In case you were wondering…

No, Kasandra’s story is not quite done yet. That was the end of part one and part two will be along once I’ve recovered from the last 30 weeks…lol.

In other news, I had a profound moment while watching this week’s episode of Breaking Bad. I won’t give any spoilers in case you haven’t seen one of the best episodes in the whole series yet, but that scene with Jesse & Todd…yeah, that pushed my buttons something fierce. In fact, I had to watch it several times just to get my fill.

And that got me to thinking that I’m pretty lucky to be in a relationship where I can say that I  get off on torture scenes (mini spoiler…sorry) and for my SO not to bat an eyelid. Come to think of it, I don’t think there is anything that I could say that M would have a problem with. That’s a very comfortable place to be for yours truly.

When I was at home last month, I spent a lot of time writing my story, but I couldn’t tell anyone what I was doing. I sequestered myself away in my bedroom and tapped away at the keyboard for hours and every now and then someone would come and ask me what I was doing, to which I’d usually respond, ‘Oh, I’m just doing some stuff.’ I did think about maybe saying I was writing a novel, but then I knew the inevitable question of, ‘About what?’ would pop up and I wouldn’t be able to answer it.

My mum, my sister and my best friend know what sort of relationship I’m in, but I don’t really talk about it with them. I can’t sit down over coffee and talk about how bondage makes me feel or how, just every now and then, I need a good beating. My relationship with them is just not at that level of honesty.They accept what I am and what I do, but they don’t appreciate it on any sort of level.

With M, I can talk about everything from my last bowel movement to my love of that scene in Casino Royale with the chair frame and the big knotted rope. He has seen me at my worst and seen me at my best and for that I feel blessed.


In lieu of a final chapter…

…I bring you a blog post about very little. Sorry about that.

Hmmm…my week was, in a word, fucking exhausting. Well, that’s two words, but meh. What’s a word between innernet buddies?

So, the last chapter is finished. I wrote it on the bus, I wrote it on the toilet, I wrote it at 4am in the fucking dark and it is done. Except you know what I’m like and I feel the need to read it for the fiftieth time just to make sure. I can practically recite the damn thing, but I still feel the need to read it again…and tweak it and polish it…my preeeeccccioussss.

So I’m going to go to bed and then wake up tomorrow and read it again. And then…maybe then…I’ll post it.

I haven’t functioned on so little sleep since the time I was writing my undergrad thesis. Which, by the way, was shorter than this goddamn story and took way much less time. I got to thinking about the topic of my thesis, Nihonjinron, which broadly translates as the theory of Japanese uniqueness the other day when the Jap-chick at work piped up with her latest weird-ass idea – that “western” people have different DNA so their bodies require meat to function, but Japanese people are okay without meat.

I casually mentioned my 15 years of semi-vegetarianism during the entire period I lived in Japan and for the following five years after that during which I consumed a pretty fish-heavy diet with some sporadic chicken sprinkled in, but apparently that didn’t count for anything.

My thesis revolved around debunking the myth that Japanese people are special. Now, while I wouldn’t call them special, I would definitely call a lot of their shit quirky and if you read any of my quirky japan series, you probably came to that realisation yourself.

Nihonjinron is quite an interesting topic. There is a whole culture of indoctrinating kids into the myth and it sets up the xenophobic thing perfectly i.e. we’re special and you’re not, therefore you can’t play with us. Unfortunately, the idea of Japanese uniqueness and by extension superiority, kind of set them up perfectly to go to war with the rest of the world and that ended badly for everyone involved.

Not only did I have story angst this week but I had customer angst and Jap-chick all up in my grill. I’ve got a full brain, I’m hungry and I’m so not organised to be heading off to Japan in less than a week. I mean, I haven’t even written out my shopping list yet!



Just a quickie….

I’m last-chaptered out so no energy for a proper blog this week, but I just have to share what I saw the twenty-something Asian chick wearing at the gym last week.

80's Aerobics Fashion

It was pretty much this except without the headband and with much more cameltoe.

The G-string leotard was actually black and looked scarily like this:


Except, as I mentioned before, there was much more cameltoe and she was wearing a boobtube underneath over her ample boobage.

I couldn’t help looking at her in the mirror for the entire class and laughing my ass off. It just reminded me so much of the eighties and my idol:


I can’t tell you the number of times I did the Jane Fonda workout. I loved her purple leg warmers and marvelled at how she could get her leg that high without dislocating her hip. In fact, I did it so many times that I just about wore the VHS out.

Yeah, aerobics in the eighties was good stuff 🙂

I’ve been doing aerobics in some form or another for about twenty years. I’m just proud to say that never once, during all that time, have I ever worn leg warmers or a leotard. Is eighties fashion back and was the chick in my gym class actually a super fashionista, or was she just a poor misguided soul who needs to learn that full make up and a G-string leotard in a Bodyattack class just do not mix?

