Happy New Year...

... and general Seasons Greetings!

Is Cane Toad the only one who think my Christmas themed fingernails look like kiwi fruit?

Mannequin Porn

I work in a rather conservative environment so had to have a chuckle when I was getting a cup of tea the other day and saw a pile of off duty mannequins having a right old time. I was a bit jealous actually...they're getting more action than me.

Complex

Allow me tell you a tale, followed by a quiz.

There is a man. He's not a bad looking man and he is generally a happy go lucky kinda guy with a comfortable life. Ok, so he's single, but he has at least three f*ck buddies. Life is pretty good.

There is a girl, one of the buddies of the above mentioned man. She fulfils a need in the man, not only cooking him the odd meal and going to stupid movies, but she also dresses in latex and let him watch porn in her lounge. Life is OK for her too.

Now, when these two are making woopy, he can get pretty rough, she doesn't mind that too much. He will penetrate her and she'll get ohh so close to achieving a 'little death' but then he'll withdraw and finish himself manually. This happens everytime he goes in the front, but if he f*cks her arse, he finishes inside.


Now the questions:
Should the girl get a complex?
Does the guy have a problem?
Is the girl over thinking this?

Scent

The scent that comes at you before you even lay a finger on the smooth texture of the fabric, as soon as you open the wardrobe, the draw or the self sealing bag it is kept in. Have you stored it powered, or clean? If it’s powered, a light smell of baby powder with rise to greet you. Johnsons Baby Powder, a distinctive smell all of its own and the vaguely chemical smell mixed with the odour of innocence. If you chose to store in another brand of talc, you may be assailed by a more flowery smell combined with the rubbery scent that makes you weaken. Stored clean, then all you'll get is the over whelming smell of rubber. No talc, no imagined smell of purity.

Latex stored in powder will glide over your fingers when you touch. The hanging items can be freely stroked as your hand touches it, running quickly over the surface, sliding between the layers. Flat folded items, each layer will lie heavy on the other, a hand slid between these folds will feel the weight pressing down. If you chose to store clean, the natural tackiness will result in your fingers skipping over the outer surface, tripping, to get to the next sticky part.

You select a piece or pieces to wear. It may be a top, does it have arms? It may be a pair of trousers, tight or loose or even a skirt, simple A-line with a zip up the front. Will you be wearing gloves too? Each item will require careful donning. These trousers are not denim; you can't just drag them on with wild abandon. This is not a cardigan you can tug at. These are not work gloves with ridges for support. You'll want too dress quickly, but beware. A fingernail out of place may do damage, but only if you have long ones that shine with scarlet polish, if you a boy, then not so much to worry about. But first the talc you used to store with comes in handy. It will help the item flow over your skin, caressing you as it moves. If you stored clean, then talc before pulling on, hair plucked at this point will take away the pleasure of that first kiss of latex. Dress slowly, enjoy the moment. Draw it out and savour the moment as you would a fine wine or delicate morsel. Roll the scent that the stretching and heating releases around on your tongue, taste it as the air around you fills. Breath in deeply as it engulfs you.

If the initial touch of the glassy fabric didn't get into your head, then the freed essence will convince you, again, that this is for you, always.

Poorly Sick

I've been unwell with whooping cough. But I appear to be on the mend now. After all I've got my libido back and I've been thinking about latex ... at lot :-)

I've been reading a bit and have an entry to write about a fascinating book called 'The Sweet Smell of Sex'. It was published in 1969 and has its politically incorrect moments, but I found it a wonder.

You deserve it, if you read it.

I collect erotica. I read erotica.

I have a rather large collection of erotic fiction, by both the old masters of the genre such as the Marquis de Sade and Leopold von Sacher-Masoch and the new masters, Alison Tyler, Rachel Kramer Bussel and N. T. Morley (amoungst others).* I also have a lot of non-fiction books about BDSM, sex and various fetishes.

Some of these books have fed fantasy, others a lust for knowledge and some, I just like to own.

So according to the defence team of a man who imprisoned, raped, bashed and abused his partner for seven days, she was asking for it.

We have to address ignorance like this, I just don’t know how too. However, maybe these guys do?

* my opinoin of who are new masters ;-)

New Poll

In light of my recent experiences I thought I put the question you, my humble readers:

Have you ever had an affair?

The response choices are yes, no or it’s complicated.

I’ve put in the first it’s complicated, because technically Mr. Wrong was single when we were developing our relationship, but now she’s back, he’s not now.

Maybe I should just give him his space to make the decision. After all, it’s not even as if we can be anything more than f*ck buddies anyway. Ignor me...I'm thinking out loud.

Why Compromise?

I realised something last night…my lust may have developed into a deeper more meaningful connection, for me and me alone.

I can’t expect Mr. Wrong to see my side of things and I don’t really want him too, but something clicked last night about the same time I heard a crack appear in my already brittle heart.

His girlfriend (who left him six months ago) has returned to try and patch things up. He has had that time, living alone and has rather enjoyed it. They were together a long time and he feels that despite his current feelings he should give it a go, plus he’s decided to test her resolve by taking her outback when, judging (my opinion) by photos and stories she’s a bit of a Princess.

Anyway…

Last week I sent him a puzzle book and a book of stamps (for postcards), and as you do when sending gag gifts, I filled in few of the answers. Words that would make him giggle and remember the silly (and erotic) times we had shared. Words like chains, paddle, glove and laughter.

Last night we were speaking on the phone about all sorts of crap (conversations have been limited and further apart since her arrival, understandably) when I asked if he’d had a chance to look at the book.

‘Ohh yeah’, he said, ‘good job she doesn’t get it’.

‘She’s seen them (the filled in words), has she? I asked.

‘Well yeah, and she’s doing some of the puzzles around them.’

This is when I heard the crack. She’s doing the puzzles, in the book I gave him as a gift.

I asked him if she’d asked and he said, ‘yes, I suppose’. I made me feel a bit better thinking, that as partners what’s yours is ours etc… but not much, because he followed it up with, ‘it’s keeping her outta my hair.’ He sounded so sad. The crack got just a little bit wider. I got out the grout and started to patch it up.

I don’t even know her and I don’t like her, she’s messing with him and due to history, he’s making compromises that he hadn’t had to for six months.

I know all relationships are about compromise, by why should it be that way. Sometimes we even change our core values to be with someone. We move house to be together, we surrender our need to have pets and we stop eating the things we enjoy. In some cases, like this one, we share things that are deeply personal to avoid conflict or even, conversation.

I know I have nothing to add to this relationship, except it seems, ways to help pass time and my support to him in any decision he makes about his future.

Bikie Babe

About three hours after the not-boyfriend left my place last Sunday and I was just sitting down to dinner, his name appeared on my ringing mobile phone.

I picked it up and asked, ‘what do want?’ in a sarcastic tone.

A small female voice said, ‘this is Mary*, Bob^ has been in a motorbike accident.’

My heart and stomach hit the floor with a thud. The saliva dried in my mouth and I broke out in a cold sweat.

I asked, and feared the worse, ‘Is he OK?’

I was reassured he was, but neither the less I put my uneaten corn beef and pickle sandwich down, and called a taxi.

I spent the next four and half hours cradling his head and watching as he talked to himself in silence and occasionally let out a ‘fuckin’ hell’ and shook from shock. He had only one injury to speak of, a cut under his chin from the helmet strap that required two stitches. All bruising was invisible. But the hospital did x-rays and a CT when his pupils didn’t dilate, turned out to be concussion. I've been to see him twice this week after work and he's nearly stopped beating himself up about it.

The bike and the car he hit were write-offs.

But the whole thing showed me I do still have a heart and I can still give a damn. My recent playing around has had me doubting. Just because I haven’t fallen head over in heels in love with him, I still care. And frankly the thought that he might be badly injured or worse, dead, filled me with a dread that was almost too much to bear.


*name changed to protect the innocent
^name changed to protect the not so innocent

Announcement

What’s a girl to do after nearly five months of not working due to family issues and a crappy job market?

