exist mostly due to the fact that I know he cares for me. I know he cares for me and therefore there is a part of me that cannot comprehend that he can want to do things that reflect that he doesn’t care for me. I just can’t wrap my head around it. How can he say one minute that I am very special and that my happiness is important to him, and the next minute want to humiliate me so badly that I’m not only unhappy, but horrified to boot?? I just can’t reconcile it in my head.

See!? This is why I always say it’s better not to have feelings for your owner or slave. It’s always infinitely easier to do stuff when it’s a ‘business-only’ relationship. From the owner’s point of view, you can be as selfish as you want and not give a fuck how your slave feels about it. And from the slave’s point of you you can be orgasmically happy that he is selfishly doing whatever the fuck takes his fancy and doesn’t give a shit about you. Objectification, come on down!

I’m all for the objectification. I find it just damn hot – as a fantasy that is. I’m sure the reality of your owner not giving a toss about you is a very sad and lonely space. In fact, I think I’ve been there before with the ‘one who shall remain nameless’ and I didn’t enjoy it one bit – thus resulting in me leaving, albeit belatedly.

Master gets triple bonus points for his ‘care factor’ about me. I love that he takes an interest in me. I love that he remembers all the insignificant things I tell him that make me, me. Although the fantasy of an owner who just uses and abuses you is every slavegirl’s fantasy, I think the reality is that you can’t sustain it.  I think the slave starts losing self-worth and it very quickly turns into a downward spiral because ultimately, at the core of everyone is the need to know that they ‘matter’ to someone.

So that leaves me in the conundrum. I need him to care about me, and he does. He cares about me, but treats me ‘badly’ on occasion too. I look at the ‘bad treatment’ and think that maybe he doesn’t care about me…..and the cycle continues.

Then I try and reconcile things by thinking that maybe the ‘bad treatment’ is more of a mind-fuck than real. And that no-matter what he does, he’s just messing with my mind.

Then I remind myself that I’m a slave.

That I’m wearing the one wearing the shiny thingie.

And I ask, can anyone show they care for you more than by putting a collar around your throat and rings in your cunt?

Dildo on a stick

I have a question for the men-folk…does seeing a woman cum, even if you’re not the ‘instrument’ responsible for the act, turn you on?

The reason I have to ask this is because I’ve noticed a certain pattern in ‘bdsm’ porn and that is, tie the girl up and make her cum. I can understand if you were the actual guy making her cum and then there would be the feeling of power and control, not to mention the joy of plowing the wench with your cock, but if you are watching a guy shove a dildo on a stick up a girlie until she cums, is that hot stuff?

I can’t say that I enjoy watching a guy cum in porn. There is a lot of pearl necklace/bukkake stuff that goes on and for some reason that is the way to end a shoot – by shooting. I understand that it’s got to come out at some stage, but do you really need to smear it on everything in reaching distance??? I’m also not overly interested in watching a guy wank  and I’m not interested in seeing girlies cum either. In fact, I tend to get bored when I see someone on the receiving end enjoying themselves. Throw in the slightest hint of a, “Yeah, baby” and I’m clicking the hell out of that porn!

I have a feeling that this is a little bit related to the interest that guys have in girl-on-girl. Watching guy-on-guy or girl-on-girl does absolutely nothing for me, so I’ve never quite understood men’s fascination. Is it the taboo? Or is it actually that guys like to watch to see what they should be doing  – a bit like a Women’s Bodies for Dummies? Maybe they’re just secretly taking notes to use at a later date.

What fascinates me in bdsm porn is the fact that there is so much emphasis on the girlie getting off and the girlie enjoying stuff. I don’t think I’ve seen any ‘professional’ porn where every bit of pain hasn’t been tempered with copious amounts of fingers, vibrators and occasional tongues. Why do all the girlies have to cum? Is there some unwritten rule that it doesn’t appear to be ‘consensual’ unless the girl is having a million and one orgasms? It has always struck me as odd.

I guess my problem is that ‘use’ is what gets my rocks off. His pleasure, being his vessel, his wanting to do all sorts of nasty stuff to me is what I find hot. Thus my question. If making a girlie cum with dildos on sticks and whatnot is hot for guys, then I’m fine with that. I can compute that in my brain and be fine with it. But somehow I’m thinking that if their dick is not involved, it can’t be all that fun.

