Category Archives: Uncategorized

De-Ubuing

I’m generally okay with people telling me how crap I am or who express different opinions to mine, but what I do not like is people using my blog as a springboard to bully other people.

I’d hoped that Ubu could of been less juvenile and his/her/its diatribe would of remained directed at me instead of branching out and affecting others, but unfortunate he/she/it could not contain themselves.

My apologies to everyone who was Ubu-ed and I should of put a stop to this sooner.

Ruling on the rules

There is one thing that I really, really hate and that is being treated like I’m stupid.

And there is one way to easily treat me like I’m stupid and that is to take away my ability to function as an adult.

Now I might be going out on a limb here by announcing this, but here goes:

“I don’t like being told how to live my life!!”

I do, however, need to differentiate here between being told ‘how to live my life’ and being told ‘what to do’ because one makes me want to smack the offending person around the head a few times and the other makes me melt in all the right places. It’s a distinction that seems a bit confusing on the surface, but underneath, it’s really quite simple to understand.

Simply put, I know ‘how to live my life’. It’s a skill I’ve been honing for the last 32 years and includes careers choices, lifestyle choices and those daily things that become habitualized, like what time I go to bed, what I eat for breakfast and when it’s time to get a pap smear. As an adult functioning in society, I know my limitations and what is best for me. I know when I’m not feeling well and should take things a bit easy and I know all about diet, exercise and not walking down dark streets by myself at night. A lot of this stuff is just commonsense and when people try to tell me how to do any of this, I really do feel like they are treating me like a child, which in turn makes me want to get vocal and hit things.

‘What to do’ however, is a slightly different matter. I feel it’s all about service and serving my Master. Being told ‘what to do’ is more like receiving directions on how to be more pleasing to him than being told what is right and wrong in my life. More importantly, being told to ‘suck cock’ makes me feel as far from being a child as I could possibly be (and we don’t want to go down that child route because then I’ll be thinking that you think I’m stupid and shit will hit the fan.)

Tell me to go to bed and I’ll start thinking you’re trying to be my father.

Tell me to crawl to your bed like the bitch I am and I’ll think of you as my Master.

I don’t think being told ‘what to do’ has to necessarily be limited to the bedroom, but obviously that is a place where it’s much easier to make the distinction between ‘how to live my life’ and ‘what to do’; as it’s very rare to be asked if you’ve brushed your teeth when you’re tied to the bed.

I guess to substitute another word for ‘how to live my life’ it would be ‘nagging’. I don’t like to be nagged and so I try not to nag Master too much. I fully believe that he is an adult in control of his life and therefore it’s not my place to tell him to go and get his blood tests done (it’s been months!!!) or buy new clothes or whatever. It’s not that I don’t care about it, I just believe that he’s been doing ‘his thing’ well enough for 51 years and therefore why should I have a right to say anything to him.

Similarly, no-one has been me for longer than I have, therefore don’t tell me how to live my life, just tell me what to do, ok?

(Written in response to the delightful discussion over at kaya’s blog and not because I really have anything to rant about 🙂 )

I said two inches not fucking eight!!!

Mistake No.1

Asking Master to trim my hair.

Mistake No. 2

Not getting the fuck away from him fast when he grabbed my hair in a fist and the pair of scissors in the other (even though I had two combs and asked him to comb it against my back and take little bits off…)

Mistake No. 3

Not confirming with him that he knew how much two inches was.

Mistake No. 4

Not asking him if he had ever cut hair before he started cutting.

The result of all these mistakes?

my poor hair1

 Seven inches straight off the bottom then another inch ‘straightening it up’…

my poor hair2

Then I started crying.

Then he laughed and said it will grow back.

My hair is my thing…it’s the only thing I like about myself.

How could he do that???

Damn…

BDSM the Strine Way

I had a request on my polls the other day for some more ‘Australian’ content so as a special treat (??) and in lieu of anything smutty to write about, I offer this once off manual to BDSM the Strine (Australian) way. If none of this makes any sense to you whatsoever, you’re obviously not Strine and may need to look a few things up in the Strine dictionary.

Step-by-step BDSM the Strine Way

1. Finding yourself a sheila:

As a bloke, this is probably the hardest step to complete. It can be hard to find a sheila without any ankle biters if she’s from the bush (because obviously getting up the duff is the only thing to do if you live out the back of bourke) and then you’ve got to get some rellies to look after them or a mate. Sheilas from the big smoke also aren’t all that keen on daggy blokes from the bush, so make sure you’re not dressed like a yobbo and your ute is clean.

The type of sheila you want will also depend on whether you’re an arse man or a tits man. If she’s a dead ringer for Angelina Jolie, that’s bewt, but if she looks like Kath or Kim, you might want to incorporate a hood into your arvo or evening’s entertainment. Make sure she’s also not a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock or once you start having your evil way with her, she might call the pigs and then you’ll be up shit creek before you even have a chance to crack a fat.

2. Playing with your sheila:

Have some tucker before you get started (something other than macca’s is recommended or she might whinge about you being a tight arse). Don’t have any grog, and if you’re going to tie her up, give it a burl the night before so you don’t look like a boofhead. Also, if you’re built like a brick shit house, she might feel a bit uncomfortable being alone with you, so let her ring a mate.

If you play for an extended period of time, give her a chance to go to the dunny and don’t forget the frangers or she will spit the dummy!

3. When you’re done:

If you’re both rooted, take a break, have a sanger or something and a bit of a yabber before you shoot through. Don’t skite about your performance or she’ll think you’re up yourself and then you’ll have buckley’s chance of seeing her again.

If she’s a dinky-di subby sheila and she thinks you’re not quite as useless as tits on a bull, then it’s likely you’ll get to see her again. As long as you don’t act like a derro the next time you meet, hopefully it will the start of a bewdiful Strine bdsm relationship.

(Normally this stuff makes me cringe and want to change my nationality, because I feel like a tour operator talking to a group of overseas tourists who think it’s ‘cute’, so don’t be expecting too much more in the future! )

Regrettable regrets

It’ s been raining constantly for three days, it’s cold and I’m feeling ‘abrasive’. I really should ban myself from the internet when I’m in one of these moods. I’ve already had a few PMs on the forums I frequent telling me I’m an uber bitch, so just in case I leave a drive by comment on anyone’s blog, just ignore it ok?

