I have nothing much to say, except ...

It occurs to me that I have been rather amiss in my Bloggatory undertakings of late, i believe the last missive was over three months ago and oh, how you’ve revelled in the stillness of my quill. But since the majority of quill feathers are plucked from either the goose or the already much-suffering turkey, i felt that now, during this season of frantic turkey chasing, would be an ideal time to sneak up upon one of the little darlings and metaphorically wrench a large one from it.

You see my very dear listener, during this self-imposed lexical interregnum, my fingers have not been idle (oh do stop tittering at the back, this isn’t a Carry On lock in)! No. I have kept by my side, almost constantly, my little red Moleskine notebook. I’m sure i must have mentioned that i’m a bit of a Moleskine whore, i mean fan. The quality and reliability of their range being second to none don’t you know! Now true, a first glance through the recently penned pages does reveal a variety of seemingly uninteresting trivia :

• The beagles’ email addresses (i kid you not);
• A note to reply to a letter from the highly respected “Polite Society” of London;
• The wording on the side of a highway infrastructure maintenance vehicle which caught my eye by advertising themselves as being perfectly capable of carrying out “Manhole Rehabilitation” (i see the sniggerers are still here);
• A list of the times when my gymnasium would kindly be able to offer me something called “Circuit training” (none of which were convenient, clashing as they did with various dinner engagements and cake tastings);
• A note of a rather catchy line that i thought would go rather well on my Cheese Art website “Cheese Art, it’s spreading like Dairylea” (i may change my mind on that one);
• My renewed affirmation that the word “forsooth” should be used far more that it is presently;
• A list containing the venues “British Library”, “South Bank Centre”, “Westminster Abbey”, “The Dana Centre”, “The Wellcome Collection” and “The Science Museum”, being as they are, purveyors of some of the best cake in London whilst simultaneously offering excellent WiFi facilities;
• A reminder to examine in detail the duties and responsibilities of an “Exhumer”;
• A growing list of things to take with me on my next visit to the naturist club of which i am a member (this list including but not limited to such things as “a long screwdriver”, “trellis” and “Wasp-ease”);
• Another list with entries such as “Howard Goodall” (Classic FM’s composer in residence) and “The Pet Shop Boys” (and no i’m not divulging what this list refers to);
• And a constantly evolving shopping list, recent entries to which include “MDF” and “Twinings Lapsang Souchong”, or bonfire tea as a delightful friend refers to it – do try it, it’s delicious and smells like .... well i’m sure you can figure that out for yourselves.

And believe me there’s more. But no, aside from these noteletts of sometimes puerile trivia and scribbling, there are pages of notes relating to potential blog topics. And perhaps, over the Christmas repose, I shall make the time to sharpen my quill and dip it into the dross of thoughts which i have collected. Many will, thankfully (and you’ll want to bless me for this) never see the light of day (or the light of your laptop screens anyway).

As some of you know, I shall be served my Christmas dinner at approximately forty thousand feet as I fly to the home city of The Coca-Cola Company, UPS and Delta Airlines. Yes I am Christmassing in Atlanta in the state which is the largest producer of pecans in the world, Georgia. Well i say “Atlanta”, in reality my home for the four day retreat will be Union City, where according to City Ordinance section 10.103, it is illegal for anyone under seventeen to loiter or eat in any public place between 11pm and 6am (12midnight Fridays and Saturdays) and anyone wanting to work for the city has to undergo a polygraph test.

So fear not, i shall not be relaxing in the hotel swimming pool too often, besides it shuts at 11pm, presumably to prevent the under seventeens of the area loitering in it! No instead i shall be thinking of you all and banging my brain to try to come up with something vaguely interesting to say.

So until then, I wish you all a most merry and memorably festive holiday season. May you never run out of mince pies and may your mistletoe antics pay off spectacularly.

Good Crimble.

You're all invited ....

To my daethbed party. Yes you did indeed read that right. But maybe i shold explain.

You see right now, i'm in the middle of one of the nastiest cluster headaches that i've had for a long while. However ... in a sick twist of introverted pyschology, i've decided to enjoy it and look at the positives rather than dwell on the pain. I should perhaps also point out, that i've had a shovel-load of painkillers about an hour ago and in the words of the song "...it's gone right to my head". So i'm chemically pissed you see my dears.

)Actually I just went back and added the hyphen between "shovel" and "load" so as you can see, i'm actually remarkably incoherant for someone who's a little way out there)!

Where was i? Oh yes. My deathbed.

Picture the scene (as radion four would say "if you wiil") me, all dressed in white, lying neatly under folded sheet, a group of close friends all standing round whispering or weeping. Well i want none of that. So i've decided that i want a death-bed party. I'm determined that the last thing to leave me will be my sense of humour. And I have left instructions.

I'd like someone to make areally sick banner to hang up, something along the lines of "Congratulations on your death". Seriously, it'll be a laugh. We'll have party games (volunterr organisers please). No idea what, but pass the parcel with an urn in it should be a hoot! The sicker the better please. Ask Rory to help, he's a sick f*cker with a wicked imagination.

I'm hoping Ingrid will organise most of this (it'll keep her mind off any morbid aspects you see). I'd love it if Beautiful Baby Jo cold be there (she'll need a cheeky rosé or three though) and her Pete too. If you need me to move to one side whilst you spit-roast the girl then go for it with my blessing.

And Beautiful Baby Jules too, she'll love the chance of some medical play! I'd be so happy if my beatiful little Emily (RiC) was there too, one of the best huggist around and with a filthy glint in her vey beatiful eyes. Speaking of beautiful eyes, if the one i call my beautiful little Ruthe could be there, i'd love that too. (God this is so selfish. These people might not want to be there). And if someone could invite my very pretty friend Zoe too plaese. She's secretly a really filthy bitch who's quickly becoming less secret about her inner filth. Take her to your hearts (and to your parties) she's a wonderful person. And no partyt would be complete without Ben and Lilly. Ang and Kieron have often featured in my little sordid fantasies, but we've never the chance to act them out, so if they fancied coming alongand teasing me with what might have beem, it'd be lovely to see them. So now we have the makings of a dirty little get-together.

I have to paws here because i've got the sensation of rats inside my forehead trying to get outand i've a mind to let them.

So as well as alcohol, do bring nibbles, party food, but not those 'orrible little sausages. No-one actally likes them.