Go Pro Domme of course.

Puppy Love

It’s been a while since I fell in love, thinking about it, it’s been twenty odd years. So I may have things a little confused. In fact I may not be falling in love, but I sure as hell am in lust.

There are the phone calls, two or three a day, the longest being 2 hours and 3 minutes of talking about everything from the best technique to flick someone with a tea towel to fisting. Then the there’s the text messages, silly things, often containing inside jokes.
We spend ages on instant messenger while we each watch telly in our own parts of the world, still talking crap and applauding each others terrible spelling. We’ve exchanged silly postcards by mail.

I get a warm fuzzy feeling in my tummy when we speak and an ache when he doesn’t call, a stupid smile spreads across my face when he does.

And finally the memories of our brief times together that make me want to feel him inside me again.

As I said…it must be lust

Some Smoochies Too

Mr. Wrong came to stay again, this time for ten days. The reason, Sydney Rubber Ball 2008. Despite already having our outfits planned we spent the whole week playing latex dress-up. Of course the dressing up and subsequent polishing led to allsorts of naughtiness.

We snogged like kids on the sofa
He tied me to the bed
I tied him to the bed
He strapped me to the St Andrews Cross he’d made me
We deprived each other of sleep
I put him in high heels and twisted his nipples
We sucked parts of anatomy that bring great pleasure
He held me down and tickled my sides, I laughed like a drain
We nearly made out in the cupboard in Parliament House, but he bottled
He made me tense so hard that I nearly pulled the cleats off the bedposts
He took my photograph
I took his picture
I made him lose control
He returned the favour

PS. Rubber Ball was a little disappointing, but we looked hot in corsets

Mr. Wrong

While I was overseas I met with a Queensland based Brit. A three hour coffee date at a motorway services was a laugh. Despite having totally different backgrounds we had a bit in common.

I drove away from that meeting with no hopes of ever seeing him again but it’s been just the opposite. He’s become my almost constant telephone companion, he’s been to stay and we’ve attended a rope bondage workshop together. We both came to the conclusion rope look really pretty, but is a pain. Cuffs are much quicker.

We went to a club and ended up making out like a pair of teenagers in a dark corner. We were both dressed in rubber and it was the perfect night for it. We squeaked together on the back seat of the cab and laugh about the next person jumping and sliding right through because of all the silicone on the plastic seats.

We went to the Blue Mountains and took random pictures of things and talked endlessly about allsorts of random crap. We laughed at daft things. We ate chicken and chips out of paper while looking at the Three Sisters and he discovered the wonders of chicken salt. Then we went for a walk and discussed coming back at night wearing latex for a photo shoot.

He looks amazing in latex stockings and suspender belt and my ballet shoes.

He remembered my birthday and sent me postcards from various travel spots.

We came to the conclusion that we are both wrong. And in this case, two wrongs, really do make a right.

The Dominant

A website hook up, I met him in Brighton for lunch and he brought out the sub in me. Can’t say why…maybe it was just a desire to let go and the need not to come up with creative play ideas.

We agreed I’d go to his place to play, he has allsorts of yummy latex to play with. Once again I had my safety calls in place, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t need them. I was right. He was a total gentleman except of course when he had me sat in his lap, his fingers on my clit and other hand across my mouth giving me a taste of breath play. Or when I was spread eagled on his latex covered bed tied down so I couldn’t get away from the vibrator he was using to tease me until I was having trouble drawing breath. Then there was the time I was laying on the bed with my head hanging over the side with his cock pumping in and out of my mouth.

I’ll miss him

The Vacbed

I got to have a go in a Vacbed in return for what I would class as my first Professional assignment, only I hadn’t made the switch at that point and I didn’t get paid.

I met the tallboy on a website and we got on well. We spoke, we met and we arranged to play. My gut was warning me about something but I couldn’t pin down the reason for it, so I gave all the date details to my sister and told her I would call.

I met him in a hotel room on a motorway. I was armed with my case of goodies and so was he. It was very odd from the start. He was dressed in a catsuit, hood and gloves when he opened the door. I was dressed in jeans and t-shirt the only thing that gave away my intentions was the riding crop sticking out the top of my case.

After changing and putting my game face on I took charge. I teased him and gave him a jolly good spanking. I fucked his arse with a strap-on and tossed him of ‘til he came. I received no attention from him at all. He hugged me before retreating to the bathroom for a shower.

I was still wearing my catsuit when he appeared wearing a towel. He said, ‘your turn’.

I was surprised as he led me toward the Vacbed laid out on the floor. And told me to get in. He told me to place my face under the short white breathing tube and get comfy. I lay there loosely enclosed between two layers of latex. The smell surrounded me. As I placed the white tube between my lips I heard the zip start to ascend and my own breathing. He told me what was happening at each stage.

‘The suction motor is quite loud.’

I wasn’t listening. I was taking in the sensation of the latex being pulled onto my body by the suction. It was cold on my skin and wrapping around me. The underside of my legs, my back, my front, my feet…all were being encased in a veil of rubber latex. My breathing sounded louder. Then the motor when silent.

‘I don’t want to freak you out’

I could feel the air leaking in and creating spaces between my body and the latex pocket. The euphoria I felt with the coming suction leaked away as the air leaked in. I’ve never done drugs, but I imagine coming down feels somewhat like I did in that moment.

I was in the bed about 90 seconds in total, it felt like a lifetime.

Now I want one.

Latex Galour

I mentioned that while in the UK recently I did a bit of latex shopping. Here's the proof and this is just the stuff that hangs. It doesn't include the hoods, gloves and suspender belts that have been recently added too.

SMS Speak

I was talking to the not-boyfriend on SMS this morning about him coming over and polishing me while wearing latex and he said ‘can I come and rub you down next week?’

I replied with auto fill switched on and had to scroll through;

PVC
Rta (ironically I’ve worked for them)
Pub
Sub
Pta
Suc

Until I could send, ‘you can rub me anytime:-)’

Doppelganger

I went on a blind date while in the UK. I met him online, and we chatted freely. We talked on the phone and really got on. So we arranged to meet in a pub local to me. I texted him asking what drink I should get him if I arrived first. He said ‘Pimms’

‘Are you serious?’ I asked.

‘Oh yes’ he replied.

I let it pass and as it turned out, he got to the pub first. I walked through the garden to where he was sat…a single guy in a pub garden on a Wednesday night kinda stands out as waiting for someone. He was attractive but there was something about him. I couldn’t put my finger on it. It wasn’t that I felt unsafe. It wasn’t that I wasn’t attracted to him, I was.

We chatted about allsorts of thing and then he started talking about his love of a certain type of car. Then it hit me.

Suddenly I was very aware of what it was about him that felt wrong.

He was the spitting image of my Dad the day he married my mum.

Coffee with a (unknown) Married

Going by the name of amazinggirth he got my attention. We chatted online for a few hours then I wrote, ‘fancy getting a drink?’

We talked about allsorts; kinks, a love of shoes, a distaste for water sports, food, drink and of course the reason for his user id. I never thought to ask the question, Are you married? because my profile clearly says No Married Men please.

So you can imagine my surprise and level of pis*edofness when we met for a drink at a local pub and he started telling how it was lovely to met someone who got him, unlike him wife.

I was polite, he was attractive, but the whole time I was thinking about the only personal rule I have that I actually stick too. No Marrieds.

An hour passed, we said goodbyes in the car park, he tried to kiss me on the lips, I turned to present my cheek. As I said, ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, but it be won’t happening again because I don't play with married men.’

He got aggressive and spat, ‘I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned my wife. We would have been fu*king by now if I hadn’t’. Then he stalked to his car and I thanked my lucky stars for an escape.

Shoe Shopping

I should start at the beginning I suppose. In June I went to the US to visit a friend and a few cities, including his home town Pittsburgh. I had told my friend that the only thing I HAD to do was visit my Mecca.