Prison? Nah, just a Japanese dormitory

M and I been watching a fair bit of Orange is the New Black these past couple of weeks and the more I watch it, the more it feels like I’m reliving my Japanese university dormitory days. The toilet paper rations, the group showers (and baths!) and the make-shift cooking appliances that could electrocute you in the blink of an eye, all remind me of those blissful fourteen months I spent in a very confined space with a lot of bitchy girls. It could have been four years in that hell hole, but I was pardoned early and managed to move in with my boyfriend.

Come to think of it, the girl’s dormitory I lived in when I first went to Japan which came as one of the ‘perks’ of my job in a hot spring hotel was actually more like a true prison experience, due to the fact that there were bars on all the windows and we got locked in at midnight…like literally locked in from the outside…and then the door was unlocked in the morning at 6am so we could go to work…at 6am (that was the very non-fun part). There was some scary lady with a key on the inside who was supposed to open the front door in the event of a fire, but all the fire doors were locked and it was pretty much a death trap. I guess if things got desperate we could have bought all the cans of coke from the vending machine just inside the locked door and used them to put the fire out though.

Oh, how I ❤ Japan and its vending machine saturation but very loose OH&S rules.

I’m interested in how ‘true’ the prison life depicted on OITNB actually is. Other than the scary possibility of being made into some bitch’s wife and the rampant lesbian activity, it seems like a pretty fun way to pass the time. It reminds me of high school and a Japanese dorm all rolled into one. Maybe it looks much more attractive to me than it actually would be because I have a prison fetish, but still, I can think of worse ways to pass a year or two other than a work assignment, 3 meals a day (even if there is a used tampon in my bun) and reading and chatting with some ‘interesting’ people.

In my prison-dorm I had 2-3 cellmates all with super weird habits, work assignments that involved cleaning pubes out of shower drains, toilet paper rations, 3 showers between a gazillion girls and weird rules about changing rooms that meant we had to move all our stuff to a new cell every 3 months (it was kind of like the COs tossing all the cells every quarter…) and I had to make my own food and pay for the privilege! I do have to confess that the toilet stalls had doors, but do I get some sympathy points for them being squat toilets? If all that ain’t worse than prison, I don’t know what is.

If you haven’t seen the show, I recommend it. I particularly like Chapman – even though she started to lose it after 48hrs in solitary (girl ain’t got no gumption…lol.)


Week Thirteen

In case you were wondering, yes, I’m still doing the fasting thing. Still 3 days a week and while it’s definitely not cruisey, I’m much more used to feeling hungry. So much so that I have forgotten to eat a couple of times – on fasting days, mind you, and I only realised when my levels of hunger rose to extraordinary levels and I was wondering why…lol.

The chick at work who drives me crazy – mostly because she is Japanese and thinks she is never wrong – needed a sugar rush on Friday and went off to buy some biscuits. When she came back she offered them around the office and I said, “No thanks” to which she said, “Why???” to which I said, “I’m fasting”. Three hours later I ate my 120cals of yoghurt for lunch and she said to me, “You’re eating! That’s not fasting! Fasting is eating nothing and drinking lemon juice” to which I said, “I’m doing the fasting diet, you can read about it on the internet. It’s a different type of fasting. I can have up to 500 calories” to which she said, “But that’s not fasting! You don’t eat when you are fasting.” And people wonder why I want to slap the bitch down.

She also thinks ants are bigger on the east coast of Australia (they’re not), all foreigners who live in Japan hate it (they don’t) & Japanese healthcare is much better than here because kids in Japan don’t get headlice (they mightn’t get headlice, but tuberculosis rates are one of the highest of any developed nation and only 24% of women have ever had a pap smear with most Japanese women I know not even knowing what one is). I’ve given up trying to suggest alternatives to some of her incorrect assumptions, but it’s like beating my head up against a Shinto toori gate and as you all know, I’m not a masochist.


My beating window opened yesterday and I had a nice beating courtesy of Mr Crop, Mr Cane and Mr Big-wooden-slappy-thing (he’s just a big piece of wood, I think). I also had some nice bondage courtesy of Mr Armbinders, a belt and several pieces of rope.

(Note to self: remember how much armbinders hurt *before* asking to be tied up ‘damsel-in-distress-on-railroad-tracks’ style with armbinders. My shoulders are still hurting.)

My trip to Japan has been pushed to the end of September/start of October, so it looks like my story will be finished before I go – if I can squeeze the last chapter out of my birth canal. I started mapping out the outline yesterday so now I just need to fill in the bits and pieces. The second last chapter needs a bit more tweaking or ‘mothering’ as M likes to call it, which I will do this week. M and I have been having some pretty funny conversations about some of the characters and talking about what’s going to happen. Sometimes I’ll come home from work and instead of a “How was your day?” it’s a, “So, how’s Will today?”