Oh i've just had a little Pecan Pie that Ingrid brought back from Atlanta. Very very morish, but i'm watching my weight. Imagine the shame of hearing the coffin carriers groan and call for backup!!

Obviously at some point during the afirementioned (oh check me out using big wordsd whilst chemilly pissed)!! What? Oh yes, at some point, i'll probaboy die. No need to go, in fact, rather like a bride and groom leaving for the two-week shag-fest, that's usually when the party really gets going. Feel free to stick silly things in my mouth and take a picrure, i won't mind in the slightest. I don't want any of this "paying your last respects" rubbish.

Have a laugh. Take the piss. Get drunk. Have lots of very filthy sex. And drink to my ... well anything but health!!

Naturism and bad first-aid really don't mix

Picture the scene if you will. Me, naked, sitting outside, at the naturist club, eating lunch. It's a lovely day. A Monday, to be precise. The birds are singing. The flowers are in bloom. The traffic is too distant to hear. Just the sounds of nature fill the air. Until ...

ME : Oh no, i think i've just been stung on my cock by a wasp!

HER : Well i'd better boil some water then!

Where does it say that the established first aid remedy for a wasp sting is to plunge the affected area into boiling water???!!!!

P.S. This is the correct and only version of this episode. Any other versions are entirely without merit and are unauthorised.

If ever she combines her twin loves of rope and bees, I'm outta here!!

So i have this friend and she's become a bit of a bee-geek. She can tell you about the buzzy little buggers' sex lives, their work ethics, their construction techniques and even their climate preferences. Sadly she can't yet tell when they just want to be left alone and her nosey intrusions recently met with the sharp, pointy and venomous end of a bee's ass. I gather it hurt both her nose and the bee, no doubt with the offended bee looking sternly over its rimmed glasses and reciting that old (and on this occasion poignantly true) line much preferred by headmasters of old "Now you know that this going to hurt me far more than it will you". With that, said honey-bee lanced its intruder on the nose and promptly died. I suspect the funeral notice will say "DO send flowers".

Now said same friend also loves attaching rope to people and when she's entwining someone within her intricate coloured webs, she sings to herself, chuckles a lot and has a stupid grin on her face (although of late that's stupid grin and bee stings).

And so i was very pleased to be asked to be her rope bunny for a get-together of fellow kinky rope-lovers recently at Peer Rope London. I enjoy being her easel, her white-board, her canvas. I enjoy not having any preconceived ideas or any desires. I'm not a "Oh can you tie me like this, facing this way, in one inch silk, blue if you have it and i'll have none of those horrible rope marks don't you know". I just enjoy adopting the pose she requests and then letting her get on with it whilst she amuses me with the aforementioned songs, grins and chuckles.

Of course as all of my friends know, i don't do humiliation, so having to don a pair of her skin-coloured knickers caused a slight blushing of the upper cheeks but the reality was that it was a perfect choice, since her art didn't really care for the intrusion of clothing (I'd come dressed for a day at the beach - the shorts were something to behold i can tell you)!

She would claim to just be a novice, someone who messes about with rope and enjoys the creative process. And that's fine. She shuns the formal approved and 'correct' methods and prefers to free-wheel and experiment. And no two sessions will be the same. I love just letting her get on with it, never knowing what it's going to turn out like.

Yesterday was a lot of fun. It's a really friendly event and i met up with some really lovely lovely friends. And one of them's going away for what'll seem like ages and i think i miss her already.

And as long as my friend keeps her bees and her rope entirely separate, i'll be fine. thanks hun xx

The effects of going vanilla

We tend not to choose when and by what means we come to this lifestyle of ours and similarly we tend not to choose the method or reason of our departing from it. For me there was just a realisation that within a primarily monogamous and exclusive relationship, i simply got bored of what to me, became the rather repetitive kink. It was certainly nobody's fault and equally couldn't be helped. If the kink is only working for one person, then clearly, it isn't working. Nobody wants a partner to simply go through the motions just to please the other.

My problem is that i'm too adventurous, too curious. I had notions of trying all sorts of new and terrible and exciting and scary things, but within the realms of the monogamous relationship and with a small number of exceptional and memorable occasions (two ladies with big scary knives immediately springs to mind) that was just not going to happen.

So i decided to say goodbye to most things kink (hey why flog a dead horse, except for the practice) and return to the ways of the 'nilla-folk.

And the resultant effects have been surprising.

Well first of course, we've saved a lot of money and in these times, that's no bad thing. But the most alarming effect has been the disappearance of 'friends'. It seems that i had a lot of 'friends' who were only interested in me whilst i was a part of that circle. Whilst i was partaking of their sport and willing to be the performing monkey or whore at their parties and events. The court jester was often a role that seemed appropriate (although some might wisely also suggest the village idiot)! The ones who remain in contact, who answer memos and telephone calls and make an effort to keep in touch, other than just when kink is the topic, are very much still friends. The true friends. As for the others, well i guess they never really were friends to begin with.

Of course there may well be other effects as well. Some perhaps not apparent until much water has flowed under the bridge. So maybe i'll update this as time passes. The first scientific study of the effects of returning to 'nilla land? Oh maybe there's a EU grant available!

At some point i'm sure i'll dip my toe back into the water again. After all, the reasons i came to kink are still there, are still valid. I still have the same things to offer and the same outlook on life and quite probably a few more humorous (or stupid) anecdotes to recount, but i'll be more cautious and sadly, quite possibly more sceptical.

(ETA spelling, grammar, punctuation, humour if you can spot it and poignancy).

One partly-used Severin for hire

Now, as it happens, i'm looking for a change in direction. A new challenge. And as i've been looking around at various possibilities, it occurs to me that i've never asked the very people who i enjoy spending time with - i.e. you lot.

So ......

Would anyone like to employ a Severin? Various skills available. Not looking for play, but for hard cash. Money. Wages. Salary. Being very old, i've experienced a lot including :

• Commercial Aircraft operations (you'd be surprised what i can park)
• Surgery (i could take out your gall bladder if you ask nicely)
• Back stage work including Stage Manager (the only chance i get to Dom)
• Follow spot operator (a lot harder than it looks to do it well)
• Driving (once out of London, i've the patience of Abraham)
• Geeky things especially Excel and Access and Powerpoint (hmmmm pretty graphs & Pivot Tables make me cum)
• Managerial, Information/Data Analyst (i can crunch really big numbers)
• Software Test Designer (if you've written it, i can break it)
• Modelling (in the right light, i can look very arty)
• Good with animals (maximum of four legs)
• Not too bad with people (maximum of two legs)
• Artistic use of bullet points (too much time maybe?)
• Oh and I write a bit, but it's all bollocks! (Erudite bollocks i'm told!)