Just to show that I do take everyone’s comments to heart, I’ll start will some non-whining topics:

In domestic bliss news, Master bought me a new iron and an ironing board cover! Squee!! Why I am getting excited about this I’ll never know, because now I have *no excuse* not to iron. Damn…

In further bliss news, I actually won something by being chosen by an automatic number generator! Squee!! (Although I didn’t realise it was being decided randomly at the time so I spent ages thinking up a ‘Barney response’ then patting myself on the back because I thought I’d done good…)

That’s about all the happy stuff I can squeeze out for now, so onto the whine for the day:

Regrets.

I’m full of them.

Starting from being such a chunky monkey kid that it left my body criss-crossed with enough stretch-marks that it now looks like I’ve given birth to the brady bunch, and not getting braces when I was young, all the way up to divorcing my husband and leaving Japan.

I regret it all.

That’s not to say I’m not very happy with my life as it is now (except for the stretch-marks and wonky teeth bit).

I tend to think of my life now as an alternate reality, as opposed to something I’ve ‘ended up’ with – which would be the normal result of a regret. And although it would be impossible for me to be here in this reality if I hadn’t made the choices I did, I hate to think that they are mutually exclusive.

In both lives I’ve met wonderful men who I love and whom have loved me. If there was some way that I could meld the two lives together and have the best of both worlds, there would be nothing to regret and all would be good.

I’d also like to erase the 12mths of living with the psychopath that is a huge regret, but the reality is that if I hadn’t experienced that, it is doubtful I would of met Master and unlikely that I would be here.

And it would be unlikely that I’d know what a caring, loving man hides beneath his very gruff exterior (even though he doesn’t like that to get around…)

So regrets? Yeah, I’m full of them.

Both good and bad.

Willy wankers

Thanks everyone for the input on the polls! I found it all excellent food-for-thought except the comments that mentioned ‘forks’ – of course if I was a pain-slut, I would be joining your fan club and having your first born at the mention of forks, but alas I ain’t, so enough with the forks! 🙂

But before I end the question segment of this show, I’d like to ask just one more:

Have you ever seen your significant other wank?

I was over at vanimp’s and she was discussing the results of her orgasm meme and I got to thinking about whether I’ve ever seen someone wank. I have to report that I have never seen a live wank, so I’m just wondering if anyone else has.

Master has seen me release a few times. Of course, that was in pre-hitachi days so there wasn’t a lot to see. Just me with a hand lodged between my tightly closed thighs, clutching a pillow and trying with all my might to cum. I could always hear him breathing and moving even though I had my eyes closed and knowing he was ‘waiting’ for it always upped the ante.

I lived with my ex for 8+ years and never saw or heard anything remotely like a wank. I have to admit that sometimes I would masturbate while laying beside him in bed as he slept after turning him down for sex (again!) though. Other than my ex, I’ve only lived with two other men and I don’t believe (I’m hoping) that either of my owners have had a need to wank – seeing that there has always been one-wearing-a-shiny-thingie nearby(CarrieAnn says I’m being naiive…yeah, I’m sure I am too…) I’ve just never seen or heard anything – so my tally on wank viewing/wank suspicion is zero.

Thinking about this has really perked my interest for some reason though. If anyone is willing to leave me a comment or email I need details like:

Are socks the weapon of choice?

What do you do to control the squirt?

Does it make you blind?

Tell me some really funny names for the deed (I’ve got a boring day at work lined up tomorrow and I need entertainment!!)

Input

I spent my chilling weekend doing some blog housecleaning. I imported all my old entries from LJ and comments with a click. Have I mentioned that I love, love Wordpress?

I had a bit of a look through some of my older entries and laughed and did a fair bit of cringing too. I often say that ‘happy-happy-joy-joy-slavery-fulfills-me’ people make me a bit ill…the sad thing is that I used to be one of those people and it’s all there in writing. I was so clueless, it’s painful. Actually reading those entries is a bit like going to amateur theatre and feeling sorry and uncomfortable for the actors, because they are just really, really bad.

So I had a think about what what I’m doing here and thought I’d ask for some input. If you wouldn’t mind giving me some feedback by answering this poll, I might be able to better serve my reading public.

And before you ask, “We want to see forks!” is not an appropriate answer to put in the ‘other’ column…

Thanks!

Japan Four-year Anniversary

In a couple of weeks it’s going to be exactly 4 years since I departed the land of the rising sun never (so far) to return again. If you haven’t been reading me very long, I’ll just give you a quick run down of why I left:

An ex-con who did something like twenty years of jail time for kidnapping, torturing, raping and attempting to kill a young girl found me on alt.com and whispered sweet nothings to me over the internet. In the space of about 3 weeks I ended my marriage, flushed my career down the toilet and left on a jet plane.

Okay? So we’re all on the same page now? Great. Let’s move on.

To commemorate this illustrious occasion, I’ve compiled a little comparison list between my home of 3 years Perth, Western Australia and my home of 10 years Tokyo, Japan (strictly speaking I also lived in Tochigi and Kanagawa, but mostly in Tokyo.)

Let’s begin with something simple: Train travel

Tokyo


(an oldie video, but always a good one to scare the foreigners)

Perth


 
 
View of CBD area

Tokyo (Shinjuku-one of the business districts)

shinjuku from sky 
I guess they need a few more buildings for the extra few million people they have there.
 
Perth (the only business district)

perth from sky

McDonalds

Tokyo

えび

 

Mushroom & Cream Shrimp Fillet Burger 280yen

 

 

 

 

 

ベーコン

 Bacon & Potato Pie 120yen

 
Perth

seared chicken burger

 

 
Seared chicken burger (McDonalds in Australia has more chicken products on its menu than KFC does…)

 

 

mcfeast

 

 

 

 

McFeast Deluxe (mayo and mustard sauce)

 
Fresh seafood

Tokyo

(Do not watch this video if you are at all squeamish about food that is still moving)


 

Perth

fresh seafood

 

to be continued….

The Dollhouse

God it’s hard to get your mojo back when you go away for a while. Having  no innernets for a week was both a blessing and a curse – it’s great to get away from life, but hard to get back into life when you return. It’s also officially winter (since June 1st) and I’m heading into hibernation mode. Winter…blech…I even hate the word.

