'Time's winged chariot'

Once again, time has sneaked up behind me with the bike-chain.

Perhaps it's advancing age, but I seem to just blink and six months are gone.

So, a brief fill-in - details later.

Salacia is still with me -  lovely, obedient (mostly), the perfect companion and sexy as fuck.

I recently had the occasion to decorate her nether regions with a new toy called a Flamethrower. They're brilliant!

 

This year we had a fun few days in Amsterdam and a week in France - nice to be in foreign parts again.

We attend a number of Fetish events and usually have a damn good time.

We've also had a few sessions with a hardcore pain-sub, giving Salacia chance to explore different aspects of submission. 

In fact, I'm so happy with her, it almost frightens me - how did I get so lucky?

Probably from not fighting my true will, and having faith in it . . .

Tattoo

Salacia decided to be permanently marked with my initial:

Lovely . . .

Clips & Cane

Things with Salacia are progressing very well . . .

She's fairly new to her submissive side, I would have assumed she'd been doing it for years - she's a natural!

She returned home today with a few marks to remember me by:

 Lovely . . .

Salacia

This is Salacia:

 

Click for bigger

A new and wonderful woman in my life. More about her to come.

'The sweetest hours that e'er I spent'

Burns night.

We should celebrate poets more.

Poetry should be heard, not read. So here's a wonderful selection of Burns' poems read by actors.

Enjoy.

Also, one of my fave Burns poems sung by Ian Campbell:

The Sweetest hours that e'er I spent
Were spent among the lasses O

Too true!

'Find your way out of the wild, wild wood'

Snow

Why is falling snow so evocative?

(Mind you, I have the luxury of not having to go out in it, unless I want to)

Still, whenever it snows I think of one of my favourite Robert Graves Poems:

Like Snow

She, then, like snow in a dark night,
Fell secretly. And the world waked
With dazzling of the drowsy eye,
So that some muttered 'Too much light',
And drew the curtains close.
Like snow, warmer than fingers feared,
And to soil friendly;
Holding the histories of the night
In yet unmelted tracks.