But it doesn't have to involve any of these things, because, as i say, i'm looking for something new. As long as it pays a suitable wage that i can live on.

Ok, time to put the record straight.

Yes, i'm a whore. Yes i'm a tart and yes i'm a slut (on occasions). I do love to play when i get the opportunity and my ass is always happy to get naked, especially if there's a camera or a naked hand in the room or a big sword.

However, i feel that i might in recent times have been a little remiss. My implied tartiness could indeed lead one to a misunderstanding. You dear listener, could, solely on my account, easily be forgiven for coming to the extraordinarily inaccurate conclusion, that here in the home of The Leaky One (Ingrid), i am subjected to a life of constant neglect. That my existence borders on the extinct and that i am left to wither away and that i constantly stare death in the face.

Well i have to tell you, that that is not entirely correct. True, she does bring home and subject me to, diseases, which even as i sit here in my frailty and type, i am forced to do battle with. However it is certainly not a fair representation of the whole picture. The canvas that i paint for you, is not complete. My palette is only partially used.

You see, i am spoilt. There is no getting away from the fact, that here in Saint Severin's branch of the Vatican, your pontiff elect is kept in the style to which i am now quickly becoming accustomed.

If one were to take this evening, purely as a typical example, one would learn that i have been cooked for, fed, watered, medicated, given treats, been spoilt, pampered and generally fussed over. I am indeed a very spoilt little whore. And i thought that it was time that my gratitude for this, be put on record.

Oh i know what you're thinking. You're waiting for the punchline, the put-down, the inevitable jokey repost. But i tell you, given my current state of frailty, my reliance upon the comfort and succour and hot tea of my benefactor, it's more than my life's worth at the moment. And so my public display of gratitude has to, for now at least, resemble something of a likeness to the sincerity in which it is intended.

An ode to Dommes who bake cake

Oh Madam. You tease us with your cakey ways. You lure us with your cakey writings. You tempt us cake-loving subs to come closer. Closer into your cakey havens. Closer into your traps. And we come. Yes we come. And we come willingly. We come willingly to your cakey lairs.

For nothing must prevent us reaching the cake. Tasting of the cake. Consuming the cake and yet suffering all of the cakey makers' Dommly ways. We will gladly suffer your cruelties for the promises of your cakes.

We salivate as you type your evil cakey temptations. We dribble as you tease us with your talk of munches with cakes, play and cakes, torture and cake and just cake. We drool and make unsightly and disturbingly sticky puddles at the mention of your cakiness. For we are subs and we must have our cake!!

Mrs Smith

Like a great many people on Informed Consent, I was saddened and shocked by the sudden and tragic death of Mrs. Smith in a driving accident. For a while i replaced my profile with the following and somehow it doesn't seem quite right to just delete it. Time moves on and i feel it's right and proper to put my 'normal' profile back.

However much we miss her, our pain and sense of loss, is nothing compared to that of those who knew her well and the daily anguish which her family must face, without a wife and mother. My hope is that in the coming months and years, Mr Smith may eventually be able to look back over these threads and take some comfort from them.

Like a great many, Sev is mourning the sudden and tragic death of Mrs Smith.

Mrs Smith was one of the nicest, kindest people i've ever had the privilege to converse with on IC. She's added so many lovely comments on blogs and thread. Her warmth, her generosity, her humour, were limitless. I still can't believe this awful news.

My heart and my prayers go out to Mr Smith and the family tonight.

RIP Anne XXXX

Understandably, given the high regard in which the people who knew Anne personally and the people who only knew her through this website held her, one thread was never going to be enough to contain the outpouring of shock, grief, sadness and fond memories which followed her untimely and tragic death.

For your convenience, they are listed here :

• Tragic News About Mrs Smith
• Tragic News About Mrs Smith - second blog
• Mrs Smith - In Memoriam
• Mrs Smith
• Mrs Smith" -......very sad news
• mrs smith very sad news part 2
• Book of Condolence...
• Book of Condolence... (for London/SE)
• Mrs. Smith's funeral today

I wish to register - A Complaint!

'Ello, I wish to register a complaint.

I wish to complain about this Domme, what I purchased not eighteen months ago from this very establishment.

The Swedish Blonde.

And I'll tell you what's wrong with it. It leaks. That's what's wrong with it!

Despite it's beautiful plumage, I tell you it's developed a leak! It's what I call a leaky Domme.

I've tried to plug the leak, but it just carries on leaking!!

I've tried cock, dildos and, like any good Dutch boy when faced with a leaky dyke, i've tried plugging its 'ole with me fingers. And I tell you, it still leaks!!

This Domme is definitely defective and when I purchased it not 'eighteen months ago, I was assured that its total lack of squirting was due to it bein' tired and shagged out following a prolonged walk.

And don't tell me it's probably pining for the fjords. What kind of talk is that? Look, why did it fall flat on its back the moment I got it home?

Does the Swedish Blonde prefers keepin' on it's back despite being a remarkable bird with lovely plumage?

Look, I took the liberty of examining that Domme when I got it home and I discovered the only reason that it had been sitting up in the first place was that it had just been nailed.

It's bleedin' defective!

It's not pinin'! It's faulty! This Domme is with leak! It has ceased to be dry! It's squirting for England and going for the record! It's a squirter! Bereft of dry towels, it's lying in a puddle! It's kicked the bucket over, and flooded the bedroom. It's shuffled off the double quilt. It's run up a dry cleaning bill and joined the bleedin' screaming choir invisibile!! THIS IS AN EX-dry Domme!!

ETA: With much gratitude to Mr.Cleese & Mr.Palin for this.

Severin is ...

