Gulp

Gulp.

I was imagining a nice sedate room with people mingling, drinks in hand. Of course the dress code would be a bit heavy on the leather, and the well dressed might have collars, since I’ve learned that is a feature of bondage and domination, or B ’n D as we in the know like to call it. Tra-la.

Gulp. He just read me the party rules.

They include things about “no ejaculation outside of a condom.”

They include guidelines for negotiating for your turn to use the stocks.

Stocks. Not flowers. Not trade-able shares. Not a generic term for supplies.

Big wooden jobby with holes for your hands and/or feet and/or head. Locks down so you can’t get away. Keeps you nicely bent over. That sort of thing, with variations.

Stocks. Oh yes I know those. A bit retro – popular in the middle ages, weren’t they? But coming back into style just like bell-bottoms and platform heels seem to every other decade. Every well furnished house should have some. Maybe we should get some. Like putting in a bidet, really, but without needing a plumber to come hook up the water. Which room should they go into, I wonder? Come in handy for those hard to hold yoga postures, I’m sure.

Stocks. Got that. What else?

You can buy floggers there (proceeds to animals in distress). How handy.

But must bring your own sex toys.

Naturally.

Anyone in a collar is a slave and may only be approached indirectly through their master. Failure to observe this rule will result in being asked to leave. Oh how interesting. Must remember that then. Isn’t local etiquette twee when travelling abroad.

Isn’t this all so cute and quaint.

I’m not sure which is the strongest urge in me: to throw up, or to start screaming and never stop.

B takes this opportunity to wake and start to fuss. Must run and be a mum, come what may.

Comingggg!