Writing this out has made me think another thing – that I’m generally fine with things if I know he gets off on it. If he said to me, ‘I love watching you play with yourself, it makes me all horny’ or something like that, I’d probably have no qualms about doing it. As it is, I have these sneaking suspicions on the edge of my consciousness that it serves no purpose other than to humiliate me and for some reason humiliation makes me angry. Use and horniness make me feel slavey, but humiliation just makes me want to hit things.

Strange, isn’t it?

The Fourth Wall

I came home from work this afternoon and had a think about what I should do. Should I stack the dishwasher? Do some laundry? Peruse blogs? Have a cup of tea and watch some tv? Or should I just do what I normally do when I’ve got the house to myself and I’m feeling antsy…watch porn and masturbate?

So watch porn and masturbate I did.

I’m really beginning to think that I need to stop growling and making those ‘an-alien-is-emerging-from-my-bowels’ noises. I’ve no doubt that a few well-timed gasps and moans emitted from the mouth of a girl cumming are sexy to your average heterosexual male, but guttural grunts and bucking broncos? Not so, me thinks.

I’m especially interested in thinking about the ‘performance value’ of my releases – and the associated audio track- since Master announced his evil plan to make me gonzo in front of everyone at the next play party we attend.

I’m figuring it can go one of two ways: either I blush to the roots of my hair, verge on crying from shame and try to beg my way out of it, or I ignore the audience, lose myself in the moment and do what is required. I’m hoping that the attraction of having a release or two ‘off the chart’ i.e. not being counted as part of my release rations, will overcome my feelings of mortification and allow me to do the deed.

But I dunno.

I find that my feelings towards this whole slut/slavegirl thing are a little bit like visiting Disneyland. Sometimes I can be right up there thinking I’m the trampiest tramp and other times I’m just looking at a shirt-less mouse and a duck without pants on. (And yes, I waited in line for two hours to get on that fucking “It’s a Small World” sorry excuse for a ride!)

Forgetting about my angst about cumming-attractions for the moment, the reason I was feeling antsy was that I just needed the feeling of bonds on me. Like every woman’s need for the weight of a man on them from time to time, I need the restriction of bonds on my body – nice, tight, mark-leaving bonds that cradle, encompass and harness.

That was until I started looking at porn… and then it was like, Fuck the rope, give me the hitachi!

But I managed to stop myself and go and get a couple of pieces of rope and do some boobie bondage. Then I added some clover clamps. Then I added some weights and all the while gonzo was working his magic on my clit.

It seems hard to imagine that not so long ago, I was a virgin to the vibrator-induced orgasm. Those vibrating demons never worked for me all the times I’d tried in the past and the only way I was ever successful at a release was by laying in a foetal position, putting my hand between my thighs and squeezing.

Unfortunately, now that I have the hitachi and the amazing gonzo,  I do a lot less thigh cardio and hardly break a sweat. This is good news for the many times I’ve given myself a leg cramp trying to cum, not so good news for the flab on my thighs that no longer gets a workout.

I’m thinking maybe a gag is in order. Not only will it inhibit the embarrassing audio track, but it might also serve as a ‘mask’ between me and others –  a bit of a fourth wall perhaps. Or even better still, a gag and a blindfold.

Something to hide behind while I do the deed.

Booty call? U r doin it rong

I paid Master a visit at 1:49am this morning. I heard him stir and thought it would be a nice surprise for him to have a booty call from his slavegirl.

Of course, booty calls in our household involve me in boots, calling in on Master. All those people who think a booty call involves visiting someone for a quick root…u r doin it rong 🙂

It was a chilly day today and for the first time this season I broke out my tracky dacks (that’s another ‘cute’ Australian term for the lower half of a a tracksuit, in case you were wondering). I’ve been wandering around in the house in one of Master’s shirts, one of his fleecy tops and my comfy tracky dacks. Once again I’d just like to point out how glamorous and sexy the life of a sex slave is…

For some reason though, he likes it when I wear his clothes. Sometimes I’ll appear in one of his shirts and nothing else and he’ll get ‘that look’ and I know a ravishing will quickly follow. It’s an interesting look, and one I imagine crosses my face whenever I’m staring at a carrot muffin with cream cheese frosting – that of total and utter lust.