• ...far too cheeky to be called a submissive
• ...seamlessly contradictory
• ...a non-smoker
• ...a straight guy
• ...a camera slut
• ...a Sensualist
• ...a Hedonist
• ...extremely open-minded
• ...very fond of bullet points (I'm a bit of a PowerPoint and Excel geek)
• ...is job hunting
• ...is one of Boris' Oyster Whores
• ...is also a Starbucks Whore (where i add a lot of cinnamon to my coffee)
• ...is widely acknowledged as having helped Ingrid to halt the seven signs of ageing (what i like to call the "Landingham effect")
• ...has an above average number of testicles
• ...is oft maligned and frequently besmirched (and trust me, that can be messy)
• ...is the father of the modern day international phenomenon which is, Cheese Art
• ...has a Wii Fit age of 30
• ...runs and operates the Single Sock Foundation
• ...is widely considered to be "Humorously Mischievous and Lovably Forgiveable" (to the tune of I am the very model of a modern Major-General or if you prefer, this version (@ 1:00) )
• ...genuinely believes that the lyrics to any song can seamlessly be replaced by "Up yer bum"
• ...also contrary to popular rumour, sev does NOT do puppy-play. And i'll snap at the ankles of anyone who says otherwise (unless they bring cake, in which case prepare to be nuzzled, endearingly - with the odd dribble)
• ...the living proof that intelligence and common sense don't always go hand in hand. Because even though it's highly unlikely that you are more intelligent than i am, i am still more likely to trip and fall down the stairs whilst trying to play with the dogs and do the vacuuming.
• ...has a bit of a sweet tooth, but hates the smell of sugar (go figure)!
  

S.R.I.

This last weekend has been quite a memorable one. Not least of all because the activities of both days were, quite unexpected.

What initially was simply a chance to pop around to friends for a drink on one evening and then the opportunity to be used by a pair of photographers the next, both became so much more fun and entertaining. One simply couldn't have planned for the fun and naughtiness that ensued.

The only minor downside - well i now have S.R.I. In a moment of foolish, rash and playful puppy-like behaviour, i got two carpet burns, one on the top of each foot.

Yes, I have Scampering Related Injuries.

Forced Domme Extradition - for one week only!

Introduction (or "The bit where i rub my hands together in glee")

Well as every well-trained, obedient, submissive and bottom knows, they have the age-old rite, handed down by generations of tradition, to apply for the Enforced Extradition of their Domme for one week only, each year.

And so it was with a heavy heart and an overwhelming feeling of impending neglect and food-poisoning, that I decided to enforce my inalienable right and send Ingrid (the Illinoid Domme) away to recharge her Dommly batteries.

I have decided that as, this is for me at least, a new experience and to a certain extent, an experiment (after all, could i be sure she would return) that it is note-worthy of recording, in the form of a diary.

And so dear listener, i invite you to 'check-in' with me, just as she checks in with RustBucket Airlines, to chart the daily progress of my life - "Domme-Free" . (Any smiley-face appearing at the end of that last sentence must surely be some sort of operating system error)!

Yes, as my lovely but blonde Domme lazies away in the sunshine, falls down drunk in the cocktail bars and terrorises all the local waiters, I invite you to share in my experiences, however sordid, however revolting.

Obviously, as the aforementioned "well-trained, obedient, submissive" my behaviour during her period of extradition will probably be impeccable and unimpeachable, bringing no taint of shame onto myself whatsoever. My character will doubtless remain unstained (and do feel free to finish that sentence yourselves). In other words, if you get an invitation to a wild party this week, don't go posting great long threads on here about "How wonderful it all was" and "wasn't that Sev a stud - the spunk flew everywhere" - OK)?

Of course i will not be entirely on my own during her enforced period of foreign detainment. I will have responsibilities. I am "Keeper of Beagles", "Provider of Cat-Care" and "Feeder of Fish". Actual real-life living (for now ) creatures will be relying on me for their very existence (and i'm NOT a vegetarian (insert maniacal laughter here)).

And so. How will Sev fill his days during this seven-day interregnum? Will he get up to mischief? Will he starve? Will he BBQ a beagle? Will he dance naked, nightly in front of the fish? Let's see shall we?

Saturday 16th August - eDay-1

Although officially today is called "eDay-1" it could equally be called "Sev tries to look nonchalant whilst secretly scheming, day". As I sit here now, lounging in the back garden, bucket of tea and Mini-Battenburg cake to hand, it's hard to describe the scene unfolding within the walls behind me. The usual vista of grass, long-overdue for a trim, is obscured by the last-minute pre-holiday washing that's wafting gently under the clouds. Behind me, the sound of ferocious packing in only drowned out by the whirr and bang of the washing machine, as yet more of the clothes_that_she_might_need_but_won't_actually_wear are given their final bone-dry spin, prior to spending a night in the rain outside!

Oh yes, packing is well under way and Sev is helping - by staying outside and looking busy . Tomorrow I shall undertake the formal job of delivering the Illinoid for Extradition to the airport authorities and making whatever anonymous 'phone calls i feel mischievous enough to make!

Oh yes, and of course i'm preparing myself for a lonely week, isolated, neglected, ney, abandoned and on my own. I've already ordered the well-known and popular self-help videos, "Home Alone" and "Home Alone 2". I'm told I'll get plenty of inspiration from them of how to pass the time. But your contributions are also welcome. Your suggestions encouraged. We could even have a daily phone-vote!

I have a strong suspicion that at some point this evening, i'll be given some sort of 'reminder' to behave - an aide memoir if you will, of what might happen if i get up to mischief (or to be precise, if i get up to mischief and she finds out about it)!

Interestingly, I've just been informed that whilst She is away, i should consider myself able to use and consume anything in the house. Beagle burgers anyone?

Sunday 17th August - eDay - whoops, i mean eDay

Well it's eDay and the sun is shining, bags are mostly packed and in a couple of hours, we shall be heading for the airport, specifically, the Illinoid Extradition Terminal. We won't be doing the "Brief Encounter" style airport long goodbye scene, for one thing that would involve having to pay for the car park. No. I shall be adopting the "drive-by and eject" method of passenger disembarkation. It saves time and money but is in no way meant to convey any feelings of abandonment or sour grapes at not being taken on holiday too. Even as i speed away from the terminal leaving the Domly one amongst a pile of roadside cases, i'm sure i shall begin to miss her almost immediately. Unless i've already had breakfast of course.

The one thing that almost immediately springs to mind about this trip, is that because it was organised (and i use that word against my better judgement) at the last minute, i have had no time at all to make all the necessary plans and arrangements. The first thing i really need to sort out, is the emergency contact list. I need a list of people who can be called upon, should any of the following situations arise:

• A frozen ready meal's instructions give more than one possible method of cooking it
• The dishwasher starts producing gallons of frothing foam despite me only putting in one cupful of washing up liquid
• All the whites i wash turn pink whilst i'm frantically searching for my other red sock
• I get lonely
• The beagles, tired of chips and cornflakes, try to kill me

Please use the 'Reply' button below to add your name to the emergency contact list.