Manolo Blahnik, New York

I was severally hung over but I had to go and buy shoes. I walked into the shop with a security guard and felt sicker. I was standing amongst hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of leather fashioned into some of the finest shoes the world had ever seen.

My mate took a seat and watch me as I walked past lime green crocodile, rosy red courts, yellow peak toes and simple black patent pumps.

I picked up a pair of pumps.

He shook his head and said, ‘If you’re going to spend this much on shoes, you can’t be able to buy them anywhere else.’ Then he pointed to the corner I had missed.

On a pedestal sat a black leather ankle boot. It had a slit down the side and a lace that went all the way around the back. The heel was a good 4 inches tall and zebra print. My jaw dropped.

I tried them on, but due to my delicate state my poor balance stopped me enjoying them too much. I handed over my credit card for those and another pair. I left the store a very happy girl.
I’ll post a picture of them and the other ten pairs of shoes I brought at DSW when they arrive from the UK.

Back

Just a quick note to let you know that I haveso much to tell you about the last few months. I know I've neglected you and I have some great tales to make up for it.

To come are;

The VacBed
The Dominant
The Rubber Taffy and the dead battery
Shoe Shopping
Coffee with a (unknown) Married
Doppleganger
Latex Galour

plus a few more. I just have to write them ;-)

A Quick Note

Just a quick note to let you know that I haven't forgotten about sex and sauciness. I've just been preoccupied with family matters. My Mum passed away late week so it may be a little while before my mojo returns and I feel like posting about nooky or the 12 pairs of shoes I purchased while on a recent trip overseas.

Absent Note

Ohh, my God I’m so sorry. I’ve been absent.

Life has taken a funny turn and there has been little of no action in the past few weeks. The Not Boyfriend continues to confuse and confound me with is cryptic mumblings. I got stood up for a first date I had travelled over 100kms for. And I’ve just landed in the UK.

I may not be around too much with sexiness but I will be updating my everyday blog more regularly if you’re interested.

What's Your Understanding...

... of this?

He was washing up, I was drying. I can't remember why he asked, but he asked me when I was flying out.

I told him when and then followed up with a silly voice and a bump of shoulders 'Will you miss me?'

His hands went still, he focused on the soapy water and said, 'No, but my heart will.'


This is an actual conversation I had. Boys, what does this mean? Ladies feel free to chip in too.

Does food alway equal sexy?

Do you find this passage erotic? Feedback received with thanks.

It had been a very long time, she reached forward and took the cracker from his outstretched fingers. She held it, looking at it with consideration until she had calmed down. Then she brought it up to her face, past her lips to her nose where she inhaled deeply. She took in the smoky aroma of the fig, sliced to reveal the tiny yellowed seeds before taking in the creamy mouldy smell of the cheese. The cracker had a dusty aroma of its own, but nothing compared to the fig and cheese. She opened her mouth wide and placed the combination on her tongue then slowly closed her lips around it. She held it there before moving her jaw to crush the flavours together, releasing them onto her taste buds. She closed her eyes and hugged herself as saliva flowed, washing the tastes around her mouth then ultimately down her throat. After she’d swallowed she continued to stand there with her eyes closed. Breathing deeply, reliving the sensations all over again before she realised there was a pile of cheese and figs in front of her and disapproving eyes where nowhere near. She took a lump of brie and put a fig on it, she didn’t bother with the cracker, it was a filler; no purpose but to stop you from consuming too much of the expensive King Island Double Brie.

Poll Results

In the recent poll, What is the largest number of dates you’ve had in one 24 hour period?
It turns out the biggest tart by fitting in 4 dates and 25% of the vote, is me. The other 75% are more sedate, fitting in just two.

No one voted, (but then, there where only 4 votes, mine included) for 3, 4, 5 or more than 5. We really are a fairly sedate lot, aren’t we?

Try the new poll, it's all about sensation.

The Catsuit

You've been asking for it, so here it is. The Catsuit.

It is accompanied by a hood, gloves and a cincher. Of course it goes all the way to my ankles were I am wearing the boots mentioned here ;-)

My not-boyfriend took the picture, not bad considering he had no idea how to use my camera. Afterward we took full advantage of the outfit and the extra lube/shine spray that was used for the extra gloss.

PS. This is likely the most you’ll ever see of my face on this blog, enjoy it!

My Catsuit

Today it hangs forlornly in the hall near the radiator gathering warming (drying) rays. Last night it was matched with a hood, my funky boots and gloves to completely cover me in a second skin, leaving only my eyes and mouth exposed.

God, I was hot!

Is it just me...

...that thinks the current fashion of light shoes with black opaque tights is just wrong?

The white ones I saw on the train station a couple of days ago, she was sat next to me, I tok this picture not only because she was wearing white shoes with black tights, but because the shoes were scuffed and tatty looking. Eww!

The purple horrors were on George Street outside Wynyard today. Yes, this was a young professional lady dressed in all black except the shoes.

These ladies have taken perfectly nice shoes (although I'm not 100% about the lilac matellic) and turned them into fashion nightmares. But that's just my humble opinion.

When did the 80s start again?

Sandcastles

Something hit me like a truck about 5.30 yesterday afternoon as I drove back for my weekend away with my Not Boyfriend. I’m deeply in like with this man.

We had spent the previous 46 hours together. We chatted, briefly, he’s the strong silent type when he’s not begging me to spank him harder. We’d laid on the beach together, he’d slept while I built a sandcastle (yes I know I’m supposed to be 35). We’d slept in separate rooms. I’d been introduced to his parents and family and mentioned at least five or six times that we were simply friends and not an item when asked. I’d laid next to him in his bed wearing a t-shirt and pants (knickers) while we watched a movie. We played pool together. We’d walked along a beach together in the sunshine. We’d fed baby kangaroos.

But it was at 5.30 as I drove home, him sat by my side shuffling the tunes on the iPod, that that feeling of sadness and mild despair hit me. This is never going to be more. He’s not even open to it being more. Do I withdraw from the situation to prevent further longing and potential heart ache or do I cling to the moments we have and enjoy them?

I’ve come to the conclusion that I am going to enjoy the time we have together even if that never again involves me donning the latex. I simply enjoy his company. I’m going to go on, day by day knowing that in the middle of June I’m going to board a plane for an indefinite amount of time and that may or may not wash away all that we’ve built. Very much like the waves melt away sandcastles.

My Not Boyfriend

Rubbermaid seems to have been promoted. It very odd and I think I’ve spoken of this before, but despite conversation about NOT having a ‘relationship’ we appear to be having one.

This weekend, I’m meeting his parents. As a friend of course.
He has a toothbrush in my bathroom. For those occasional sleepovers.
He comes to my house and watches telly. We don't always play or have the sex.
We go to the movies. And actually watch the film we paid to see.

Did I mention I’m meeting his parents?

Serial Date

A couple of weeks ago I had an interesting evening. I managed to have drinks with four different guys on one night and still sleep alone. Trust me when I say that take talent, no drinking and drive home that take thirty minutes.

It started with the Engineer. I’ve been chatting to him on and off for about six month on email. We met in a bar on Oxford Street for a drink. Why this night, well he doesn’t live in Sydney and was in town and free for one night only. So a drink at The Bar it was. As I had to drive home at the end of the night I was on soft drinks all night plus I was going to Sydney’s only fetish club so I was dressed in an ankle length skirt, white shirt, black and white striped tie and a corset. Even on Oxford Street that stands out.

I have never been so bored in all my life. He could only talk about steel rods and their role in the building of good bridges. I tried football, but he didn’t follow AFL, NRL or UK Premier League. Movies weren’t his thing, neither was music. It was steel rods and spanking only. Ordinarily, this is a good combination, but after two hours even that losses it appeal. I put him in a cab back to his hotel about 10.30.

I walked down the road to the club. Who should be there but the Wanton Slut. He wasn’t due to come as we had discussed only earlier in the week that we could make one of his sordid little fantasies come true. The idea was this; blindfold him, tie him to a chair in the corner, hang marker pens and a magnifying glass round his neck and invite club goers to write on him. He bottled, saying his sister wanted to attend with him. Well he wasn’t with his sister, but an ex-girlfriend, and from the looks I got while chatting to him I was clearly not required.