Master thinks I’ve been going a bit feral of late so he has added two things to his shopping list to impose my slavery upon me in a slightly more tangible way: a chastity belt and a posture collar.

I’ve been enamoured with the idea of a posture collar for a couple of months now. I even went as far as to ask Master whether my metal collar could be taken off (I emphasize the word ‘ask’ here as I realise that generally ‘asking is futile’ in the lot of a slave, but I thought it can’t hurt…but now I’m realising that asking can actually hurt 🙂 )

He gave me the standard, “WTF are you talking about bitch?” look at first, but then said that as long as it was being replaced by a posture collar, he would take off my steel collar. Yay!

There was a time when the very thought of having my collar removed made me sick to the stomach – but not any more. Maybe it means I’ve somehow grown as a slave and that even without all the bells and whistles I feel secure. Or perhaps it just means that finally, after eons of pondering, I’ve come to realise that a collar does not a slave make.

I often think that life would be more comfortable and quieter without that hunk of metal around my neck. Sometimes I’d also like to wear a necklace or something a little less ‘industrial’. Unfortunately though, it’s very much a part of ‘the look’ that Master likes and so it stays firmly there with just the occasional adjustment courtesy of the allen key when the locking screw starts to pop its head out. Which by the way, I feel is his job to do and not mine even though I’m the only one who knows where the allen key actually is! Lol.

The other item on his wish list – the chastity belt- is slightly more inexplicable. I mean, all he has to say is ‘no releases’ and that would be the end of my days of dipping into my lolly jar. There is also no possibility of me using it without his consent anyway so I mentioned to him that more metal in my nether regions would make absolutely no difference to what I ‘can and cannot do’ with his pussy, but once again, it’s more about ‘the look’ than his ‘control’ over his property.

I’ve come to the conclusion that he is a very visual man and highly motivated by what he wants to see me wear/do/be. Once he gets a particular visual in his head that he wants to see, nothing will get in his way of achieving ‘the look’. This makes me feel many times like I’m a doll that he enjoys playing dress-up with. Of course you don’t care how your doll feels when you shave off her hair or leave her out in the yard so her face melts off – she’s a doll.

Comparing myself to a doll is misleading though. Master cares very passionately about me and in 99.99% of situations takes very good care of me. However, he also has an equal ability to have a zero care factor for me when there is ‘a look’ he wants involved. The pussy rings, the collar, the tattoo, impossibly high-heeled boots, the posture collar, the chastity belt…they are all part of ‘the look’ he wants and regardless of the discomfort and risks to me, thy will be done.

I constantly marvel at his ability to go from ‘meh’ to ‘are you okay sweetie????’ in nought to ten seconds. It’s like he has a care factor switch hidden away somewhere.

Me? The only time I have access to my care factor switch is when I’m pms-ing. During that golden time of the month, my switch is permanently stuck on, “Do it your fucking self asshole!”

Nature is a glorious thing

 certificate

We’re back! (I can see from my blog stats that you’ve all been amusing yourselves in my absence by looking at my unfortunate butt-plug video..methinks it’s time to take it down….lol.)

Well, we had a wonderful time. I swum with couple of rather large (3m & 8m long) whalesharks, two delightful sea turtles, several rays and a zillion fishies in all colours of the rainbow. There was also a leopard shark and white tipped reef shark, but they seemed more scared of us than we were of them, so all was good.

As you can see, I was proudly presented with an official whale shark swimmer certificate which Master kindly corrected to reflect my real names. I also have a dvd of the whaleshark swimming and when I can figure out how to rip some stills from it or at least how to rip a cop to my hard-drive and post it to youtube I will.

And for all you latex nylon and neoprene fans, here’s a rather sexy pic of my….wetsuit! Here I was heading down to swim with the fishies and the crabs near the oyster stacks just as the tide was coming in.

wetsuit

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I won’t bore you with all the details of the golden sandy beaches, dolphins frolicking in the emerald seas and picture perfect weather that we had, suffice to say it was magical.

sandy bay

Other than the brief time I spent koala-ing Master at Turquoise Bay, he had a tiring time doing all the driving (approx. 2800kms or 1740miles) dodging emus, cows, goats, sheep and a kangaroo complete with joey. He even managed the return drive in a 14hr marathon drive back, arriving home at nearly 11pm. (Dodging everything on the road is bad enough in the day time, so you really don’t want to be driving at night-time on country roads.) What was even worse though, was about 200kms into the journey I seriously ran out of things to talk about, so thank god for the ipod!

We will be returning to our regularly scheduled programme of kink when I float back to earth.

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:

whaleshark

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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?”

/facepalm

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!)

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?

Understanding man-speak

Master sends me things he think I will find amusing and generally I do. This was a recent offering that landed in my inbox from him:

Understanding woman-speak…
1.) Fine : This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut the fuck up.

2.) Five Minutes : If she is getting dressed, this means a half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch tv before helping around the house.

3.) Nothing : This is the calm before the storm. This means something, and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with ‘nothing’ usually end in ‘fine’.

4.) Go Ahead : This is a dare, not permission. For fuck’s sake, don’t do it!

5.) Loud Sigh : This isn’t actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you about ‘nothing’. (Refer back to #3 for the meaning of nothing.)

6.) That’s Okay : This is one of the most dangerous statements a woman can make to a man. That’s okay means she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.

7.) Thanks : A woman is thanking you, do not question, or faint. Just say, ‘You’re welcome.’

8.) Whatever : Is a women’s way of saying FUCK YOU!

9.) Don’t worry about it, I got it: Another dangerous statement, meaning this is something that a woman has told a man to do several times, but is now doing herself. This will later result in a man asking ‘What’s wrong?’ For the woman’s response, refer to #3 then RUN!

Because I’m deep in plague-ness and I’d rather not tear the heads off small children and animals,  I’ve decided to write my vocabulary guide:

Understanding man-speak:

1.) I’m fine:  This is the phrase men use to avoid going to a doctor even when they are half-dead/ have a gaping hole in some part of their anatomy/ are missing a limb.

2.) I don’t want to talk about it: Obviously in relation to a topic that calls into question their manliness/their ability to fix something/money and/or where they were last Friday night.

3.) I know where I am: ….self-explanatory.

4.) I have one of those in the garage: said in response to a woman’s request to buy something that they really need but that can never be found/requires fixing before it can be used/is not the actual thing that she wanted.