I’ve recently started ‘reading’ Master’s cookbook collection and by ‘reading’ I mean, looking at the pictures. He has a six-foot high bookcase stacked with every imaginable style of cooking and one slightly disturbing volume on napkin folding, which I feel is a little too metrosexual for him and gives me the shivers whenever I see it. Somehow I’m enjoying the delights contained within the books vicariously without the danger of all the calories. I’ve gotten into the habit of taking 2 or 3 books with me while I have a bath and I lay there flicking through the pages absorbing the sensations while I suck up the heat and soak the crusties off my piercings.

And speaking of piercings, Master’s latest interrogation topic is a septum ring. I made the unfortunate mistake of introducing him to a Japanese blog I frequent and while he can’t read what’s written, he has a nice overview through the pictures. Her Master has a plan to turn her into ‘livestock’ and has given her a septum piercing where he is gradually increasing the gauge of the ring – to get that livestock look. Master likes the look of it and more importantly likes the idea of it. God help me when ever he gets an idea in his head that he ‘likes’! It’s these times that I either end up with rings in my cunt, mars bars in my orifices or tongues all over my body – and all of them would have been much better left as theory, believe me!

Oh, yeah…that’s right *smacks head*

I’m the one doin it rong.

Because I’m wearing the shiny thing.

Two things

I was reading a newspaper blog the other day where the writer introduced the “Two Things” theory. Basically it works on the premise that for any subject, there are really only two things that you need to know to sum it up.

For example:

1. Cable guy, oral, oral, doggy, ass, facial. Next scene, repeat.
2. No matter how weird, someone will have a website dedicated to your fetish online.

I’ve been thinking about this for the past few days and I’m fairly sure there are a lot of things in bdsm that can be summed up in just two things.


1. Remove with care (breathing holes are excellent receptacles for spit).

2. If you can see the white of her eyes, you’ve put it on too tight.


1. Subs are not slaves.

2. Definitions are flexible.


1. Horses don’t like them.

2. Slaves like them better than canes.


1. Grumpy old men have peculiar ways.

2. There’s no pleasing them in all ways, all of the time.


1. Is over-rated.

2. Can be harder than it appears.


1. Every domly one thinks they can do it.

2. Domly ones can rarely do it.

Permanent collars

1. Make it hard to wash your neck.

2. Allow you to deduct 350g grams from your weight on the scale.


1. Are good in theory.

2. A 10 gauge needle looks like a nail.


1. Appear magically on parts of your body from injuries you don’t remember.

2. Never appear after solid beatings.


1. What your domly one leaves you in while he decides on your play party outfit.

2. Always check anchor points.

If you have any more to add, please leave a comment and I’ll add them to the list!

The gag reflex

I keep finding things in my muesli. Last week it was a green wormy-thing and this week it’s a wad of hair (and not mine!) I might add that this is from two completely different bags!  Is somebody, somewhere trying to tell me something?

Although the green wormy-thing (totally alive and found after I’d already eaten half the bowl of muesli) made me want to gag, I’ve got another type of gag on the brain.

I’ve spoken before about my love of spider gags. I’m also a big fan of a plain old ‘o’ ring gag, but there is just a certain je ne sais quoi about those meaningless bits of metal on a spider gag. The whole package is just damn hot.

(And as I’m writing this and getting all juicy at the thought of spider gags, I’m making a mental note to myself not to write these juice-inducing blogs at work – although I guess the privacy screen under my desk would hide my hand if it all got too much for me…or there’s always the toilet ala Secretary.)

I’ve been thinking for quite a while about buying a head-harness gag. There is one you can buy that has a detachable gag allowing you to interchange the ball-gag with an ‘o’ ring gag or another delightful gag. Every time I think about it, the realities of gag wearing while suffering from TMJ hit me across the face and the idea goes on the back-burner again…for a while…until I start lusting after a gag again and the cycle continues. I think this has been going on for at least six months now in my brain.