I got a text message.

It was The Shoe Shopper. A Dom of older years than myself and someone who really wants me to submit to him. Just at the moment, I’m finding the idea very difficult. I have too much going on to be anything other than the strongest I can be. I feel like submission would be my undoing right now. Anyway, I walked back up to The Bar and had a couple of drinks with him. We talked about family death, shoes, fashions of today and Japanese rope bondage. It was very nice, but I didn’t need the pressure of being asked if I would let him tie me up.

After I put him in a taxi home, I walked back into the Club. I saw Wanton Whore again, briefly. Then I wandered around the place. I watched those dancing the night away in PVC, latex and skimpy outfit purchased at fancy dress shops. How many I wondered had chemical assistance to enjoy themselves? Walking though this place a singleton is an interesting experience, even while dress Domme. You get the up and down looks, the curl of the lip and subs that come up to you and say while glancing up through their eyelashes, ‘I like your outfit.’

Finally was Shark Fin. A guy I have contacted though ALT, but turned out to be a regular goer to the Club. In fact, I had admired him on many occasions for his amazing body wrapped head to foot in latex and a stunning Shark Fin backpack. We ran into each other, and had a drink, a brief chat and parted ways. By this time it was gone two in the morning and I still had to drive home. I think we’ll spend longer together next time, but at least now we met.

Also, I set a personal best. Drinks with four different guys on one night and no between the sheet action.

New Boots

My absence can be explained by a trip back the old country to visit a sick relative. But I’m back for now (may be off again, but it will be long term so I’ll resume duties while there) and I have a little something for you.

I picked up my new boots today. I ordered and paid for them weeks ago. In fact, I ordered them the day after I order my latex cat suit. I think these little beauties with work a treat with it.

Just Because

Butt Poll

The recent poll;

How do you feel about anal sex on a scale of 1 -5, (five being Awesome, I’ll take it up the arse every time thanks!) had 11 voters.
5 3 (27%)
4 7 (63%)
3 0 (0%)
2 0 (0%)
1 1 (9%)

It appears that my visitors like it up the butt.

Extract of Something I Wrote

He heard a metallic sound to his right, the direction of the telly table. Then it was closer, right next to his ear, a swooshing sound of metal on metal followed by a click. In his other ear her voice whispered, ‘Can you tell what it is yet?’

Despite his mind being somewhat zoned out, he concentrated on the sound, swoosh click, swoosh click. His blood ran cold.

'Scissors, Your Shininess.’ It wasn’t a question. He knew the answer.

‘Good boy.’

Having removed her shoes she was quick to move, silently around him until she was able to place the tip of blunted surgical scissors just above his belly button. Of course to him, it would feel sharp and dangerous, she saw his cock twitch under its clear prison.

Daily Bondage

It’s the time of the year where I have to subject my feet to daily bondage.

The cloud cover is almost constant with the threat of rain, if it’s not actually raining, and the closed in shoes have been dusted off and polished.

I wore my Buffy Boots they yesterday, they are actually called that by the shop I got them from because they look like the boots Buffy wears in the telly show, black leather ankle boots with a one and half inch heel. It was raining and I now have a walk to the station so I need to keep my feet dry and warm. By the time I got home last night, my toes were screaming, I could just about hear them over the torrent of abuse my heels where throwing at me.

I have no broken skin, but it doesn’t look happy, in fact down right angry would be correct.

By the end of the season the skin will have toughened up again and be content to be covered, but when the thongs come out again you’ll hear the cheers of joy wherever you are in the world.

Feelings Schmellings!

I know I’m not unique in the confusion I’m feeling about Rubbermaid. People around the world are feeling similar things in similar situations, but I have to say this feeling is new to me. I don’t think I’ve ever been this confused.

Ok, so for the last twelve odd years I’ve been pretty sure about my feelings towards my partner, first there was deep love, then frustration, then briefly intense dislike, then respect, then a love that nothing will ever surpass, the love of family. Then finally came the feeling that if I didn’t get out of there, there was going to be headlines. Through all that, I still love him and would never want hurt to come to him.

Now, nine months after my separation, I’m into new feelings, or feelings I haven’t experienced for such a long time, I’ve forgotten them.

I don’t love Rubbermaid. I like him. I enjoy spending time with him; despite the confusion he causes my brain. But, do I enjoy his company because it’s just that, company?

Would I miss him if he was gone or would I just move on to the next one? I think I would miss him, even though he’s only been in my life about eight weeks, he feels somehow familiar regardless of the fact I know very little about him (he’s not a big talker). Having said that, I would move on, no tears shed.

Tonight however, I’m putting myself through something perilous. In fact I think a full Brazilian (even that little bit right at the front, just above your clit) would be less painful than what I am to experience tonight; I’m going to dinner with him, his neighbours (who he’s known for five years), his flatmate (whom I suspect is much more invested in the relationship than him) and his ex-girlfriend (who got in contact with him again a couple of weeks ago after she dumped him 6 months ago). To top it off, due to another longstanding commitment, I’ll be arriving last.

Right now I feeling, anxious, nervous and like I’ve gone completely insane and that I should call him to say I can’t make it.

Or maybe I should take my toothbrush?

Update 9-4-08 1147am : It was OK. The neighbours were nice and cat mad. The flatmate was welcoming but bossy and the ex was a whiney sloth who got the hump with me even though I said very little and left after I’d been there 45 minutes.

All is well with the world

Tap Lovin'

I was lying in my new bath the other night having tipped in far too much bubble bath when I was struck by an idea.

I could practice my foot job technique on the water spout.

Nookyfest 2008

According to my Doctor I have to lay off the having of fun. I have a delightful little infection that is called Honeymoon Cystitis and it is very common amongst ladies who have never had nooky or haven’t have it in a long time. I fit into the latter category.

It’s not a sexually transmitted disease (but while I was there and had my pants round my ankles, she said she may as well test for everything that is) but a condition that is caused by simply having too much sex of the hard kind that may or may not involve elements of arse play.

This is something that had never entered my mind. I’m always careful, condoms, dental dams, gloves. You know, all the things that protect you from stray bacteria and virus, but can cause raised eyebrows if whipped out before being discussed. It never occurred to me that you could get a nasty from simply have too much sex and not peeing straight afterwards. This is the first time I’ve had anything like this, it’s kind of embarrassing

So there I am, a not inexperienced woman watching a Doctor draw a little cross section diagram of where all my ‘lady bits’* are and being told how easy it is ‘for germs to pass from the back fun area to the front fun area’*. Not that that is a problem according to the Doc, but when those germs come into contact with the ‘pee hole’* that’s when the problems start. 'Always leave the back fun 'til last.'*

‘Those little buggers love the urethra and work themselves into a frenzy until you are every time you pee.’*

It’s so simple really and a course of antibiotics ‘clear it right up and have you back in the saddle in no time, so to speak’*.


* Doctors actual words, I sh*t you not!

UPDATE 1934 11-8-08 : I was given the all clear by the doctor yesterday, no trace of UTI or anything lese that is nasty and catching.

Breathless

Wearing latex is a hot old business especially when you don’t have air-conditioning. Thank goodness I do now, because Rubbermaid came round again and proved once again why I keep inviting him back.

Hooking his arms around my legs and pushing me front first onto the bed, legs spread, immobilised, he proceeded to strum me until I could barely breathe, let alone move.



Not very Dominant I know, but it was his turn in charge.

Feeling Poll

In the recent poll, Which do you prefer to feel against your skin? The result show that clearly we’re a bunch of fetish freaks.

In reverse order

Leather 57%
Rubber/latex 42%
Cotton 28%
Satin 28%
Nothing 14%
Pvc 14%
Silk 14%
Demin 0%

From seven people voting picking at least two answers each.