5.) We don’t need to call someone, I can do it: Danger is imminent, call a professional immediately.

6.) A man’s breakfast: generally consists of eggs, bacon, sausages, tomato…and toast cut into liddle twiangles.

7.) I’ll do it on the weekend: be careful here of the rather loose term “on the weekend”…and also the loose terms, “I’ll”, “do” and “it”.

8.) The speed limit: generally refers to the fastest speed the car can do.

9.) In a minute: note that the actual length of time it will take a man to begin to do what he has been asked to do increases proportionally with the type of activity. For anything involving cleaning or shopping, minutes can turn into hours, days or never.

And these are the days of kitten’s lives

If I was really a cat, honest to god, I would of lost a life yesterday morning. I died, and by that I mean that I hovered over my body and looked down upon myself at 5am as I felt something something small, hard and alien in bed with me.

With my heart-pounding, I was still half-asleep as I scooped it up and threw it across the room. It’s probably a dog biscuit or something I thought to myself (the poodle pup likes to scatter them all over the house so it pays to watch where you’re stepping while in stiletto boots), but curiousity got the better of me, so I turned on the light and had a look at what it was.

A fucking cockroach.

And it was still alive! So I did a comando roll out of bed, grabbed my slipper with a free hand and thumped the bejesus out of it. Probably a few times more than was necessary, but at least I knew the sucker was dead.

Ahhh….the glamorous life of a sex slave.

Well, I’m down to 8 lives now so I’d better do bed-checks before hopping in bed from now on or this kitty is going to soon be a dead kitty.

In other news, it looks like my anticipated trip to Japan is not going to be happening (I’d applied for a programme through the Japanese Foreign Ministry that was for an 11-day all-inclusive trip to Japan.) People selected were supposed to have been contacted by 22nd April…and well, it’s the 25th now and…yeah….

The good side of not going is that it will mean that I have 16 news lollies to add to my lolly jar! Yay!

*does a little happy dance*

Master and I had a bet using my remaining 9 releases, which I would lose if I got to go and if I didn’t get to go, I would get an additional 16. Master was working under the assumption that if I got to go to Japan, not only wouldn’t it cost him anything, but he would be holding all the release cards. A total win-win for him.

I was working under the assumption that a person who has already spent ten years in Japan wouldn’t be chosen to go again, so I knew that I’d be pretty damn safe betting my last 9 releases on the chance of gaining 16 more.

My next bit of news is that I’ve reached my first weight loss goal! Yay!

*does another happy dance*

I was hoping there would be a blimp trailing, ‘Congratulations!!!!’ across the sky and fireworks erupting as I typed in my weight this morning, but the only thing was a, ‘Well done on achieving your first goal!’ that flashed up on the screen in calorieking. It was a tad deflating.

I was also hoping that maybe they’d give me a few more calories in my daily allowance so that I wouldn’t have to angst over whether the apple I had eaten with my yoghurt for lunch was going to tip me over my 1310cals for the day, but instead the bastards dropped it to 1280cals! I’m hoping to eventually fit into an uber lovely pair of leather pants that Master purchased for me eons ago, but that I’ve never been able to get past my thunder thighs. Hopefully having something to wear will encourage Master to let me attend a party wearing them, instead of going butt naked.

Finally, I just have this delightful little moment from our trip to the supermarket yesterday to share with you. They had packets of salt on special for 93c for 1kg yesterday so I bought 10 packets. It’s salt harvested from natural salt beds in Western Australia and contains no iodine, so it’s perfect for my pussy cleaning.

As we went through the checkout, the checkout chick looked at the mound of salt on the conveyor belt, scanned a packet and said,

“Wow, that’s cheap.”

“Yep, that’s why I bought so much,” I replied.

She then thought about it for a moment and asked,

“Yeah, but does this stuff keep?”

I looked at Master. He looked at me. It was priceless.

Ahhh….the kids of today. What will the world be like when they’re in charge???

This is what gets me into trouble

wowscrnshot_041209_112742

(Yes, I’m now officially a WoW geek by posting a pic of my main on my blog.)

I spent 90% of yesterday getting the silent punishment from Master. He didn’t talk to me, wouldn’t have me do anything for him and basically just ignored me from the time of my early morning discretion. And what did I do to deserve that?

I was being my blood elf paladin when I should of been his slave.

I’ve had a little bit of an abnormal obsession with playing WoW ever since a couple of weeks ago when I decided that I really needed to get a flying mount. Bizarre, isn’t it? A thirty-two year old thinking about nothing other than how to get enough gold together to ‘buy’ something that flies in a computer game. Actually, writing it down like this, it’s just sad.

Master started out patiently listening to me talk about my gold-farming exploits and even managed to do an excellent job of feigning interest when I told him of my climbing gold tally between my three characters and how I’d squandered 5000 gold on another character that is nowhere near high enough level-wise yet to fly.

But then yesterday morning, he asked me to make him breakfast. I was in the middle of doing a ‘deal’ to get more gold and 20mins later when he was still waiting, and I finally made a move to the kitchen, my tardiness broke the donkey’s broke and I was instructed not to talk to him and leave him alone.

Personally, I’d rather have a good solid beating than the silent treatment. I’d rather it be done and the slate wiped clean than hang around miserably waiting for absolution. Some pain, some cathartic tears to lessen the guilt and life goes on, lesson learned. 24hrs of silence that was so heavy it could be cut with a knife was not pleasant. He did his thing, I did mine. We were like room-mates with an icy relationship.

Every time I piss him off or I get the silent treatment there is always a little part of me that thinks, “Ok, now he’s going to get rid of me.” I have frantic thoughts about being turned out on the street, collar removed, suitcase in hand. I don’t generally think that my ‘position’ is so unstable that I could be released at any moment, but every time I rock the boat I can’t help thinking, ‘What if he lets me go?’

Being a slave and only a slave is like dancing on a blade’s edge. Since I serve no other purpose than to be his slave, if I’m not doing that then he has no reason to keep me. It’s not like we’re married or have property together or anything else that would keep us together. We’re two completely separate entities that have, in many ways, entered into a ‘business agreement’. In employer speak, if an employee isn’t doing their job, you fire them. Similarly, if you’re a Master and your slave isn’t being your slave, why keep them?

