Pets Win Prizes

Recently, I have been lucky enough to win three awards. What a lucky poodle I am. Now, I shall pass them on, but I am going to have a think about where I am going to send them.

For now, I shall thank the ever so mysterious mysterg, over at Meditations in an Emergency. He always has my full attention when he writes. He can run his hands up my seamed stockings any time he likes, I might even remember to wear panties. The devilish gentleman has given me this:

Over at Happily After Ever, the lovely ladytruth has awarded me this:

Please go and say hello if you have yet to stumble across her. She always cheers me up, and I am waiting on the edge of my seat to see how her new, and yet old, romance unfolds...

Finally Judearoo at Differently Wired... has handed me this:


This is a lady with a silver tongue. Well, more silver keyboard, I suppose. I highly recommend that you toddle on over to her and feast your eyes on her latest post. Nature rendered beautifully in words and photography.

The award requires that I list 5 obsessions of mine. I have decided to leave BDSM and sex out of this one, since it would really be stating the obvious.

So here we go:

1) Drawing and painting. I have recently begun to do more and more of this after a long, long break. It was always my talent when I was younger, and everyone thought I would end up as an artist. My confidence in myself thought otherwise. However, I am now making a go of it. You can see a couple of things here.

2) Knitting: Yes, it's true, I love to knit. Not only do I like it as a hobby, but when I am stressed and depressed, it focuses my mind so much that I don't think about the bad stuff. People are always amused when they see me doing this dirty little secret for the first time. As if being a sexual deviant and a knitter is incompatible. Hah. I'll have you know that at the last fetish market, before doors opened, I sat at my stall in 1950s polka-dot full-skirted dress made entirely out of rubber (except the frilly petticoat, which was not), knitting scarves as family Christmas presents.

3) Retro/vintage clothing and lingerie: I particularly like 1940s and 50s. I used to sway more towards the 50s, but have discovered that I am really a 40s girl. I adore fully-fashioned seamed stockings. I adore curling my hair into intricate styles. I love the shoes, I love the hats... etc.

4) Tornadoes: The weather phenomenon, not the plane. Since I was a little girl and I saw the twister in The Wizard of Oz, I have been absolutely fascinated by these things. To the extent where I often have dreams about them, which scare the hell out of me (yet are perversely enjoyable). I am desperate to see a real one. I am especially interested in the details of the great Tri-State Tornado of 1925. Look it up.

5) Animals: All kinds really. I am at my most happy and comfortable when I am surrounded by animals. I feel at peace. Maybe it's because there's no crap involved in relationships such as these. Well, except when you clean the litter tray.

Spanking School

Earlier on in the year, I helped a friend deliver a class on fellatio, hand-jobs, and good things to do with your partner's penis.

Freya is an internationally well-known figure in the world of kink and beyond. She is an author, performer, artist, and columnist. Based abroad, she visits the UK about twice a year to give classes for an exclusive boutique of erotica, and to perform at clubs. Tonight, I shall be assisting her with a spanking class, and I will be the spankee. Of course, I can't wait to tell you how it goes, but for now, I shall leave you with the details of the JoyStick class from earlier this year...


These classes are mostly frequented by bored middle-class people with quiet sex lives, and money to burn. I am probably being a bit unfair here. This particular class was held at a rather nice private members club on the Portabello Road. It was all women, mostly giggling, with not a single male partner in sight.


The way Freya does the class is to go in on her own initially to give a 15m intro. She then tells the class that she is about to call her boyfriend in. "GASP," say the women, "Does she really mean to insert a man's erect penis into her mouth in front of us? Here? An erect penis? Her mouth?" But ha-ha, the joke is on them, and the middle-aged woman in the front row who just died of a heart-attack pegged it for nothing...


"Boyfriend, oh Boyfriend..." calls Freya. There is an excruciating pause, during which time none of the women know what to do with themselves, then in I stride wearing trousers, blouse, and a strap-on. Oh, and bunches. We thought the contrast between strap-on and bunches was amusing.


I strode up to the platform, thrusting my hips, my artificial manhood leading the way. Some colour was beginning to come back into the women's cheeks. Yes it was relief all round.


During the class, Freya demonstrated how to approach your man in a sexy fashion and perform an inpromptu blow-job. She explained how people should be prepared to loosen up more, that mussed-up hair is sexy, that makeup running down the cheeks is just about the hottest thing ever. I agreed whole-heartedly, and told them that it was just the other night when my man pulled me in front of the mirror so I could see the streaks down my face, and told me how hot I looked. Of course, he also told me I was a filthy slut, and the reason I had running eyes was because he had slapped me round the face several times. I left that part out. These classes are meant to be "accessible". But I had to wonder how on earth any of this stuff was new to these women. There was one moment where Freya was discussing the use of pelvic floor muscles during sex, and the clenching thereof... You'd have been forgiven for thinking that she had just discovered a cure for cancer, clenching the vaginal musles during sex: a revelation indeed.

That said, I must admit that, despite walking into the class thinking: "What could I possibly have to learn?" I walked away with a couple of new strings to add to my bow. And I owe it all to Freya, and the courgettes hidden under everyone's chair, including mine.