Check out the new poll. The story behind (pun intended) coming soon!

Busy Week

Some time has past since I graced your presence and for that I make no apologies, but I will explain. I moved house. There done, now you know and have I told you how much I hate moving?

But a few things have happened in the time;

Met the literary schoolboy, finally
I’m not sure about him, for a man of ethnic background he was surprising racist and intolerant of all sorts of things. Little things that I consider normal he thought was weird. I know we’re all different and although I, at no point felt threatened by him, I don’t think I’d want him in my house.

Plus, he’s 33, lives with his mum and doesn’t tell her were he’s going. She rang three times during our hour and half drink date and he’d told her he’d popped to the shops.

Fu*k buddy or boyfriend
I’ve mentioned the RubberMaid before, so you have a vague idea of the thing we got up to as Mistress and sub, but I have recently because aware that things may be slipping away from that dynamic and settling into a more boyfriend/girlfriend mindset. A series of things happened after the late night phone call incident that have seen him coming over and watching a movie, or just giving my a lift home with him leaving having remained fully clothed the entire time he was in my presence..

I casually mentioned these things to my beautician and her comment was ‘Ohh, sounds to me like he’s your boyfriend.’

I was horrified, speechless and sort of happy. I do believe I even giggled. I’ll keep you posted.

A Challenge Put Out There
I’ve been chatting to a Dominant male for a few months now and have even done a few things at his instruction via telephone (tied myself to a chair while wearing high heels, worn a gag and even called him Master) but on Sunday I met him.

He’s a lovely guy, but I think he realises I much more Domme than sub and has agreed that we’ll just see what happens, but at the very least he knows he has a female friend to go shoe shopping with. In fact, despite a lot of places being shut, we did get to try on a few pairs.

Tantalising Indeed
Also this weekend I got to met the lovely tantalizing woman. She was visiting from paradise (no, not Surfers) and took a little time out to share a drink and some precious time with me. For some reason I was a little nervous which or may not have resulted in me having a case of verbal diarrhoea. I’m not completely sure, I just know I came away thinking, she’s really nice, I hope I didn’t scare her.

Short, but not so Curly

Yesterday I had my head shaved for The Worlds Greatest Shave at noon. At half past I was meeting a first date. Turns out, being a military man he’s kinda partial to a lady with short hair.

It was a very lovely day. We chatted, ate Chinese food, shopped a little and drank Mango smoothies. The fun was only mildly diluted by the oppressive humidity giving me a severe case of shiny face and later mild sunstroke.

But, if I’m five foot five and he’s five ten, how come I could see the top of his head for much of the time we were together?

PS. He loved his lippy!

A Touch of Lippy

Why do men have a fascination with ladies accoutrements?

Bras, knickers, mascara, eyeliner and most of all lipstick. Especially red lipstick. After all, women don’t have the same desires to wear jockstraps or yfronts.

Of all the conversations I have online and over the phone, red lipstick is the thing that crops up the most. I know it’s supposed to be evocative of other lips (ahem, you know, the down there ones) but the last time I looked, my fanny wasn’t scarlet. If it had been I would have taken myself straight to the doctor for tests. It’s a rather healthy deep pink, but then I suppose that colour doesn’t look quite as striking when wore on the facial lips.

So gentleman readers (I know I have a couple at least) spill please. Why red lipstick?
And if you care to share details of other lady bits, feel free.

PS. The picture is of the lipstick that I have purchased as a gift for a very nice guy I know who has a fantasy to wear red lipstick (yes, red only) while going down on a woman so he can see the smears.

Razors Edge

On Thursday 13th March at 12noon I’m having my head shaved for The Worlds Greatest Shave down to a number one.

Do I tell the first date that I’m meeting at 2pm?

A First

I experienced my first ever booty call yesterday. I have to confess I really enjoyed myself, dressed up head to toe in rubber and leather, the left over exercise pains are much less today (seems my more nooky plan is working, my belt does up to notch four now).

I was a bit shocked to start with though, after, when he showered, dressed and announced he had to get home to cook dinner for his roommate. He was in my house and bed for less than two hours.

After he’d gone, I fell asleep on the sofa.

Bad News

I got a phone call this morning at 4.30am. Not good news from the old country, my Mum is sick. After spending half an hour on the phone I returned to bed to find the Rubbermaid sitting up looking at me.

‘Is everything Ok?’ he asked.

I told him briefly the problem, leaving out all the details my Dad saw fit to tell me.

He patted the bed and told me to lie down, he then laid really close, leg touching leg, arm touching arm, shoulder to shoulder, took my hand in his, fingers interlocked and squeezed it tight. We lay there, looking up at the ceiling, holding hands in silence. He drifted back to sleep while I continued to stare at the ceiling. His soft snore was strangely comforting, as was the vice like grip that didn’t relax until his alarm went off at 6.30.

We had breakfast at my local café where we talked about inconsequential things for nearly an hour before he got his first job for the day. Before he left he embraced me in a bear hug and kissing me softly on the cheek and said goodbye.

I jumped on the bus and cried all the way to work.

Master Bates

As I lay in bed the other night feeling really horny, but too sick to do anything about it, I came to a realisation. I have never been watched while I masturbate.

The Latex Split

The tip of the index finger in my left latex glove gave way on Sunday, mid play. I spent the next couple of hours trying to keep talc from leaking out of the rest of the glove and getting on to everything. The last thing I wanted was the gooey mixture of lube and talc getting on my satin corset.

Poll Results, you whore!

33% of you prefer to be called whore when being consensually verbally abused.
26% of you prefer to be called slut when being consensually verbally abused.
26% of you are happy to be called any of the following; jezebel, slut, strumpet, tart, tramp, wench or whore.
20% are happy to be called all of the above.
6% of you prefer to be called strumpet when being consensually verbally abused.
6% of you prefer to be called wench when being consensually verbally abused.
None of you choose to be called jezebel, tart or tramp.

15 people shared their feelings for this poll.

Photo Shoot

Picking up on miss aj’s comment from this question about toenail colour I though I would share a few examples of just how wrong a self shoot photo shot of feet can go.

I took nearly 40 photos and I choose to share four, each one shows the potential for wrongness, but thankfully, I managed not to take a single broken ankle angle this time.

- Too Close

- Wrong angle

- Weird pose and shows the bruise on my ankle WAY to much

- Wrong postioning, but actually I quite like this one.

Question

For you viewing pleasure, I present...

Classic Red!

Incidently...

...this is the picture the Corporate Suit is licking.

Feet and Shoes

Talking about feet this morning in my post about the Corporate Suit got me thinking and made me super aware of what people were doing with theirs at lunch time. I popped into town to buy some books for the final semester of my Masters and found myself doing my usual London quick-pace around town, but slowing outside each shoe shop I passed.

Patent Leather is in this season, as is the 30s rounded toe, outward curved heel and ribbon fastenings, red, black and silver. I wandered into David Jones, the department store where you can peruse such brands as Malano, Robert Robert, Burburry, Jimmy Choo and many others all under one roof. I tried on a pair of black patent Robert Robert with elastic across the front of the foot, very sexy, but just a little too slim for plates of meat like mine. I suppose I should thank my Mum for making me wear ugly boy shoes as I was growing up, it means that I now have well formed, strong bones but it does mean that most modern shoes are just too narrow.

Then I saw the Jimmy Choo black patent leather ankle boots with a gold highlights around the toe and three straps with gold buckles. The sales lady was excited when I asked to see them in a size 38, but then I should think that was all to do with the commission earned from a $1250 pair of boots. Anyway, she brought them out and gave me a pair of granny stockings to put on, and then I did my best impression of an ugly sister, squeezing my foot into the boot. My toes went in fine, my heel slipped into place without too much fuss, but I had no hope of doing them up. There was a centimetre gap between the top of the tongue and the side of the boot, the straps hung limply, I had managed to turns these works of art into something ordinary. I removed them and stuffed the acid free paper bundles back into them before replacing them in the box, my heart sinking with each movement.