This morning he came into my bedroom early, unchained me, attached the short leash and took me to his bed. An hour-long interrogation session followed with the main thrust being that he ‘hoped I’d learned my lesson.’ He said he knows that I am intrinsically a slave and that not being able to be that slave should have been a harsher punishment than any beating he could of given me.

And it was.

When I first went and apologised to him and he turned me away, it hurt. I got all teary and felt thoroughly rejected. In the scheme of things what I did was not so bad, but I supposed from a Master’s point of view having your slave put priority on something else than their Master is a cardinal sin.

So I’ve learned my lesson and today I’m actually glad to hear, ‘Bitch, coffee me!‘ ringing through out the house. It beats stony silence any day.

What a slut needs

Between September 22 and Feb 17 I had precisely 25 orgasms. 13 of them were brought about by the Amazing Gonzo and 12 of them were reached ‘au naturel’ i.e. no vibrating devices involved.
 
And why do I know this? Because there is a chart on the fridge that I have to fill in every time I have a release. I fill in the date, the method (‘N’ normal or ‘G’ gonzo) and I get to look at it every single time I go to the fridge for something. It’s there for all and sundry to see, just staring me in the face.

The release chart looks like this-you’ll notice the writing is a bit messy as it’s usually filled in post-release 🙂 :

p1110196
That said, the system we have now is a lot better than the ‘if-you-want-one-come-and-ask-for-it’ system that he used to employ. I’d wake up at 3am, unable to get to sleep, and I’d hover around Master’s bedroom door trying to decide whether I should wake him or not. More often than not I’d be too guilty to wake him and so I’d go back to my bedroom thinking about nuclear proliferation treaties or something equally as off-putting just to get my mind off my nether regions.
 
Mostly I use my rations in lots of two so I have a “G” followed by an “N”. While I enjoy toe-curling, grunting “G”s, I never feel as ‘released’ as I do when I have an “N”. I guess the muscles used are different – as I’m doing all the work with an “N” – and I find an “N” is much more internal, so it really is the cream on my cream pie.
 
The other day I discovered that the Amazing Gonzo doesn’t even need to be inserted in order to be useful. What a discovery that was!  Seeing that his ‘nose’ seems to fit perfectly where it needs to go without disturbing the surrounding metallic minefield, it will make things a whole lot smoother -and quieter!- down there in future. It may also help alleviate my barbells coming loose – as I’ve noticed they generally come loose after a good gonzo or two. Unfortunately, I discovered all this on my very last available release on Feb 17th and haven’t been able to go back to investigate the delights of ‘gonzo-sans-insertion’ some more.

The Amazing Gonzo:

p1110197

Does it bother me that I have rations of releases? Yes and no. I have never been a type of person who needed to cum three times a day, every day, but I do find it a bit stressful when I feel like one and I’ve got no ‘lollies’ left in my lolly jar. Times like now….
 
Master says I need a lot more ‘begging and pleading’ in order to refill my lolly jar. I thought that simply pointing out I’m a slut with needs would be sufficient, but apparently not. Considering he is going away for 5 days from tomorrow, things are looking dire. I’m planning to fill his last night with nakedness, boots, back-scratching and grovelling….in that order -’cause that’s what the man likes!
 
A slut’s gotta do what a slut’s gotta do.

It’s hot

I’m sitting here facing the window (’cause our puters are in front of the window) and every time the wind blows it feels like I’m sitting in front of a hairdryer….Normally I’m totally fine with heat, in fact, the hotter the better, but for some reason this year there have been some times where I just can’t take it. I feel claustrophobic and almost like I can’t get enough air. Hot flushes perhaps? Am I menopausal or just getting old? Lol.

So I managed to drag Master to the beach for the….ummm…3rd time? this summer and we had a nice cool dip in a totally flat ocean. I was floating on my back and just chilling. It was great.

After getting back from the beach we spent a couple of hours practising some shibari. I find the tutorials on Japan Rope to be quite useful. I bought some rope from them several years ago- about 30m of fire truck red hemp. Unfortunately the rope hardly ever got used by the ‘one who shall remain nameless’ and now they don’t appear to be selling rope anymore.  The Twisted Monkalways seems to be doing a roaring trade these days though if you’re after some purdy-coloured rope.

So while I’m off removing hair for this evening’s play party, I thought you’d enjoy a meme I pinched from Coyote’s Kitten.

1. Who eats more?

Me, sometimes. Master,sometimes. If we go to an all-you-can-eat place, definitely me 🙂

2. Who said “I love you” first?

Master did. I haven’t actually said it to him yet.

3. Who is the morning person?

Master naturally wakes up earlier than me. I loathe mornings.

4. Who sings better?

Me.

5. Who’s older?

Master is by 19 years.

6. Who’s smarter?

Master.

7. Whose temper is worse?

Master’s. But he controls it very well. He has a *very* loud voice.

8. Who does the laundry?

We both do. He always washes his own work clothes. I do his sheets, towels and my stuff.

9. Who does the dishes?

I do. Well, the dishwasher does 🙂

10. Who sleeps on the right side of the bed?

Master sleeps in the middle of his queen-sized bed. I sleep in the middle of my double bed.

11. Whose feet are bigger?

Master’s.

12. Whose hair is longer?

Mine.

13. Who’s better with the computer?

Master has an imac…need I say more?

14. Do you have pets?

Yes. One white poodle, several ant farms (in summer), regular spider infestations and the occasional cockroach.

15. Who pays the bills?

Master does. I file away the receipts.

16. Who cooks dinner?

Master. Unless it’s Japanese and then I do.

17. Who drives when you are together?

Master does. I don’t drive.

18. Who pays when you go out to dinner?

Master does generally.

19. Who’s the most stubborn?

Master? Me? This is  tough one. I *think* I’m stubborn, but I’m always bound to lose with him.

20. Who is the first one to admit when they are wrong?

I never admit it and Master is *never* wrong  😉

21. Whose family do you see more?

Master has never met my family. We see his family a couple of times a year.

22. Who named your pet?

Master did.  The poodle’s name is Jacque.

23. Who kissed who first?

I hate kissing. He loves it. Go figure.

24. Who asked who out?

Ummm…..I met him in person for the first time at Perth Airport – the day I became his slave.

25. Who’s more sensitive?

Master. He always cries in Gone with the Wind…. *smirks* But then again, I always cry in Driving Miss Daisy and Sex in the City and the list goes on….