A month or so back I needed to talk something through with someone so I decided to tell him what my plans were for the story. Ever since I’ve been sounding ideas off him and asking his advice. It certainly does help to have another perspective on things. He asked me last night with a twinkle in his eye whether he was going to get a credit on my ‘book’. I told him he might get a thank you on page three…if he’s nice to me…lol.

exercise yoda

Men in pain

While I’ve hung up my whip and don’t dabble on the dark side of causing my SO pain anymore, I have to say that I still quite often enjoy watching men in pain. There’s something about it that generally ticks my ‘yummy’ boxes more than watching girls in pain. It’s very curious and I was thinking about why I like it while laying in bed at 4am listening to the massive thunderstorm we were having. Why? What else should one be thinking about 4am on a Saturday morning? My full bladder and the fact that I couldn’t be bothered to get out of my warm bed and empty it? Nah…that would make too much sense.

Anyway, I have a little theory – men are a lot more embarrassed to show pain than girls are and it’s that shame factor that does it for me.

I find that boys in pain swear, grit their teeth and generally try to be pretty non-reactive (unless they’re drama queens and then I quickly switch off). It’s cute that they still try to be ‘strong’ when their dick is turning blue and their nuts are receiving some pointed attention. I like to watch them struggle and be out of control.

I think the other thing that plays into it is the fact that girls in pain is such a common sight that it’s almost expected, but boys in pain (whether it be pain caused by women or other men) is still quite a niche area and I have a sneaking feeling that it’s because having women on the receiving end is more ‘acceptable’ than having boys receive the same treatment.

You can glean what you will from these observations of mine including, but not limited to: (a) I watch too much porn (b) I have latent dominant feelings or (c) I’m weird and should go to the toilet when my body tells me it needs to go.

Enjoy your weekend (my beating window is open again…I will report back later…lol.)



I hauled my ass up a ladder and cleaned the gutters out today and while I was fighting my panic of being higher up than the second step of said ladder I was thinking about maintenance. Maintenance is one of those things that is a complete pain in the ass, but it has to be done sooner or later. And generally speaking, the later you leave it, the harder it gets.

I find this to be the case with absolutely anything that needs maintaining – houses, cars, weight-loss and of course, slaves. Slaves need their maintenance too, you know.

The thing with maintenance is that it is a stage that is mentally harder than any other stage. Let’s take losing weight as an example. While you’re actively dieting you have a plan, a programme and a goal. It’s relatively easy (once you get started, of course) to stick with it. Once you reach your goal weight, however, that idea of maintaining the weight loss…for ever…is daunting. It makes me feel like I’m in limbo and personally I fail big time at it. I end up not being ever able to maintain a particular weight so I’m either losing or gaining, I never just ‘am’. I swing wildly from side to side trying to keep my body in a reasonably healthy weight range and that’s probably not the best thing to do, but I just can’t handle the ‘nothingness’ of maintenance.

As far as slaves go, how do you manage maintaining a slave? I hear the phrase ‘maintenance beating’ being thrown around a lot and sometimes I wonder if ‘playing’ actually becomes maintenance in a long-term relationship. I mean, what are you playing for other than to maintain your roles?

When you’ve already pushed boundaries and things are as ‘deep’ as they’re going to go, there isn’t anything else to do but go through the motions, is there? If you’ve already reached that place of acceptance of your role and you’ve ticked all the boxes in your experiences-I want-to-have-list, what else do you have to do but maintain what you already have?

I’d probably understand if you enjoyed the playing side of things. If that’s your thing and it does something to you like the feeling I have when I see a chocolate fountain across a crowded room, that’s great. Kudos to you. I don’t. Playing is tough and it hurts. Sometimes I feel the same way about exercise as I do about playing – it’s tough, it hurts, it’s a challenge but something good will come of it in the end.

I often find it very hard to see the forest for the trees or the beating for the pain as the case may be. I almost have to be made to realise what it is that I’m doing when we are playing to get that slave buzz. I begin not to be able to see or feel things for myself. M and his words help. Sometimes I also have to get into my head and stick toothpicks under my eyelids and say to myself, “See? Do you see what is happening and what it means? What are you? What are you doing?” It gets all very second nature and without realising that I’m a slave and I’m actually being treating as one, I take it for granted.

What I’m not sure of is whether it is maintenance that actually lulls me into that place of ‘for grantedness’ or whether it’s something that would happen regardless. Are long-term relationships doomed to head into the areas of complacency and contentment?

Just between you and me, those two words that begin with ‘c’ are supposed to be good things, but they actually freak me out like nothing else.

duct tape