I’m thinking I’d like to wear the head harness gag to a party and I’m thinking I’d like to look unattractive in it. Because, let’s face it, a head-harness doesn’t make you look good, but damn is it hot.

I’m not normally a big fan of the humiliation game. Licking boots or grovelling around on the floor doesn’t get me all hot and juicy. I’ve never been turned on by mortification or embarrassment in any way shape or form. But at the moment, I can’t get the head harness gag out of my mind.


Wearing the head harness.

On my knees.

On a leash.

With a small patch of drool forming at the creases of my mouth.

And the skin pulled tight across my cheeks from the gag in my mouth.

And my eyes, pulled wide with the gag in my mouth.

*hunts in her handbag for the keys to the office toilet*

All things good and proper

I have a question:

Does flipping Master the bird make me a ‘bad’ slave?

I see a lot of things written about ‘brattiness’ and what is ‘proper’ for a slave to do. I also see ‘tone’ and ‘attitude’ being mentioned a lot in relation to being suitably submissive. Every time I read something like that I wonder whether it really makes a difference. I mean, isn’t a domly one supposed to be secure enough in his dominance not to need to worry about stuff like that?

Master and I were having a little chat yesterday and I brought up this particular topic and his feelings surprised me. Some part of me thought that he would be ‘above’ genuflecting and that he wouldn’t care one way or another, because I was under the impression that as long as I did what I was told, I was a ‘good slave’. But his opinion was decidedly different – apparently I should ‘know my place’ and show him the respect that he is ‘entitled to’.

I don’t really flip him the bird or call him an asshole and although I don’t generally call him “Master” to his face, I’m aware of my place (at his feet) and I do show him respect. I do, however, sometimes feel the need to make some snappy comebacks when I’m feeling playful or when I need to vent my displeasure at doing something.

My favourites are:

“Do I look like your slave or something?”

“Next time, could you ask for something that takes longer to make?”

“What is it with all this ordering around and shit you do?”

Does that make me a bad slave? Does what I say matter, when what I do is right? And on the flip-side, if everything on the surface is ‘correct’, but everything within is ‘wrong’, am I still a good slave?

I’m very aware of how language is used to represent status and relationships and can navigate my way through the seemingly endless levels of honorific, humble and polite language that Japanese requires. (Oh and I can’t resist mentioning here that the -san on Fuji-san (Mt. Fuji) is not the same as the honorific –san that you put on people’s names. San is another reading of the kanji for ‘mountain’. I hate it when people go, ‘Oh, how cute, they put a –san on Mt. Fuji!) /rant

But if there are two things I’ve learned about being a slave, they would have to be these:

1. A collar does not a slave make

2. The outside is rarely a reflection of within

So I think I’d rather be correct on the inside and FAIL on the outside than the other way around. If I know and accept my place and have internalized that I am a slave, is that not enough?

Ideally, I know I’d be all demure and submissive, not making eye contact and saying nothing but, ‘Yes, Master’ or ‘More please Master’, but I need a little more interaction in my life.

I’m a slave, not dumb and dumber.

Saturday night lick-a-thon

After several showers and baths, I think I’ve finally managed to wash off the tongue juice of several ‘friends’ who accosted me at the play party we attended. Next party I attend, I swear I’m going in a muumuu.

Note to self: Never, ever, ever tell people what *you* don’t like.

I also now know why Master had me wear the six-inch lace up pvc boots – so I couldn’t run away fast enough when my leash was suddenly wrapped firmly around the hand of one ‘friend’ , my hair was grabbed by another ‘friend’ and then tongues were applied to botty, arms, face, thighs…anywhere and everywhere was apparently free territory for licking.

Licking in full swing

Considering the current environment, I felt like asking for passports to see if anyone had been to Mexico recently…

I squealed and fought and attempted to get away…like seriously get away…not the ‘you-can’t-catch-me’ fun kind of game of chase, I wanted out of there. Licking is just so wrong on so many levels.

The evening started out well. There was a pole:

Working the pole

Which I don’t think Master understood the purpose of…because he tied me to it.

It's hard to dance on a pole when you are tied to it

But after being totally grossed out after the licking, I asked Master for a solid beating to cheer myself up. He obliged me with a good work over that left me ‘glowing’.

Lobster bottom