Of course the other thing that occurred to me this morning, is that you the reader and i, probably have different expectations of this diary. Doubtless you want to be able to look back and chuckle as you say to your partner "Do you remember when Ingrid went away and there was that hilarious incident when the beagle got stuck in the microwave" or "Did you hear about the time that Sev washed his hair with Dog Flea Shampoo". No wait. That last one actually happened. I on the other hand am hoping for a reasonably incident free week.

Unless i start feeling slutty. Another emergency situation. Another emergency contact list required.

Well the "drive-by and eject" approach worked really well - no car park fees = more beer money Unfortunately, the thought of The Blonde One condemned to be cramped up into a tiny seat for several hours, filled me with sadness and melancholy. So i had to visit our naturist club and strip off and stretch out in the sunshine in an effort to overcome my gloom. It worked surprisingly quickly.

The Beagles of course have not yet realised that The Blonde One is not coming home. Little do they know, that now, they're ALL MINE. Beagles are working dogs by tradition and i foresee many tasks over the coming week for the greedy four-legged spongers.

Monday 18th August - eDay+1

Well news has reached me from The Domly One, that she arrived safely, although had to queue for quite a while for a taxi at the airport. Of course if she'd taken her chauffeur, that wouldn't have happened. But i'm not bitter. Anyway, she is, apparently, now in the lap of luxury in some gorgeous hotel, no doubt instructing the staff on her expectations of them for the next week. I predict strike action.

For me today was going reasonably well. Last night i was able to give myself that rarest of treats - a plate of cheese and onion crisp sandwiches. For some reason, i had quite a headache this morning, which has absolutely nothing to do with the kilos of gluten i swallowed just before bedtime. It's merely a coincidence.

The next exciting moment of the day (and it's only half over, so anything could still happen) came at lunchtime. You see i'm quite a domesticated sort of chap with many household chore skills - or "core chores" as i like to call them. And so i went around Domly Mansion emptying the bins and putting the rubbish outside. This was going extremely well. Until a beagle decided to push the front door shut and lock me out of the house. There followed what can only be described as a head-scratching moment. Fortunately, as She Who Whores me can testify, i am quite bendy and supple and a downstairs open window was just what i needed. i was able to break into the mansion quite easily, to be met by beagles, asking if we could play this game again please.

This evening i had my 'Narnia' moment. It wasn't quite what i expected and to tell you the truth, it's not somewhere i feel like venturing again any time soon. On this occasion it wasn't the wardrobe which tempted me with the allure of strange lands. No, today, i ventured to that strange place only previously known as "The Back of The Fridge". And i have to tell you, it's a scary place. There are things that lurk there, in the dark. And they ooze. I suppose it serves me right for wanting adventure and excitement and something naughty to eat. But there are things there that should not be disturbed. And i soon wished that i hadn't. Before long i was slaying demonic slush producing 'things' and pouring them away to oblivion, down the drain, down the sink, down the beagles and down the back of the sofa. It was like an early 70s Dr Who episode, but without a screaming girl. Oh wait. I might have actually screamed a bit myself. Anyway, they're gone now.

Or are they

Tomorrow i have to make arrangements with some trades people for them to undertake some property maintenance work. And not for the first time this week i find myself asking, "What's the worst that can happen"?

Tuesday 19th August - eDay+2

Well i find myself asking just how does one report no news. It really is a slow or rather no, news day. The beagles have behaved. The cat hasn't left home. The fish haven't died. The oven has behaved. The washing machine has behaved and the dishwasher has behaved. None of them has gone wrong, no incidents remain unreported. A boring day. Oh sure it's not over just yet. I was going to go to the Watford munch, but it's quite a long way away and i'm really trying to save petrol at the moment. So it's a plate of oven chips and a bit of a lonely evening in front of the TV watching 'Maestro' for me tonight. A rather boring entry, but then again, i seriously doubt that anyone's following it anyway.

Wednesday 20th August - eDay+3

Bugger! It appears that despite my best efforts to make yesterday sound as dull as gripe water, some people are actually still reading this. Have you no lives to be getting on with? No people to hit or suck up to? I'm tempted to offer the obvious line: "This is a local blog for local people, there's nothing to see here". Except that today that wouldn't be quite true. And i can honestly blame the Gas Board. You see they called round to read the meter and as our gas meter is in the back garden (go figure) they had to be led through the house. It had not escaped my attention that once again, they'd forgotten to bring the goat. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the back door key is now missing (and the door is locked). Thankfully i am previously from Harrow and Ingrid and i live in Wimbledon, which means we're posh and have a patio door. But we're still without a back door key. I blame the beagles - they're obviously determined to have 'fun' at my expense.

But then the day, for me at least, got much more interesting. I first of all fell foul of the 2012 Olympics. Well what i mean is, that i knew where i wanted to go, but was constantly thwarted by a whole lump of London, now closed off, which i needed to penetrate and which is now called Olympic Park (it ain't on any map)! Anyway, finally, i was with the lady i'd arranged to meet . And my cares drifted away as we laughed and chatted. I was aware obviously of her constant strokes, her rapid wrist movements, her constant glances and my steadfast concentration. It was intense, yet strangely relaxing - apparently for both of us. I should explain that i'd been booked by an artist to sit for her. Well sit and stand and adopt a couple of other poses (i tried to talk her out of the hands on hips pose, but she insisted it wouldn't look too camp). Eventually once she has 'got to know my face' she'll want to produce a portrait (gawd help her)! Any first session between artist and model can sometimes be awkward with uncertainly on both sides, but this was a very positive experience for both of us and she seemed genuinely happy with what she got out of it. I'll be back there again in a few days for a longer sitting.

Got home to find that Gas Board man has not been back to burgle the house and therefore i think it's safe to assume he hasn't got the missing key. Looks like i'm lock picking tomorrow.

And finally tonight, news has reached me that Ingrid has been 'upon a camel today'. I'm sure all of you will join me in wishing the camel concerned our deepest sympathy at what must be for it, a very difficult time. You now have until next weekend to polish up your camel jokes ("How many Dommes does it take to reverse park a camel" - that sort of thing). (Hint: you automatically lose 50 points for any 'hump' reference).