I left the store thinking it was probably best they didn’t fit, I’m still paying for the Malono purchase and I was carrying $142.70 worth of Uni (plus a couple of Alison Tyler) books.

As I walked back to work in my wide, comfy, flat, green leather thongs (made for me by Eugenia Neave of Adelaide) I found myself looking at the ladies feet around me and wandering why they insist on wearing nice, expensive shoes when they don’t look after their feet. Is there really anything less attractive than chipped toe polish, hardened cracked heels and blisters covered with plasters, shuffling along?

The Corporate Suit – part IV

I have written about the Corporate Suit before, here, here and here. Well, it appears he’s getting itchy pants with his vanilla girlfriend that finds his fetish disgusting, because he has reappeared again.

A couple of weeks ago I was about the leave the office when I received an email from him asking how my feet were. My stomach did an annoying flip flop and I informed him that they were well and about to have a pedicure. My brain was saying ignore the mail, but my fingers did the walking. Before I knew it, I was having my toenails painted black as he had expressed his love of the colour. Later the same night I sent him a picture of my black covered toes wearing clear PVC stilettos.

Yesterday I received a photo to my telephone, of him still enjoying the picture after two weeks.

Yes, he’s licking his computer monitor!

The Wanton Whore – part III

He wants me to write all over his sissy little body what a tart, slut and whore he is.
He wants me to mummify him in cling film (what is it about me and the cling film lovers?)
He wants me to force him to wear ladies clothes
He wants to be on webcam for all the world to see when the above (and more) happens.

He also has a desire to give up smoking, do you think making him be smoke free for two weeks before any of these things happen is enough of an incentive to assist him to quit?

Expelled

The Literary Schoolboy is being expelled before he really had a chance to enrol in the lessons I could teach. He stood me up on Saturday.

I did however take advantage of the free time and sat in a café on Darling Harbour, watched the boats sail in and out under Pyrmont Bridge and read the entire March edition of Madison.

...and I think I've found a house big enough for me to have a playroom.

Signed, Confused of Sydney

I’ve been going over a few things in my head since Thursday morning and have even discussed this with a girlfriend, but still I find myself confused.

As I walked to work at 7.40am I wandered how any man could have me up and ready for work twenty minutes before my alarm would normally go off? That’s the first thing that’s bothering me.

The second thing is why did I find it acceptable that after amazing play and ensuing nooky we should just sit down and watch a couple of episodes of Buffy?

Lastly, I understood the leaving of the t-shirt soaked in rubber polish as I offered to stick it in the wash, but why is it that now, after only two visits I have two t-shirts, a pair of latex gloves, a pair of latex briefs and a full latex hood sitting in my bathroom?

Answers on a postcard please, too…

The Rubbermaid - part two

Why is a guy wrapped

from head to toe

in

rubber and cling film

so arousing?

The Boot Humper

After months of communications over email we finally got together yesterday after our schedules allowed us to meet on a week day, midway between our two homes which are nearly 300kms apart.

There’s something about having a naked man kneeling at my leather clad feet while I’m dressed head to toe in leather that make me so wet, to the point where I teased him by only allowing him to worship to my stocking line, making him smell me. Every now and then I’d flick my toe onto his balls, but then he pulled my foot onto his cock. For that little liberty he received four hard strokes with the paddle.

As he sat at my feet cradling my leg to him, clinging on with tears in his eyes from his paddling I grabbed his hair, pulling his face up and ordered him to hump my boot like a dog.

He left with a smile on his face, a red arse and a sore cock.

The Rubbermaid

He took twenty minutes to polish the latex gloves we had rolled over my fingers and up my arms. The higher the shine on my black covered digits the deeper the far away look in his eyes became.

I soon started to test his tickle tolerance. His feet first, stroking across the skin until his toes curled, the tightness of his skin showing the white of scars passed. I moved up his legs to the join but careful not to touch the rock hard evidence he was enjoying this. I skipped over to his chest, fingers splayed, smoothing the bare shaved chest …before roughly grabbing his right hand in my latex clad left and pushing his arm high above his head, stretching his side, exposing it to slow torture.

When my fingers drifted to his ears, his flushed cheeks, his nose and mouth, his tongue would dart out to touch the tasty morsel so close, before pulling in and sucking hard.

By the end I have a completely naked man lying on my sofa, while I had more on that I had started the evening wearing. The loving removal of the black latex covering my hands put me back to the beginning.

Literary Schoolboy

I have briefly mentioned this one before, and I’m not sure what to do about him. Actually that’s a lie, I know in my hearts of hearts, but don’t want to write him off just yet. I feel he has potential.

He contacted me yesterday and apologised profusely for not being in contact and explained. I told him not to make excuses and if he couldn’t contact me, just to let me know (no explanation required) he wouldn’t be around for a while. I know, I’m too soft, but it stops me over analysing how much I fu*ked it up.

We chatted for over an hour (talked about his experience, history, work, foot fetish, living arrangements and allsorts of other crap;-))and made a tentative date to catch up for coffee while I was in his neck of the woods today looking for a new place to live. He text me asking if I could meet him somewhere else at lunchtime and I couldn’t as I was without car. So it all fell apart again. I’m now at home, he’s going to phone about five he says.

He sounds really nice and very keen to meet up, but he is hideously unorganised.
What to do?

Ohh well... I have a date with the Rubbermaid tonight… must change mindset.

The Wanton Whore - part two

I had lunch with the little slut yesterday. The merest suggestion earlier in the day meant that he was sat opposite me in the beer garden wearing pink lacy ladies panties under his shorts. Frankly, pink is disappointing as a jezebel would only wear red.

Chocolate Day

Yesterday was Valentines Day. I know you already knew that, but I felt I needed to remind you. Not sure why. Maybe because it passed for me, yet again, as a fizzler day. Nothing happened that would remind me it was a day for lovers.

I did have another first date, he met me in Reactor Rubber as I was on my lunch break and I wanted to purchase myself a pair of latex gloves. As it happens I also got some stocking too which he loved. The look of me trying on the gloves meant that just a twitch of my talc covered toes had him on his knees cleaning it off for me. We had lunch afterwards and he jumped every time I said anything remotely dominant. It was lovely…I can see the Rubbermaid and I having heaps of fun.

The evening was taken up by dinner and drinks with a girl-friend. Haven’t seen her for a while but we had a gossip catch up, she told me all about her love life…and I shared mine, including some pictures of the Wanton Whore. She had a laugh over those as we were walking though the park towards the train station.

I was in bed by 11.30, alone.

Spanking Good Poll Results

The results are in for the which method of spanking do you prefer to use or feel?

A whopping 58% of those who voted prefer to feel a hand making their backside nice a rosy red.

Next most popular is a paddling with 25% having it as their preferred method of rising a shine.

The Flogger and Riding Crop came equal third with 16%, I’m guessing not many pony players read.

Finally the Cane and All of the Above got 8% of the votes.

The ruler is very unpopular as it received no votes. Personally it’s my favourite.

The Wanton Whore

I met my wanton whore online on 16th December last year. He told me he just wanted kinky friends at that time. His profile picture showed him wearing a wetsuit pulled down to his waist, showing his pierced nipples, he’s holding what looks like a spear gun, but is actually a broken ski. Little did I know at the time, but the black box across his eyes was there to hide the glint of pure depravity.

I didn’t hear much from him over the silly season and I wasn’t surprised…I didn’t hear from many people (except this one :-) so when we reconnected on the 25th January I was a surprised that he revealed to me that he wanted to be my puppy. We chatted on yahoo messenger for quite a while that first night, with him revealing his lust for shoes and feet, his desire to be humiliated and most of all his uniqueness in the world of Sydney kink.

We spoke again on messenger a few times before I got fed up and asked if I could call him. I found myself standing in the middle of my lounge, doing the ironing and abusing him over the phone calling him slut, whore and various other names. At the end of call I gave him a task to perform. I told him to put on his red panties with his cock poking out, then write jezebel along his pantyline and send me a picture of it. I forgave his hideous spelling error because he’d never written a z upside down before and it’s an easy mistake to make. Next time he has to get it right.