26. Who’s taller?

Master is. He’s 5ft9.5 (I’ve been corrected!Lol) and I’m 5ft5.

27. Who has more friends?

Master does. I have like 2 friends.

28. Who has more siblings?

Master does. He has an older sister and a younger brother. I have an older sister.

What a day…

After feeling that my pussy was ‘not quite right’ all the way to work, I finally arrived at the office, went to the toilet and there in my underwear was my barbell and ball that should of been in my right labia.

My first reaction was, ‘Oh, fuck!’

My second reaction was, ‘Oh, fuck, fuck fuck!’

I stripped off, put down the toilet seat and sat down while I attempted to push it back in. I pushed and it hurt like a mother fucker and it just wasn’t going anywhere. This was looking like an emergency trip to the piercer’s after work…in seven hours. I had a bad feeling about it. It’s been fifteen years since my ears were pierced and they still manage to close over if I leave out my earrings for a little while.

Seven hours of mortification at having to bare my pussy without any ‘preparation’ whatsoever later, I walked into the  piercer’s to be assailed with blood-curdling screams,

I’ve been there and done that,” I said to the girl. She laughed and led me into a cubicle next to the screaming woman.

I hopped up on the bench and my worst fears were to be realised: the piercing site had closed over sufficiently that the barbell just wouldn’t go in without a fight. She asked me what gauge my piercing was, pulled out the necessary needle and pushed it through.

‘AHHHHHHHRRRARARGGGGGGG!!!! FAAAAAARRRRKKKKKK!!!!!’…

This time the screams were mine.

Five minutes later I hobbled out to the car where Master was waiting and I burst into tears. It was just throbbing and throbbing, and I blubbered and moaned all the way home. Master saw me blubbering and gave me his white handkerchief from his pocket:

 “Your body is just so funky, isn’t it? I think I might donate you to science.”

Normally I would of said something as equally as amusing to Master, but all I could manage through my gritted teeth was:

“See? See what I do for you!”

In fact, it’s still throbbing….I need a stiff drink….or several…

With a day like that, the universe is going to have to give me some balance by presenting me with Anthony Warlow tonight in the Phantom of the Opera. Come on universe, I’m counting on you!

I’ve moved

Okay, it’s official, I’ve moved to wordpressYay!

The new blog is here https://subtletimes.wordpress.com

No new posts will be made here, but the blog will remain here ‘as is’ for archives (actually it’s just because I can’t be bothered to move all the entries over…lol.)

If you enjoy having your friends page (which I do and is one thing that I think WordPress needs!) , the next best thing is to subscribe to the RSS feed of the new blog. I discovered RSS feeds about 6mths ago…I know, I’m slow to adapt…and it has totally changed my morning blogslog. So in case there is anyone who still doesn’t know about RSS….

Skip this if you’re an old hand with RSS…

Public vs Private

It would have to be about a year and a half ago when I was first display naked in public. I remember turning up to the house where the party was to be held and even though I was totally dressed at that time, I was nervous as all hell. Except for two or three people I’d met before, it was a house full of people I was meeting for the first time and I wasn’t sure of the protocol – whether it was okay to talk to people, who was dom and who was sub – all in all it was totally and utterly nerve-wracking.

Within an hour of arriving I was stripped off and paraded around the house. My clothes were removed in the relative darkness of the ‘dungeon’ and I remember begging (and I don’t do that a lot!) not to be taken out into the rest of the house. I was close to tears when I realised that all my protesting was in vain and I was going to be dragged out there anyway.  I remember the glare of the fluorescent lights and thinking about my bumpy and wobbly bits and generally being mortified that all of me was ‘hanging out’ for everyone to see.

After an hour or so, once the initial shock had subsided, I didn’t become 100% comfortable with my nakedness in a room full of people, but it didn’t worry me as much as I thought it would. I suppose I was able to ‘let go’ to a certain extent and accept that I had no control over things and therefore had no responsibility either. Once I had decided in my mind that everyone knew it was not by choice, I relaxed a bit. By not voluntarily being naked I was stamping myself with a ‘I-know-I-don’t-have-the-body-to-be-parading-around-but-I-have-to-because-I’ve-got-no-choice’ seal and in my mind that made it bearable.

Since then I’ve been paraded, beaten, hogtied, worn butt plugs, cupped, worn pocket rockets, had a tens machine used on me and the list is growing. In fact, generally now I actually seek to get used in public because it adds another dimension to play – accountability. People expect us to go to parties and play to a certain level, and knowing that I’m on display triples my pain tolerance, which in turn feeds my endurance kink.

However, there are two things I’m not sure whether I want to do in public – be fucked by a person/device/machine and be played with to an ‘ugly’ state. 

I guess that my fear of being fucked in public is actually more a fear of  ‘getting off’ in public. My real sexual pleasure is a very, very private thing. I’ve faked orgasms plenty of times with my ex-partners, but they weren’t actually real, so ‘showing pleasure’ didn’t bother me. I remember the first time I had a release and came in front of Master – I was horrified, truly horrified. Even to this day, 100%  of the time I want to get my pleasure in private.

I’m not sure exactly why, but I think I have a feeling of immense guilt. I find it hilarious because I make it sound like I’m some good catholic girl who needs to say a thousand our fathers and hail marys after having impure thoughts. It’s not like that at all, but I guess I still like to have my pleasure held firmly close to my bosom on ‘my side’ of the wall.

The ‘ugly state’ thing is probably linked to public humiliation. By ‘ugly state’ I mean pools of drool, snot-running, mascara-dripping, sweat-patches ie. general unattractiveness. I’ve never been pushed to tears or screams or anything like that, and in fact, I’m not sure whether that sort of thing is acceptable in public, but it’s something that I find really hot and very scary at the same time.

The image of slavery I’ve always had in my head has been gracious and calm submission, not screaming-snot-flowing-abuse-hurtling submission. As a result, I’m always very stoic when I’m played with, sometimes laughing or giggling, but not swearing ‘FUUUUUCK!!’ or kicking and screaming (even though there are times I’d really love to!) Perhaps I’m trying to live up to the ideal I have in my head, or perhaps I’m not willing to give whoever is using me the ‘satisfaction’ of a reaction, but I just suck it all in and internalize it.