Thursday 21st August - eDay+4

Well what an interesting predicament. More glee-infused hand-rubbing is occurring. You see, late last night i received a telephone message from the All-Knowing Domly One, who is in a spot of bother. (I'm doing my best to hide the sniggering - how am i doing)? It seems that there's some problem with her travellers cheques and she needs me to go and put some money into her bank account so that she can access it later today. (If the 'smug' is starting to show, please tell me). So, our first 'phone vote i think. The question is : "How should Sev show his 'appreciation' at being left at home alone whilst The Skint but Domly One enjoys the foreign sunshine. Should he :

• a) Deposit a grand into her account so that she can enjoy her remaining holiday to the full and bring back expensive gifts
• b) Deposit two pounds into her account in a character building attempt to make her more frugal
• c) Leave her penniless until she's carted off to rot in some foreign jail, pausing only briefly to sell the film rights
• d) Sell the beagles to pay for her "lavish holidaying without her sub" lifestyle

And the best bit is, that you can decide by voting here! You can vote as many times as you like and it's completely free and anonymous.

Well as i sit here now, late into the evening, supping Cognac served by Norwegian virgins, news is reaching me that things are not going well on the Club Extradition 18-30s package holiday. It appears that my lovely Domely One has contracted some sort of illness. She has a terrible sore throat and a bad cough. Still, she sounds very very sexy so it's not all bad. After her encounters with The Camel earlier in the week, i can only conclude that she has a mild case on Anthrax. We should pray now.

Oh and in other news, the back door key has turned up. It was of course, in the fridge.

Friday 22nd August - eDay+5

Good grief. It's Friday. And (as i think you'll agree if you've read this far) i've had a very boring week - well apart from visiting Melanie the artist! As that has been my only real interaction with a human being this week, i'm beginning to go a bit mental. I was planning on going to two munchii this week (Watford and Croydon) but i have a bit of a problem about crowded places. I wanted to go to the munches, but didn't feel brave enough to actually go in. A bit daft i suppose. So anyway, tonight, i plan on going down to CCK and even started this thread to advertise my intent. Of course starting a thread to say that i'm going, is a far cry from actually being brave enough to actually go in - actually. It seems that the older i get, the more shy and nervous about meeting people i get. Most bizarre. Oh bugger. I forgot that this was supposed to be a humerus insight into the goings on of the week.

On a lighter note, The Husky Domme is feeling a lot better today, having taken a year's worth of antibiotics overnight. When i say 'Husky' i was referring to her voice, not her lovely glossy coat. I just thought i'd make that clear.

Well i went along to CCK for what might well be the penultimate Fetish Friday night. The good news for CCK is that it was very busy. I knew a couple of people but didn't really know the majority. But i'm glad for CCK's sake that it was busy. And everyone seemed to be having a really good time - there was even some rope in use.

Saturday 23rd August - eDay+6

I'm not sure why, but i had it in my head to give myself a treat and go to ST. I knew it would be a huge gamble - would i know anyway? Would there be anyone for me to talk to? Would anyone want to play? And then fate, who hadn't been invited, decided to intervene and i got a 'phone call from half of a lovely couple, asking if they could come along and bring a whole group of other lovely people - most of whom i knew. So to cut a long story involving a pizza, a mad Scottish taxi driver (who obviously had a bit of Jackie Stewart in his blood) and watching a gorgeous near naked girl repeatedly wrap and unwrap herself in a flimsy piece of material - the final effect of which was amazing (she scrubs up rather well) i ended up at ST, with a mini-bus full of pervs.

I discovered many delights. For instance:

• I discovered that when i beckon with one finger for a gorgeous girl in a red dress to come and be ensnared by me and dangled on the end of an electric winch - that she'll do it without question (Dom/mes must just love that sort of power).
• I discovered that the same beckoning figure, when adorned by the evil glove with evil spikes all over it, can look quite menacing to any poor individual who's lucky enough to be tied to St.Andrews cross, even if i offer to lube said finger first (note to self - telling people it's called the "Wanking Glove", scares them ).
• I discovered that a pretty bottom in a red dress is actually quite spankable, but that delving beneath it and tickling is far far more evil - and enjoyable for me.
• I discovered that nice, polite, quite Americans that just come to parties and take everything in, when they do decide they want to join in, can be very very evil indeed.
• I discovered that the most stunning outfits can't be bought. They're made from random lengths of transparent material, a length of rope and a flower in the hair.
• I discovered that it's very sensible to wear a pair of knickers under one's shorts, even if you're not planning to play, because you never know when others will just pounce on you and rip them off.
• I discovered that lots of my friends seem to like to hit me, for no good reason other than my little shorts have Velcro up each side and can just be ripped off with no warning.
• I discovered that it's really scary to see a very orderly line (how us British love to queue for everything) of Dommes, Doms, Switches and Subs, all choosing an implement and waiting to have their go - AND THEN GOING ROUND AGAIN!!
• I discovered that apparently i have no say whatsoever in who hits me or when.
• I discovered that i can recognise the silly grin on the face of girl who's just been 'roped' and who is in a very happy place and it makes me want to hold her - or in this case, get her water.
• I discovered that on the whole, life's pretty damn good and that my ass stings hours later.

It really was a brilliant night, and i just hope i can remember the names of all the people i met for the first time. Thank you to everyone who was involved and who came up to say 'hi'. If you did, then do drop me a memo to prod me Also i want to know who's reading this, because the hit-count just keeps going up and up! Bizarre. So come on people, say 'hi' and tell me why you really are sooooo bored that you've resorted to reading this. Actually someone came up to me @ ST and said nice things about this blog - but i didn't get their IC name - do say 'hi' .

Sunday 24th August - eDay+7

And so. Well if this had been a lecture (and let's face it it's been hard work at times) we'd be showing the slide that recaps what we've learnt. We'd be looking back at our initial slide of objectives to see if we've met those that we'd set out with. We'd be offering you a discount if you bought the book, the home-study kit, the t-shirt, the DVD and the promotional dildo, at today's one-off special price before you left (oh actually that's not a bad idea) (the book, not the dildo). (Oh how about the special promotional beagle - last two left)? (Shit)! (I know we did have two). (Better do a stock check). (How does it go, "Count the paw and divide by four"). Nah, she won't notice, she'll be soooo busy thanking me for looking after the house and (shit)! (The house). (Well maybe she won't remember what it DID look like).

