During the morning at work it was hellish busy so when the front doorbell rang I let Capt Skiver haul his arse out of the chair to go answer it. A delivery man came in with four dark red Passion roses in a vase, all done up with ribbons and stuff and plopped it on my desk. I did that hands on the side of the face, mouth open thing that people do in cartoons when they�re really surprised. Probably because I was really surprised. The card was addressed "to my Angel" and thanked me again for four wonderful years. I never get flowers from a real flower shop � despite where I work � the ones I get are from petrol stations or markets or have already been used for photoshoots and are a bit past their best so to get REAL flowers, real EXPENSIVE flowers, from a REAL shop, is just mind blowing. BF had called Slave to ask which shop to use and she�d chosen well, one of our shops with a real reputation for quality and design.
At lunchtime I nipped into town and bought a tiny tiny card with hearts on and a charm bracelet (stay with me, it�ll all become clear in a minute). Back in the office I took off the charm of a chunky filigree heart and found a safety pin in the first aid box. I fixed the heart to the pin and gave the rest of the bracelet to Slave. In the card I wrote "to pin inside your jacket. With mine next to yours we�re invincible." Then popped the little heart-pin thingy in the envelope and Im done.
BF didn�t blub � but he did go a bit wobbly lipped and had to have a cuddle. We got ready to go out for dinner. I just couldn�t decide what to wear and had a few false starts. I knew I wanted to wear the perspex porn shoes and the sparkling white lingerie that BF bought me for Christmas but after that I was a bit fucked. Everything I put on said "Scrubber" or "Fatso" or "Mutton". In the end I settled on very pale lace-up crotch jeans and a georgette shirt in baby pink. Im told I looked fucking beautiful.
The restaurant is a brand new "Contemporary Indian Cuisine" establishment. I was expecting a curry house. Nope. The food was indeed Contemporary. And Indian. And Cuisine. BF had roasted sea-bass with spinach and I had the tiger prawns in a saffron and caramelised onion sauce with lemon rice and parsnip crisps. It was fucking delicious.
To save money, Id driven to the restaurant instead of getting a cab but I was a bit worried about driving in the porn shoes which have a six inch spike heel and a big platform sole so I took the right one off and put my slipper on instead (didn�t have to worry about the left, the MondeoShitMobile is an automatic). Bizarrely this gave me the look of my great aunt Alice who had had polio as a child which had left her with a deformed leg. She wore a built up shoe on one foot to even out her legs and I always found it really odd that she still walked with a really bad limp if the special shoe was supposed to even out her leg lengths.
I had visions of crashing the car and being found unconscious and in a coma by the local constabulary. I imagined the police reports "Well, we found no ID on the woman but she was obviously a very badly disabled, and probably brain damaged, polio victim as she was driving a very slow and shitty automatic car and was wearing one built up orthopaedic shoe and one skanky moccasin."
Mindful of not being a laughing stock in the local paper I drove home with BOTH shoes on. Actually they�re surprisingly easy to drive in, but I did have to move the seat back a bit as my knees were smacking on the steering column.
Back home to the Palace for porn and a smoke. Watched the porn on "super fast" as the action wasn�t progressing quite as actively as we�d hoped. Unfortunately, whilst this does give the impression that the participants are actually "going for it", it does mean that their voices are mutated into some kind of "Alvin and the Chipmunks" thing. Once we�d had the smoke we couldn�t stop laughing � I cant write it here, cos you need to hear it really, but if you can do a squeaky chipmunk voice try saying "Oh yeah, that�s Sooo good, do it to me harder baby, oh yeah, squeeze my tits," to get the flavour of the experience.
Up in the boudoir, stuff got done. After a while we repaired to the kitchen for a regroup. Had a cig, drank some whisky, got stuck in to the biscuit tin etc etc, then back to the boudoir for a change of costume. The spanking dress and gloves gave a slightly different slant to the evening and Ive found that it doesn�t seem to matter to BF too much if my boobies Boy-Oing out of the top of the dress in moments of passion. I wonder if they�re supposed to? Guess I should have read the packaging more closely. Perhaps it said "To avoid boobie boyoingment, the usage of strategic tit-tape is recommended" or perhaps "to encourage boobie boyoingment, shake body vigorously up and down or attempt to run".
Who knows.
BF phoned me at work today to tell me that Im amazing. Im fairly sure he doesn�t just mean in the sack.