As I said, I’m really on the fence with these two things. The experience junkie in me wants to be able to cross them off the list, but the I-don’t-want-to-have-flashbacks! side of me, doesn’t want to go near them with a barge pole. In reality, I suppose I don’t have any control over whether they will happen or not being that I’m the slave and all, but as I always say to Master, just because I’m the slave doesn’t mean that I don’t have opinions.

I have the right to think whatever the hell I want about anything, but at the end of day, when he says, "Do it bitch" I might be screaming on the inside, but I’ve still got to do it. That’s what slavery is.

I know angst sells but…

…the most angsty thing in my life at the moment is whether the ball is going to fall off my barbell!

So, in the absence of anything juicy to write about, I’ll write a bit of an update.

January 15th was the anniversary of my thirty second year on this planet. Master and I celebrated by going down to the southwest region of Western Australia. It’s an area full of wineries and tall forests and in an attempt to cross more things off my ‘to see’ list, Master took two days off work to make a four-day weekend and off we went.

Normally I like a good hit of travel, but my road trip from Perth to Melbourne with Master a couple of years ago taught me a very valuable lesson:

snoring man + me in same bed = not a happy kitten

Therefore, whenever there is travel planned, I always make sure to pack several pairs of earplugs and many headache tablets in preparation of several nights of sleep deprivation. For two and a half years we’ve slept in different bedrooms, with ravishing sessions taking place in his bed before I skip off to my ‘slave cell’, so spending several nights with the ‘freight-train’ aka Master is always a challenge.

However, for some unknown reason, I slept really well this time. I even managed to sleep through a car alarm that, Master says, rang for over an hour at 1am outside our hotel room. It was a miracle 🙂

The area was nice, but nothing exciting. The trees were also big, but not as big as I’d expected. Master and I have both been tainted by overseas travel and find Australia to be big, dry and mostly boring. I’ve only seen a small fraction of Australia, but Master has seen just about all of it, several times over in fact, and he is mostly of the same opinion.

I milked my birthday for all it was worth and at every opportunity reminded him that it was *my birthday* and therefore we should do X. The next day was *my birthday plus 1* and therefore we should do Y. In fact, I think I milked it for about a week!

January 12th I had had a job interview with a Japanese trading company looking for someone to do admin. The day before Master and I had scouted out where the office was and before we were even half way there, I’d decided that there was no way in hell I was going to commute that far everyday. I told the recruiter that it was too far for too little money and thanks but no thanks. The general manager, however, had apparently really liked me and wasn’t going to give up that easily. Then followed seven days of salary and working conditions negotiations done in a flurry of cell phone calls and emails. I spent most of the trip down south answering calls when my cell had reception and in the end we settled on 3 days a week at an agreed rate and I started January 21st.

My first day of work we took a 2hr lunch next to the beach in Fremantle and I kicked back with seafood and wine. The whole time I was thinking back to my workplace in the public service where if you were one minute over your allotted five minute toilet break, your manager would come looking for you. I knew I wasn’t in Kansas anymore Toto!

Saturday 24th was the play party I wrote about in my previous entry and then Monday 26th was a public holiday for Australia day. I decided to work Wed, Thur, Fri this week so I had today off and spent most of it cleaning and babysitting the electrician who came to fix the watering system. His services cost $170….and no, I didn’t offer to blow him.

After he left I looked at some porn, let me re-phrase that, spent 2hrs downloading 3 mins of clips (due to our shitty net connection) to feed my fantasies and had a release. Once more, I’ve kept up my tradesman-visits-the-house-and-I-have-a-release recipe.

Around 5:20pm I had a call from Master to tell me that Anthony Warlow was going to be on the radio at 5:30pm. Anthony Warlow is playing the lead in the production of Phantom of the Opera that we are going to see next month and I’ve been lusting after him since I first saw him play the Phantom in 1990. Master had heard that he was going to be on the radio when he was travelling back 3hrs to work after a meeting in Perth today, so he scouted out a public phone and called to let me know (his cell was flat). As soon as I heard, I was racing around the house trying to find….a radio!

My first instinct was to listen to it on the net….then when I tried to go to the station’s homepage and 5mins later it was still loading, I thought it was a bad plan. I then remembered the radio on Master’s bedside clock so I ran in there and tuned in to the station. It turned out that the interview wasn’t very exciting, but I was just stunned by Master’s thoughtfulness. Anyone else would have thought, ‘Yeah, whatever’, but he actually called me….from a pay phone no less!

I hadn’t even reminded him that it was *my birthday + 12* (^v^)

Then I had a play around with WordPress and it seems to be better than lj so I’m thinking about moving. I’ll see if I can be bothered to transfer all the old blogs there or just leave them as they are and start posting new stuff over there – I see that lj makes it ‘so’ easy to transfer by only allowing you to export one month’s entries at a time and you lose comments and some of the formatting. I’ll post the new address here when things are decided.

So that was my day…exciting, huh? That’s why I have a general policy to only write slave angst in here…that and I only seem to get comments when I’m angsting…lol.

Little red riding slut

Saturday night was party night and my outfit for the evening was supposed to be “Little Red Riding Hood”. Silly me forgot my red hood, so I ended up simply being little red riding slut.

This pose is also known as the “Are you done taking photos yet?” pose:

The dagger eyes

Superspanker Ryan aka ‘The man with the hands of steel’ also paid some serious attention to my botty (this was after Master had already paid copious amounts of attention to my botty.)

Red cheeks

This was my ‘rest’ between beating sessions number two and three. I’ve always thought that the idea of the hogtie is really hot, but the reality is that it kills your neck!

Rest between beatings

After beatings with floggers, straps and assorted other things, the karri wood beating stick Master ‘conveniently’ found on our trip away last weekend made an appearance and then it was all polished off with some cane strokes.

At the end, my ass felt….hard! It was strange, almost like my ass had callouses on it. Master suggested that those hard places may have been where he’d placed piping hot party pies earlier on in the evening, but I really think that instead of being beaten to a pulp, I was beaten to a plank!

We came home about 2am, after once again being the last to arrive and the first to play. I have a habit after parties of saying to Master, “I wanted more!” or something as equally as dangerous, so this time he made sure I’d had enough. Today I’ve got a sore ass and sitting, peeing and everything else hurts. All I can say is that I’d better get some pretty bruises out of it!