However you may remember that on Thursday, we started a poll to see how the very lovely Ingrid (he said, in no way sucking up to her just because she's back soon) should be 'helped' from her financial predicament. Well initially the polls were very cruel, opting for beagle-selling, frugal lessons and spot in jail. But (and slightly suspiciously) the tables have turned over the last day or so, with the majority opting for the decision for me to give a big wedge of money to spend. I suspect foul play and multiple-voting.

However in true BBC style, the result of the poll had already been decided and Ingrid will now be called Milfy, as chosen by some random teenager who happened to be passing at the time. Oh, and i gave her the grand - i'm expecting huge presents (obviously that'll be before she does a pets head count)!

Later tonight (well very early tomorrow morning to be pedantic), if nothing goes according to plan, Ingrid will be returned to the UK, allowed to enter the country again. Another opportunity missed by the authorities.

My role is simple. I will arrive at the airport and shed the obligatory tear before whisking her home and hoping she doesn't notice any evidence of merriment which the house might still be cluttered with.

I can't help thinking that the next poll should be "Where should we send her next and for how long". Any thoughts?

Well after a short take off delay because there was a dog lose on the runway, she's now airborne. Apparently she's had no internet access all week (I wish i'd known that earlier). I suppose really i should delete this diary now, it's served its purpose - i.e. made me laugh, and rather bizarrely, made a few others laugh as well.

And so week of solitude, near starvation, posing for artists and being mistaken for some sort of painslut, is over. The dogs i'm sure will be pleased to see Ingrid back home. Their diet has been - well random to say the least. Who'd have thought that beagles would enjoy a big bowl of .... oh hang, She might read this ..... erm ....dog food!

Must dash, i've a plane to be late for.

(c) Severin 2008

One lump or two?

I was fortunate enough recently, to give bent to my fondness for playing the child, a twelve year old on this occasion to be precise, at a party hosted by some very dear friends. It had a St.Trinian's theme and my legend was that, having been bullied at my previous school, my mother was seeing if I would fit into "the St.Trinian way" and if the school would benefit from having a boy on the register (to even think that it could not)!

And so, dressed in ankle socks, short trousers (exceedingly risqué short trousers as it happens, which, i had made myself) school shirt and tie, cap and scarf, I stood facing my new possible classmates, clutching onto my dear friend and teddy bear, Freud.

It was a wonderful evening of such naughty goings on, looking up girls' skirts and allowing curious young ladies to look at my willy. A thoroughly juvenile experience during which i made no attempt at pretence at adulthood. It wasn't regression, I don't really think it was age play, i just allowed myself to give in to the very real temptation to be completely irresponsible and naughty. I kinda like it that way now and again.

And then last week i found a lump. CRASH! And then another one yesterday. Suddenly, my hitherto unchallenged immortality is gone. I'm no longer indestructible. I'm fragile. I have flaws. I have to think about the real possibility of facing up to adult issues, of life and death and sensible decisions. Oh sure I make those all the time, but on my terms, when i want to and at the places that I choose. I spent several years of my life talking to pilots in an effort to get them to avoid each other and the ground (astonishingly successfully as it happens) and acquiring all sorts of bizarre ratings on the way. I devoted a whole year of my life to protecting the good people of Daventry - and I've never even been there. (I just hope it was worth it. I understand it's now just become some sort of rail cargo terminal, so I was probably wasting my time). By I digress. Where was I?

Immortality. Apparently, I might not have it. (Note to self: Letter of clarification to Rome, post haste). Thankfully however, these 'lumps' will almost certainly turn out to be something very innocent. The inconvenience which one is currently causing is minor and the small amount of pain from the other is just its way of getting noticed. I have an attention-seeking lump! Bloody typical. Oh i know lots of people get scary lumps, but this is my first. Bear with me, or, if you'd rather, bare with me! It's my experience. My first 'lump'. My first acknowledgement of deterioration. My first sign of decay. I don't wear glasses - yet! I don't need a hearing aid - yet! I'm not incontinent - yet! I'm not impotent - yet! I'm not balding - yet! I don't need a walking frame - yet!

Bloody hell! When i put it like that, I'm actually very bloody lucky!

Still. I'd rather be back in class though, wanking on the back row in school mass again Oh didn't i tell you that bit? Well the "priestess" was kinda hot I wonder if that's what i'm being punished for now?

Good night.

Pain and Porridge

Restrain me, beat me, whip me, scar me, flog me, hurt me. Hurt me 'til, try as i might, i cannot hold back the tears. Hurt me 'til i cry with relief and hurt me 'til i cry from pain.

And then, when it's over, take me down, wrap me up warm, hold me tight, call me a 'Good Boy' and feed me hot sweet porridge. And i'll cry all over again, this time, in your arms.

The Honorable Member's statement relating to the alledged fisting incident

I wish to make the following statement, following which, i would ask that members of the press leave me and my family in peace :

During a private sub-committee meeting, between myself and the honourable member for North Flatulence, we were interrupted by Mrs Milkspoon, the parliamentary tea lady, who kindly brought us Fairy cakes and a tray of Crème Caramels.

It was a hot day and for comfort we'd stripped down to our underwear, leaving our trousers around our ankles.

We were shortly disturbed by the ringing of the new telephone, which we mistook for the fire alarm.

Jumping quickly to my feet in response, i accidentally knocked over the cake stand, sending the crème caramels flying into the air.

At the same moment, the honourable member for North Flatulence, thought it best to attempt to pull up his trousers and tie his shoes laces, should the need for a speedy evacuation arise. Owing to his larger frame and the minimalist nature of his under garments, a large section of his bottom was unfortunately visible.

I was almost able to catch one of the now airborne caramels, it landing as it did, upturned onto my outstretched hand.

As I proceeded to leap towards it, i tripped over my own trousers and fell forwards, towards the aforementioned exposed bottom. Reaching out with my by now caramel covered hand to break my fall, i accidentally slid my entire arm, right up to the elbow, within the honourable member for North Flatulence.

I can completely understand, how Mrs Milkspoon, on hearing the commotion, could have misunderstood the scenario unfolding before her, but I can assure you, that at no time was any physical pleasure intended, towards the honourable member for North Flatulence.

I trust that that brings an end to this affair and that myself and my family can be left alone at what is understandably, a difficult time for us all.

