the box - fad gadget

in the evenings, i remained in my cupboard while my Owner got on with Her life.

we'd tried living together in the nilla sense and it hadn't worked out. She found Herself focusing on me, neglecting Her friends and family - including Her daughter.

so, She suggested i move into the cupboard. my snoring also played a part in Her decision.

so, what did i do with "my" evenings? well, for a kickoff, a light would have been visible under the door.

so, reading was out a lot of the time. as was writing. music was ok - as long as it was on headphones. and, these could be withdrawn at any time at Her discretion.

once Her daughter was safely tucked up in bed - and if i hadn't done anything to displease my owner - then i was free to read or write. and, i wrote a lot of good stuff whilst in the cupboard.

around ten, i could expect to be taken out, used, fed, and put back. the whole process might take a couple of hours. i might be called upon to perform orally, or with "my" cock.

i might be punished, if my behaviour warranted it. cropped, paddled or flogged. i had no input on this matter, no right of veto. if i'd angered Her, She'd punish me.

job - swans

so i'm holding down a full-time job. i go out in the mornings before Her daughter gets up for school, then sit in a café for an hour, drinking coffee and reading until it's time for work.

at the time, i was doing a fairly demanding job, one where i couldn't relax for a minute.

it was high-pressure all day; my evenings were a sudden drop in that pressure.

when She got in, having picked Her daughter up from the after-school club, She normally found an excuse to send Her daughter out for a few minutes. something from the shops, or a message to a neighbour, anything to give Her two minutes or so to check on me.

does this still sound like a lap-crowding fantasy? or a bit more like actual slavery? stuck in a cupboard, from maybe four-thirty in the afternoon until ten at night. outside, i can hear my Owner and Her daughter watching television, laughing, arguing or some combination of the above.

or visitors. Her F/friends would visit. occasionally, i'd hear one of them asking how - or where - i

we who wait - the adverts

the last, time i lived as a slave (as opposed to a sub) it was a situation that sounds a lot like a fantasy when i describe it.

i got in from work before my Owner and my standing orders were to strip, fold my clothing and leave it under Her bed. my cellphone was switched off and placed, along with my wallet and keys, under Her pillow.

i then went to the cupboard i was kept in when not in use and waited.

does this make your lap crowded? the idea of being kept in a cupboard - i was there each afternoon for at least an hour-and-a-half before She got in. waiting. in darkness.

let's not fast-forward to the sound of Her key in the lock. let's focus on those daily ninety or more minutes i spent waiting.

valentine's day - marilyn manson

valentine's day has so many nilla connotations, it's sometimes hard to maintain a bdsm focus to it. out of all the cards available, how many femdom-themed ones are there? and of those, how many are simply semi-risque jokes - without the humour, of course?

to my elevation-of-the-feminine mentality, this goes down like the black 'n' white minstrels sharing a bill with public enemy.

presumably, from a femdom perspective, valentine's day is a time, like Her birthday, where the male makes an offering to his Goddess.

interestingly, st valentine himself made his name marrying roman soldiers to their sweethearts, defying the army's "thou shalt remain single" rule. for that, he was tortured and beheaded. and not in a good way, one assumes.

every day i die - tubeway army

masturbating always made sense to me. there was a point to it; a beginning, a middle and an end. a task with clear goal.

without wishing to pish over anybody's chips, i just don't get self-bondage or self-flagellation on the same level.

both seem to me too much like play-acting. i don't think i could tie myself up all that successfully, let alone convince myself that "it was A Scary Wfie what done it".

and self-flagellation? how does one forget that it's one's own arm doing the thrashing?

self-housework makes a bit more sense - because i can see a clear goal to it. it's improving one's environment, as well as being practice for when one gets into a relationship.

mibby somebody with a more positive slant on self-bondage or self-flagellation would care to enlighten me?

i make plans - richard strange

one thing my Owner has instituted to keep me focused is a weekly planner.

every monday when i awake, i have an e-mail waiting for me with my tasks for the week. it also lists any unfinished jobs i've been set as well as my running totals: the number of blows i'm due for any misdemeanors committed - and the number of minutes i'm due to spend in restrictive bondage as a reward for maintaining one of my daily tasks.

this way, i can see at a glance what my Owner has lined up for me to do each day. and, perhaps more importantly, it emanates from Her. She schedules everything, lays it out for me in black and white. this process, possibly more than the tasks themselves, focuses me on obeying Her.

stranger in our town - the gun club

after several years as a missionary in the north west of england, i returned (despite my best efforts) to the town i'd grown up in.

through a string of preposterous circumstances (and with the assistance of someone as eccentric as myself) two weeks after arriving, i found myself setting up - and running - a second munch there.

as i was told, it's not rocket science - even for a stranger in town. and, they were right!

my original response was to refuse - i didn't know anyone here. nor did i know of any suitable pubs.

put on the spot, i decided on a date & time and took suggestions on where it should be held.

now, the received wisdom states that munches should be promoted with serious and informative posts on ic and fetlife. no-nonsense statements of fact that don't stick out, make waves or actually attract attention.

this might work fine in an area where one is a known face, but from a perfect stranger's point of view, why should a/anybody turn up at an event where they may not know anyone.

in the first instance, we had seven (including me).

so, me being me, i turned the dada up to eleven. i quoted monty python, which always works!

at the second iteration, numbers had doubled. and, i was advised to dump the dada - aye right! i've got this far without making sense - i'm buggered if i'm resorting to reasonable behaviour at this stage in the game!