Since then I have been to the thesaurus and now have a lovely list of name to call him. Harlot, strumpet, tart, whore, slut, floozy, bimbo, doxy, nympho, tramp, minx, trollop, wench, hussy, chippie, libertine, vixen and of course jezebel. But you will come to know him in my comments as LRBs little slut or LRBs wanton slut.

Tales of Serial First Dates

Over the last few days I’ve been busy. With life (been given 60 notice on my place so gotta move), with work (several project on the go) and dating.

I haven’t seen any action since Mr Clingfilm (who incidentally is available again and I nearly had to chop off my own finger to resist mailing him) but I have had a few first meetings.

First there was a naughty school boy, not the one from this entry, but another. This one liked to read passages from books at me down the phone and then be punished for errors in pronunciation. He would then spank himself. We had a date for lunch on Friday. He called me at about 10 to say he couldn’t make it. I was understanding and told him to drop me line later. I haven’t heard from him since. I think the reality and fantasy came a bit close and he got scared. Shame he had a cute bum.

Friday evening turned into date night after a brief conversation on Messenger with the IT Geek. We met for a drink in a suburb midway between us and chatted all night. It was lovely. At no point did I have the desire to push up against a wall and shag him senseless, but I found him very attractive and I think we could have a lot of fun together. It’s highly likely he’ll be at Hellfire on Friday.

Saturday I was house hunting in my best walking shoes (croc thongs) and scruffy jeans and shirt. It was trashing down with rain, I was wet and cold. I got a call for The Builder. Could we catch up for the first date that we’d been trying to have for weeks, and did I mind that he just come from work? Who was I to judge I didn’t even have make-up on. I found a seat at in inside café (I was bloody freezing) and waited. He arrived and he was filthy but he had just come from work. We chatted, drank tea and I nearly missed my next house viewing. It was lovely plus it was a good job I had to be somewhere or I think I would have taken him home for a little afternoon delight.

Meanwhile…since Tuesday last week I’ve been sending humiliation text messages to my online slut. Telling him to perform tasks and sending my photographic proof. I now have some of the most pornographic images I have ever seen in my yahoo inbox and if I need a giggle I just open one of his emails or send him a text. God love him, he loves being verbally abused.

So, I’ve been having fun but no games…watch this space.

Question

I know

it isn’t the red

you

wanted to see

but what do

we think of black

toe

nail varnish?

This colour is the choice of The Corporate Suit who sent me an email today (after a lenghty absense) and when told I was about to have a pedicure requested black toe nails.

What The...?

I’ve had a busy few day on the dating front, so please forgive the mind dump that happened today. But I have one final tale to spin tonight.

On Friday after work I had a first meeting. And because I felt like getting out of the city I drove to meet him. It was only an hour, so not to bad. I had agreed to meet him in the local pub. I’d told him that I would wear a grey top with sparkles and black jeans.

I got to the place and did a quick change in the car, new top, stilettos and red lipstick by MAC (that does not come off, ever). I walked to the door, passed the local smokers, they watched me. I looked through the door and turned right back to my car to change my top back to the orange cotton shirt I’d had on at work all day. I was overdressed wearing lipstick, let alone high heels and a spangly blouse.

The guy turned up wearing thongs and board shorts. We chatted for a while before he asked if I’d like to go home with him to meet the wife?

What the …?

Turns out he was looking for a third. Well Honey…That AIN'T me!

He brought a six pack to take home then walked me to my car. He seemed disappointed and confused when I said, ‘It was a pleasure meeting you, but I really don’t think we could play together.’

Naughty Schoolboy

I love the internet, have I told you that before? Well I do. And here's why.

I’ve chatting to a guy for a few weeks, never met, never even spoken on the telephone. But he wants to be treated like a naughty school boy. Buy all accounts he was one many moons ago and really had the hots for his teacher, anyway, she never spanked him, but he always wanted her too.

So I instructed him to purchase an exercise book. He had to repot to me when he had done that little task. It was done the next day.

I then gave him some lines to write in it;

I shall not stare at teachers breasts/boobs during class. (I gave him the option of pick boobs or breasts)

I saw him online today and asked if he had started his lines yet. He hadn’t, so I told him the consequences of not doing then by the deadline (today midnight, five pages) a spank for every half hour he was overdue. Ten minutes later I was sent a self portrait of him, holding up his book of lines.

Ahh…I could have patted him on the head…instead, I sent a Good Boy and an avatar kiss alone with the next lines he has to write and his new deadline.

A Question of Manners, Conclusion

So it turns out the conversation about being honest with each other only sunk into my brain.

I asked if he was playing with anyone else he said no.

I said that as he travelled a long way to see me I would understand if he didn’t want to come anymore and he should just tell me. He agreed and said vice versa.

I told him that it was OK if he played local to him and if it turned into anything, I wouldn’t be upset, and that I would prefer he just told me instead of dropping of the face of the earth leaving to worry about fatal car accidents. He chuckled and agreed that was the polite thing to do.

This was about two weeks ago.

Yesterday, curiosity got the better of me and I visited his profile for the first time since we met. He hadn’t logged in for two weeks…my heart skipped.

Then I notice an UPDATE : I’m being trailed by a Domme so not looking anymore.

Well…I’ll be honest and admit I cried a bit. Then I called him all the names under the sun and asked the heavens why the f*ck I bothered having the conversation about honesty!

I’m not mad he found a Domme (good on him), but I’m severely pissed that he didn’t see fit to mention it considering the conversation we had maybe a mere two days before he updated his profile.

Chopsticks and Sharp Knives cont…

After standing me up last Friday, then not contacting me to apologise all long weekend. I was shocked that he had the nerve to contact me at all on Tuesday.

He explain that he had thought I had said 12, not 12.30 and that he waiting until 12.25 before leaving. What he doesn’t know is that I was across the street from about 12.15 watching to see if he arrived, and I never saw him.

Even better, he requested I take the afternoon off so he could pleasure me with his naked boby. When I said no, he tried again on Wednesday…again I politely refused his kind offer. On Thursday he finally go the message when I lost it and asked,

‘Will you never stop?’

Knickers

A couple of day ago the lovely jayne posted about her knickers. I challenged her with, ‘if you show us yours I’ll show you mine.’

Well here mine are, a selection of my finest fancy pants.

Remote Domination

I’ve had a desire to be submissive for quite some time. I think this comes from trying out most play on myself before I use it on another. I’ve wrapped myself in cling film (glad-wrap) bound my breasts, used spreader bars, used a riding crop, flogger and paddle on my backside, I’ve also dripped candle wax on my thigh and belly to mention just a few. But although I get an idea of what these ‘feel’ like I’ve never really had the feeling of being truly submissive.

Last night I got my first taste. A while ago I met a Dominant man on the internet. We’ve emailed and chatted online. Last night I called him after I sent him a picture of my legs bound in bondage tape while I was wearing stilettos.

He told me to call him Master, so I did, with difficulty at first. He told me attach the collar I had recently purchased to the bondage tape around my knees, which I did. Then he told me to stand up. This action lead me be bent over with backside in the air. He told me to touch myself, through the gag I was wearing (at his instruction) I told him my knees where too tightly together. He told me to push my hand in. I did…I was wetter than I had been for a very long time. After I failed to call him Master he told me he wanted to hear me spank myself. He heard it and told me I had been a good girl and that I could sit down again.

He rang off after only twenty minutes…and I know knew what it felt like to be sub. Will I cope as well in person?

One Night Stand

The results are in. Of the six people that votes in the ‘How many one-night-stand have you had’ survey

4 (66%) have had No One-Night-stands
2 (33%) have had less than five.

I’m not quite sure what the other 1% of you has been up to…but I’m sure it was fun.

Now…take part in the next survey, ‘which do you prefer to use or feel?’

