Pouting

I asked Sir and Mistress last night whether I could share the blog with others.  I got shot down in flames, with the possible option of appealing to Sir's better nature - when Mistress relayed that to me, I heard Evil Laugh(TM) in the background, so yes, his better nature, hmmm.  Apparently it was a joint decision between the two of them, and basically it is because I make this blog so personal to, I guess, the three of us.  Apparently it doesn't matter randoms in Copenhagen or Buenos Aires reading it, but as for people who know me, and know Sir and Mistress as well, it is currently verboten.

Which took the wind out of my sails a bit in the conversation, and I bit the inside of my cheek quite hard, until Mistress tried to get some sort of explanation out of me.  I guess it is just that I put so much effort into this, that some of the writing I think is actually pretty good, and to have an audience of two for it, well, I could just as easily do this via email or something.  I put the best of myself into my entries here, and it therefore kinda sorta exhausts me from writing as well elsewhere, more publicly.

And then Mistress asked Sir if he had any advice for me, about the mischief I am going to get up to today, and he replied 'suck it up, bitch'.  Which made me grind my teeth even harder, because for all the advice Mistress has given me about not getting hurt, about turning up at the airport There not being in a mess, that reply from Sir just appeals to my stubborn streak of throwing myself into things with the INTENTION of getting hurt.  Badly.  I actually snapped at that point in the conversation, and saw red, and accused Sir of WANTING me to get hurt.  Which Mistress said I was being silly with, but that - I know what it was, what Sir said sounded like he was daring me to go against him about the blog thing.  Which then leads onto punishment or whatever, and since they aren't to hand, then the couple today are the next best option to work towards punishment.  Though that would be stupid, and it wouldn't be fun either for myself or the couple, it is how my stubborn streak takes a dare.

Anyways.

Went out on Sunday for my leaving lunch.  I was expecting twenty or so.  With all the last minute cancellations and no shows, seven turned up in the end.  Which was okay, they were a quality bunch, and they managed to keep me entertained for approximately eight hours.  The other thing though, which did kinda sorta annoy me, was that I said lunch at 1pm - to even those that turned up, that meant 2 to 2.30.  AARGH.  Felt a bit of my soul get destroyed waiting around for people to turn up, but then everything turned out okay once we did have some sort of critical mass.

And I threw up at 3am the following morning.  Which hasn't happened to me for the longest time.  And battled a mild hangover for all of yesterday.  One of my mates, who is ALWAYS throwing up after a session, said it was good that I wasn't as bulletproof in that regards as she thought I was hahaha.

And today.  Play date.  Faux kidnapping, and faux abuse and all that fun stuff.  Mistress told me not to get myself hurt, not to submit or slave to them, and just have fun.  I have rationalised it in my head that if I find myself having to reach inside myself for some sort of coping mechanism, then I have gone too far beyond fun, and into masochism pain slut territory.  Which I should really save for Sir and Mistress play.  Or at least when they are in the same room, perhaps.

Is it weird that I am doing a happy dance for the reason I am likely to have things shoved up my butt today?  Perhaps even a cock??  Hehehehe.