How a trip to Hades became pure ethereal bliss

I am well aware that my musicals tastes and, especially my preferences for accompaniment to receiving pain, are not particularly typical of the 'scene' as a whole.

But one of the joy of Hades, is that they play such a wide variety of music. Last Saturday, I was not really in the mood for playing. I had arrived with a headache, which was just getting progressively worse. The music was bothering me immensely. I found it far too loud and intrusive and it was only serving to worsen my mood. My spirits were plummeting, matched only by my tolerance to pain, which was at an all time low. (In the past few months, I've come to realise that these two are inextricably linked). Even a slippering from an absolutely gorgeous and really lovely young lady early in the night had failed to stop my decline into melancholy.

Now they say (whoever 'they' are) that positive things happen to positive people. And so it came to pass, that I made a conscious decision to lift my own mood. Several really lovely and kind people had been trying to lift it, and offering play or to entangle me in string, but nothing had interested me. I knew it wasn't really me, but it was how i felt all the same.

So within the final hour of the final Hades at that venue, when again, these same lovely people made yet another offer, I realised that it was up to me.

And within minutes i was transported. Two very kind (and i can't in all honesty say 'evil' because they just oozed kindness) began to use their instruments of pleasurable pain upon me whilst i was held upon the cross.

And the music? Well almost instantly, the music changed. I was listening to the most perfect sounds imaginable. Within a few short minutes, I was flying heavenward (well my name's on the door there too don't you know).

So to the beautiful ladies who slippered me, flogged me, paddled me, caned me and ran sharp point things across my flesh, I thank you. I've no idea whether to name any of you would embarrass you, but do comment if you'd like.

To the lady who put up (and frequently puts up) with my moods and who encouraged me time and time again to stay and try some play, I owe you a huge debt. Fancy some more DNA?

And to the man who played this, you have my absolute admiration and thanks. Just please tell me where you got an extended version from.

How i saved Ingrid's life - last night @ST

I know i know, please don't make a fuss. I want none of this hero worship.

But sometimes you have to just put aside any thoughts of personal danger. You make that split-second decision to act. It's an instinct that some of us have and some of us don't. That ability to seize the moment, stare death in the face and yet still risk everything. Last night was just such a night.

It started out as any other night. I was relaxing, almost naked, at a fetish party, in the swimming pool but events unfolded before my eyes like an opening sequence of Casualty.

Like any sinful woman in search of salvation should, Ingrid's head was below the waterline, ministering unto my needs. But as time passed, it became apparent that once her lungs were empty of air, there was nothing to stop her nose filling with water. There was nothing for it. I had to do it. The only other option would have been to pull her up. Are you kidding? Here was a blonde sinner in need of salvation. Worshipping as she was the Holy Tool of Enlightenment, I couldn't just pull her away - she would have been heartbroken i'm sure.

No dear listener. With not a moment to lose, and with no thoughts of my own danger, i reached under the water - and held her nose firmly shut.

Hallelujah!! She was able to continue her veneration of supplication for many many moments longer and her life was saved.

Please try not to embarrass me. "IC hero of the month" would be going too far and a bronze statue might be a little over the top as well (well i suppose life-size would be ok) oh go on then if you must.

Incidentally, Ingrid (who has a new favourite song) rather boastfully proclaimed that most women couldn't actually do this. Well ladies? Should we inaugurate the Underwater Deep Throat Challenge?

Contestants and judges step forward.

I just hope they don't show it on CrimeWatch

So it's 5:00am on a Sunday morning and we're on our way home from an adventure, deep in darkest Kent.

And one has needs, urgent needs. Needs that cannot wait until we reach home.

Yes, we've all encountered that immediate need to be raped, in the ass with a big dildo.

So we pull over into a little, almost hidden lay-by, and, rather conveniently, it has a large flat top concrete block, upon which I'm 'encouraged' to kneel.

Now i should explain that i was dressed, rather unusually, in fishnet stockings and a bright pair of pink knickers. My companion, was dressed in stockings, suspenders, little black pvc skirt and top.

And she was as intent on raping me, as i was in need of receiving it.

Now being a careful motorist, i'd positioned my car so that it would obscure us from the road, before assuming the required position, as directed by my companion, or 'the assailant' as she could be described.

So i'm on all fours, head down, eyes closed, being raped hard and deep by 'Kirk' our Flexible Vibrating Double Dildo friend. It's all going rather well.

“We're not alone” were not the words i really wanted to hear. Looking up i too could see the police car pulling into the lay-by.

Scurrying into the car was easy for me – the driver's door was on my side and i could crouch down and slide in, almost unnoticed. My companion (oh what the hell, it was Ingrid) had to run around the car, in all her pvc, in full view of the two officers, carrying the bright purple and pink 'Kirk' and bottle of lube (which she'd rather thoughtfully managed to grab).

Apparently two people in a lay-by, one of whom is on all fours, the other making violent thrusting movements behind them, who immediately scurry back into their car at the sight of a police car, is a little suspicious and we were soon being asked for an explanation.

“Oh we were embarrassed because we were being a little rude” volunteered Ingrid, since the police woman had tapped on her side of the car. This police woman, could clearly see my fishnets and lack of trousers and I have to confess, it gave me quite a little thrill (well i was feeling rather whorish).

They had a sense of humour and thought it was funny and quickly left us alone.

Alone to have hysterics. (Well I've never had my ass raping interrupted by the police before).

And so we drove home to continue the session in relative privacy, safe in the knowledge that somewhere in Kent, there's a police woman sitting in the front of her car viewing the car's digital video footage over and over again, asking herself “What is that bright pink and purple thing that that woman was carrying as she ran to the car”? By now the footage will either be on police.net or YouTube.

Good-bye.

The Holy Gospel according to Saint Severin

1 And verily it was said, that Severin was that most goodly of boys. A most pure and holy of Saints.

2 And it was also said, that upon this day, women would fall before him and venerate that most Holy of Organs until they were annointed with the Holy Seed of redemption. And he didst look down and saw that it was good.

3 But lo, The Misguided Ones didst rise up to slay the most Saintly One, but the Sun shone upon the Righteous that day and the bearer of the Holy Seed didst rejoice and was plentiful.

4 For he dwealt amongst the lowliest of tarts and sinners, for there he found those in most need of his ministry.

5 And there too he sought comfort and succour.

6 And the virgins didst annoint and tend to his mozzy bites - oh, and it hurts a bit down there too.