The Panty Sniffers

A couple of years ago I started chatting to a guy on messenger who had a predilection for ladies underwear. Unlike so many he had spoken too before I didn’t call him nasty names when he told me, he was stunned. We still speak. We’ve never met, but that could because he lives on the other side of the continent.

Anyway, his particular fetish ‘causes him a little heart ache because it is rare that he find a lady who will stand to have a guys nose buried in her pants, especially after a day of wearing them. I have sent him a pair in the past, accompanied with a little note about what I did while wearing them. He loved it, or so he has lead me to believe.

I thought he was a rarity until recently when I met another, here in Sydney. And this one I actually met. I won’t be seeing him again though because he was very short and had a girlfriend that he failed to tell me about.

A Question of Manners

So I’ve had mjany a good time with Mr. Clingfilm and communications continued for a while after, then everything went quiet. The last message was how much he was looking forward to our next game.

I don’t know if I should be worried (see PS), did I read too much into the almost instant responses to texts and emails? Or should I resolve myself to fact that he wasn’t that into me and just wanted a few happy times?

And if that’s the case do you think I’m being unreasonable in wanting something that says, ‘thanks that was fun, but…’


PS. I really hope it is that HNTITM and not lying in a hospital somewhere

Question

What do we think

about

Orange

toe nail varnish?

(Incidentally, and this isn’t a question, but what the f*ck is with Sydney’s weather? This picture was suppose to have a lovely blue sky backdrop, but its overcast and threatening to rain.)

Chopsticks and Sharp Knives

I have just got back for a lunch date. Only the date, he didn’t turn up.

I have a rule, I don’t give out my phone before I have met someone. Too many freaks out there. But he has email and IM. So why, if he knew he wasn’t going to turn didn’t he say something? And if it was truly a hideous (or even minor) accident then he has managed to do something that has never happened to me before.

He stood me up!

When I returned to the office, I composed this email in word…what do you think, press send?

'So my sushi lunch was great...teriyaki chicken, some sashimi salmon, miso soup and a green tea.

The company was rather lacking until the guy filleting a king fish in front of me decided to make conversation. Did you know, but on average a sushi chef spends 3years just making rice before he’s even allowed near a fish?'

Corsetry

I have lots of corsets.

Overbust, underbust, waspie/cincher, satin, PVC, linen, brocade, lacey, tartan, plain, spotty and pinstripe. I would say that these are as big a fetish as shoes if not more so.

They make me stand up straight, jut out my breasts and smooth the curve of my hips. In short they make me feel very sexy.

It gets attention, but not always the desirable kind.

I was out one night a couple months ago with a couple of friends at a pub. I was wearing a black satin waspie over a white blouse, black jeans and high black shoes. I was laughing and drinking with my friends when a girl who I didn’t know came up to me and said, ‘I can’t believe I’m seeing a woman strapped into a contraption of male oppression in the twenty first century.’

I was stunned and like an idiot asked, ‘I beg your pardon?’

She continued with, ‘women earned the right not to wear those when they burnt their bras and won the vote. You’re making a mockery of female rights.’

I was still stunned that this girl would be bold enough to spout crap at a complete stranger, but not stunned enough to say, ‘I choose to wear this corset and many others. This corset is about the males desire to submit to a strong woman, and until you have experienced a man begging at your feet to serve you because you are wearing one, I suggest you keep you opinions to yourself.’

She went purple in the face and puffed her cheeks before flouncing away.

I turned back to my friends who were also stunned, but not at the girl, at me.

‘Holy crap, LRB, I never knew you had that in you.’

‘Well,’ I said. ‘You’ve never seen me comforted while wearing a corset before. Now you know why I don’t wear them to work. I’d get into all sorts of trouble.’ Then I winked.

Modern Communications

Way back when I last dated (late eighties-mid nineties) the mobile phone and internet were in their infancy. They had been around for a while, but I didn’t have a PC at home. I was computer illiterate, I barely knew how to type. I was introduced to computers when I first started working in a office as a personal assistant and the mobile phone came a few year later.

Many years later and I live and breathe email/messenger/internet dating and you’d have to amputate a limb for me to give you my mobile.

I vaguely remember making dates in person (after meeting for the first time at random) or over the telephone. But once you’d left home there was no way to know if he’d still turn up. Now if you’ve been sat there a few minutes you just send a text, asking if he still intends to turn up Or if you are a real nerd (fyi - which I have a soft spot for), send an email via your blackberry.

There really is no reason to have a blind date anymore, because the sending of photos is so simple, often too simple. I really don’t need to see what his cock looks like before I see his face. I recently had a first meeting (with I guy I met online) where I told the guy I didn’t want any photos before and I didn’t send any. I told him what I’d be wearing and that was it. It was kinda nice, the mystery.

And of course something else new and excellent in my opinion is SMS flirting. Those short messages that say I’m still thinking about the naughty thing we did that come in at random times during the day and night, to give you a little flutter in your tummy. Now, that is a very good thing. Those flutters stop snacking.

Another use for the mobile is the booty call. That late night ‘I need a shag, buddy’ that we all feel like doing, but often don’t. I have a female acquaintance that has a code in her phone for booty calls guys. When she gets chatted up and phone numbers given to her by guys in bars (she’s tall, blonde and good looking, it happens often) she slots them into categories. Do Not Answer, Fuck Buddy and Potential Boyfriend. Maybe I’ll do the same.

How did we manage dating before mod comms?

Just for the Night

I started a new, part-time job recently (more about that later) and I was chatting with a couple of my new female colleagues about sex, as you do, and I realised that I have never had a one-night-stand.

There have been fellas that had the potential to be a one nighter, but always came back for more within a week. I’m going take this as a good and bad thing. Good because it nice to be able to say I’ve never had a one-night-stand and bad because I’ve got attached to everyone I’ve slept with which makes it harder when they don’t phone after the second bout of bed-wrestling.

They on the other hand had had multiple mono-encounters which they saw as practice for when Mr. Right came along. One, a young (22) back-packer has just decided to spend the rest of her visit to Aussie celibate because she doesn’t like the number of notches on her proverbial bedpost. The other, a not so young (29) French girl has a number close to the teens and would like to increase it so she can experiment more with strangers.

How do you feel about one night stands, Good, Bad or indifferent?

And I’m curios about numbers, so put a little poll in the side bar, tick a box please.

The Sweaty Bodies

‘You’re twenty minutes late, do you want six, twelve or twenty-four?’

‘twenty-four’

A few minutes later his butt cheeks were shining red and his cock was rock hard.

One hundred and fifty minutes, twenty metres of cling film, a pair of scissors, a pin wheel, some candle wax, leather gloves and a few more spanks later he achieved the pinnacle of his evening.

As I lay next to him with laboured breathing, stroking the nail indentation in his shoulder he turned to me, smiled and said, ‘oh my god…that was tops!’

The Rules

I’ve been giving serious thought the last few days as to what my rules should be when looking for a sub. But I decided to start at the beginning and think about what it is that I look for when I first meet someone who wants to worship at my boots and what are the common mistakes they make that turn me off.

Then I was cruisin’ some of the blogs I read on a regular basis when found the submissive man had been speaking to a Domme about the very same thing, so below is a combination of her insightful answers and mine;

1 - showing up to a first meeting without having made a effort looking like a scruff bag
2 - showing up after me and therefore not having a green tea waiting
3 - being unable to conduct a platonic and pressure-free first meeting
4 - not paying for the first date (a coffee or cuppa)
5 - not answering my question, or giving me a question back
6 - trying to initiate any conversations about sexuality without waiting for me to bring it up first. I want to have that conversation it usually means I’m interested in having a second date
7 - not taking no for an answer
8 – bad manners, table or otherwise
9 – not complimenting me on how I look
10 - balking at a preliminary task
11 – talking back
12 – not being able to have a conversation or stimulating me intellectually

And I like her last one, so I’m going to use it for my own;

13 - being anything other than the balanced, sane healthy man I want for a sub