Posted by lucky_1 on Tue 7 Nov 06, 10:29 AM to lucky_1's blog.
Ok don't get too excited! I'm not wandering around naked apart from chains, well I could I suppose, but it would ruin the atmosphere at work.
No, I am a slave to two dogs. I get up when they want,I spend the first two hours of my day fetching escapees from the garden, tidying up after they have trashed the front room, feeding them and generally trying to get them under control while they want to play. Playing consists of tearing around the house, teeth bared, diving on each other and generally destroying anything in their path. This is when you realise, as a submissive, that I would make a crap dominant. I can't even get a grip of two mutts!
J had me in stitches last night. A vision of the future. We are all living in a big house and Sherbetface has brought home a friend from her first term at university where she is studying particle physics, law, art and humanities oh and human sexual psychology. After all it helps to understand the family. She is explaining the functioning of the house to her new friend.
"Right, well, this is my mum" as capi approaches, beaming, "Well, hellooooo" she is duly greeted before being clutched to capi's bosom where she momentarily fights for breath. "Right, well make yourselves at home dears but please avoid the cellars, It's your dad, you know" "Oh and if you have a Ford darling please don't park it too near the house, the dog dislikes them and has taken to jumping on them from height"
The two wander off round the house. There are several dogs who, on first impression appear to own the house and are to be seen tearing around the corridors at various times of the day, or night. There are the cats too. There is one very, very old cat who has taken to the cellars with dad wearing a tin helmet, smoking a cigar and thinks he is General Patten reincarnated. The other has a cape fashioned out of polythene and lies in wait for the passing dogs when he mounts an ambush before retreating in anticipation of retaliation from the dogs, which never happens as they are too busy looking for fords.
"Well if you want somewhere nice and tidy to stay you had better head off to the West Wing. That's Lucky's. She thinks it's an hotel you see. You get mints on the pillows and all sorts but be warned, she'll give you the bill. Scottish you see, can't help it."
And then there is Dad, in the cellars. He only comes out at night and that is when the noises begin. Playtime they call it.
Big kids, the lot of them.
Edited Tue 7 Nov 06, 12:45 PM by lucky_1