Yes, this was the "How to put a condom on a penis using only your mouth" part of the class. I had never attempted this before, and was not familiar with the technique. Freya told us her special secret whilst handing out condoms, and then we began putting what we had learned into practice. I am proud to say that I did it effortlessly, like lightening, like it was instinct. I like to call it talent. And as I smugly brandished my sheathed courgette, I surveyed the class from atop my platform of sexual righteousness, and wondered how I came to be here. How had my life led me to fellating a corgette, seated on a platform before a room full of sexually repressed posh women, all slobbering frustratedly over vegetables? These thoughts evaporated as my smile grew wider. They were replaced with feelings of pleasure and contentment. For all the difficulties and sorrows, there are some parts of my existence that I adore. For I may be overly sarcastic, at times downright derogatory, but the truth is that helping a bunch of mainstream women break out of their shells and enjoy better sex is awesome. The weird and wonderful situations in which I find myself keep me going. And it is a joy to help out at Freya's classes because she is amazing at what she does.


I should say that at the end of her class, she handed out latex gloves to everyone, and offered to demonstrate the fellatio techniques she had taught to us on our fingers, so we could actually learn what it feels like. During the session I had watched and listened, I had played "stunt-cock", and I had thought that Freya had some interesting ideas. After she had finished with the women, she came over to my gloved hand. All I can say is, sweet Jesus, I wish I was as lesbian as she is. Her wife is a lucky woman. If that's what it feels like on the hand, I can only imagine what she can do to a real penis...

Kink At Claridge's

About two weeks ago, I had the pleasure of enjoying champagne and afternoon tea at Claridges. And of course, I did it with a naughty twist.

I am sure you have all heard of this exclusive establishment, but if you haven't, this is for you.

Mistress Max contacted me some time ago to tell me about a wonderful sub she has, we shall call him Parker. Parker likes to play chauffeur, butler, manservant, and plays them to perfection. He even has a uniform, complete with cap and gloves. Mistress Max had arranged for us to have afternoon tea at Claridges with another domina. Parker would be there to stand to attention, and serve us where necessary. Afterwards, he would chauffeur us to the theatre to see a performance of Alls Well That Ends Well.

How can you resist an offer like that?

Unfortunately, when the day came, Parker contacted me to inform me that "Madame" i.e. Max, had had a personal situation, and would not be able to make it. Neither would the other mistress. He said that Max advised that I either invite some other friends, or Parker could chaperone me.

I was having a sad day that day, and I thought that meeting someone new and keeping things small and quiet would be a good idea. Besides, Parker was so well spoken, so respectful, and so polite that I thought he would be charming company. I said that I would like him to attend tea with me.

I chose to wear one of my favourite little jackets. It looks like it has just been lifted from an old American cheescake pin-up poster. Blue with little stars on like the flag, nipped in at the waist, and with a sweetheart neackline. It is lined with red and white stripes, but you can't see them when you wear it. I paired it with my tight little dark denim pencil skirt, with fishtail at the back, seamed stockings, and peep-toe heels.

I arrived to find Parker in his uniform, waiting in the foyer of Claridges. He was an older gentleman, maybe in his late 50s, and as charming as I imagined. He escorted me to the table, and waited until I was seated before he sat down. Conversation flowed very easily between us, and told me he was not used to being allowed to sit and eat. He said that I was very different to "Madame", and a lot more tolerant. I was amused by this. I said that men are often deceived by a smile and gentle tone.

Parker suggested that we order champagne tea, and I told him that he should remove his hat.

And so I had my favourite Assam tea, little sandwiches, a selection of beautiful desserts, and clotted cream scones. As we savoured these delights, a woman played a harp in the background.

When we had finished, we had some hours to kill. I was so enjoying being called "Madame", and was developing a taste for being waited on with such style. I said that I wanted to go shopping, and that Parker could carry my bags. There was just one problem. We were in a very exclusive part of town, and Maisie is poor as a church-mouse. There was only one thing I could do. I instructed Parker to take me to Top Shop on Oxford Circus. You shut your yaps, it's common knowledge that many celebrities happen to frequent it.

I strode in, rabid foam leaking from my mouth at the mere thought of new shoes, and hotly pursued by a posh man in a posh uniform, complete with hat and gloves. With a veritable gallop, we made our way to the Shoe Lounge. I began selecting shoes and handing them to Parker, so that he could find an assistant to get my correct size. From my seat, I tried more shoes on, and pointed to others that I liked, which Parker dutifully fetched. I noticed that the shop assistants were becoming more and more helpful, and ignoring other customers. And then a man with a walkie-talkie ran over to us, looked at me and said, "Madame, I think you'd be happier in our VIP Lounge." I did the only thing I could. I said "Absolutely!" And so were escorted to better climes.

I guess they thought I was someone rich, or someone famous. Who knows. Parker whispered congratulations in my ear at how convincing I was.

In the VIP Lounge, a team of women listened to the sorts of things I liked, before rushing off and bringing back armfuls of stuff to hang on my rail. As I drew the curtain, I thought "Fuck, if I don't buy something, I am going to look like an utter cock." I also cringed because in the lounge outside, I heard an assitant tell parker that he could take a seat, and I heard him reply by saying that he was not allowed to. "Great," I said to myself, "Now they think I'm a right bitch."

Eventually, they brought me a beautiful dress from their vintage section. It is a very convincing 1940s style day-dress. I think it must have been cut from an original pattern. It has slightly padded shoulders, and is black with beautiful flowers of pink, blue, and yellow. I can't wait to wear it out. There are a couple of 1940s nights in town that I know of, but I need to find a man I can convince to dress accordingly, and act the part. As you can tell, I bought the dress. How could I not?

With the shopping done, we had just enough time to get to the theatre. The show was quite good and the stage-design was wonderful. Unfortunately, the women usually cast as Shakespearean leads often seem to have the most annoying voices on the planet. This was no exception.

A good day indeed. Just what the doctor ordered.