Services in lieu

We had a visit from the watering system man this morning.  The controller wasn’t working and the pump wouldn’t turn off. He did the watering system man equivalent of ‘control+shift+delete’ ing by popping out the fuse with a screw driver and putting it back in again. Voila! Control is now working, but pump problem is the domain of an electrician to be fixed another day.

For his ‘sweat-inducing’ work of popping out the fuse and pushing it back in again, the watering system man charged us $70.

After I’d paid and he left $70 richer, I went into the house and told Master the ‘good’ news. His reply?

“Did you offer to suck his dick instead of paying him the cash?”

After hearing that remark, I decided that my mission to turn Master into a frugal man is finally complete. Over the last two and a half years I’ve slowly but surely introduced him to the wonderful world of coupons, fuel vouchers, price comparisons and minimal pantry stocking. I have to say that he has done very well (although sometimes he gets a bit shaky when there are less than 12 cans of tinned tomatoes in the pantry) and his thoughtful idea to exchange my dick-sucking services for Trevor’s screwdriver services was just icing on my frugal cake.

I then thought about all the money that we continually shell out to guys in order to have things done around the house – the lawnmower man, the pool/spa fixer man, the watering system man, the garage door man, the painter, the electrician, the internet man, the patio-erecting dudes, the washing machine fixer man, the dishwasher fixer man, the list is endless. And if we were to offer my services in lieu of labour costs, how frugal would that be!

Instead of parts + labour costs, it would be something like: one dishwasher replacement seal and one dick suck. One mowing of the lawn and one spanking session. One patio erection and three erections courtesy of Stevo, Davo and Johno that could find a place to call home in a frugal-minded slave girl’s holes.

I’m sure there have been many such ‘arrangements’ done in private at one time or another, but the internet sounds like a wonderful place to advertise the exchange of services:

Bitch with broken boiler seeks man with a blowtorch to blow.

Slut with septic system problems seeks man to clean her rear entrance.

Need a filling! Fill my hole…then fill my other holes.

Just a thought (^v^)

Services in lieu

We had a visit from the watering system man this morning.  The controller wasn’t working and the pump wouldn’t turn off. He did the watering system man equivalent of ‘control+shift+delete’ ing by popping out the fuse with a screw driver and putting it back in again. Voila! Control is now working, but pump problem is the domain of an electrician to be fixed another day.

For his ‘sweat-inducing’ work of popping out the fuse and pushing it back in again, the watering system man charged us $70.

After I’d paid and he left $70 richer, I went into the house and told Master the ‘good’ news. His reply?

"Did you offer to suck his dick instead of paying him the cash?"

After hearing that remark, I decided that my mission to turn Master into a frugal man is finally complete. Over the last two and a half years I’ve slowly but surely introduced him to the wonderful world of coupons, fuel vouchers, price comparisons and minimal pantry stocking. I have to say that he has done very well (although sometimes he gets a bit shaky when there are less than 12 cans of tinned tomatoes in the pantry) and his thoughtful idea to exchange my dick-sucking services for Trevor’s screwdriver services was just icing on my frugal cake.

I then thought about all the money that we continually shell out to guys in order to have things done around the house – the lawnmower man, the pool/spa fixer man, the watering system man, the garage door man, the painter, the electrician, the internet man, the patio-erecting dudes, the washing machine fixer man, the dishwasher fixer man, the list is endless. And if we were to offer my services in lieu of labour costs, how frugal would that be!

Instead of parts + labour costs, it would be something like: one dishwasher replacement seal and one dick suck. One mowing of the lawn and one spanking session. One patio erection and three erections courtesy of Stevo, Davo and Johno that could find a place to call home in a frugal-minded slave girl’s holes.

I’m sure there have been many such ‘arrangements’ done in private at one time or another, but the internet sounds like a wonderful place to advertise the exchange of services:

Bitch with broken boiler seeks man with a blowtorch to blow.

Slut with septic system problems seeks man to clean her rear entrance.

Need a filling! Fill my hole…then fill my other holes.

Just a thought (^v^)

Don’t you just hate it when…

1. You read through your previous journal entry – one that you re-read several times and spell-checked before posting- and find 1, 2 or even 3 spelling mistakes!!!!

2. You start a new job, which is much better than your old job, but it takes you two hours to get home.

3. You get to the bus stop early and the bus is late, but if you ever get to the bus stop late, the bus is always early.

4. You think you’re in the mood for a release and you check for porn updates from kink.com, but your internet connection is so slow that it takes 15mins to download one 30second clip

5. You notice that you’ve been filling in your release chart wrong and instead of having 15 releases left you’ve only got 5.

6. Having given up on downloading porn, you search for further entertainment in the form of James Spader, and when you’ve found an interview you’d like to watch, it turns out to only be available in streaming media and your crappy internet connection plays 3 seconds worth of clip and then buffers for 5mins…over and over again.

7. There have been no meaty updates on your favourite blogs!

8. You’re planning on going to a play party on the weekend and your domly one decides that your costume will be butt-nakedness.

9. You don’t have anything real to write about so you write amusing snippets about nothing in particular.

10. You realise it’s past your bedtime and it’s only 10pm!

Don’t you just hate it when…

1. You read through your previous journal entry – one that you re-read several times and spell-checked before posting- and find 1, 2 or even 3 spelling mistakes!!!!

2. You start a new job, which is much better than your old job, but it takes you two hours to get home.

3. You get to the bus stop early and the bus is late, but if you ever get to the bus stop late, the bus is always early.

4. You think you’re in the mood for a release and you check for porn updates from kink.com, but your internet connection is so slow that it takes 15mins to download one 30second clip

5. You notice that you’ve been filling in your release chart wrong and instead of having 15 releases left you’ve only got 5.

6. Having given up on downloading porn, you search for further entertainment in the form of James Spader, and when you’ve found an interview you’d like to watch, it turns out to only be available in streaming media and your crappy internet connection plays 3 seconds worth of clip and then buffers for 5mins…over and over again.

7. There have been no meaty updates on your favourite blogs!

8. You’re planning on going to a play party on the weekend and your domly one decides that your costume will be butt-nakedness.

9. You don’t have anything real to write about so you write amusing snippets about nothing in particular.

10. You realise it’s past your bedtime and it’s only 10pm!