Astatine's dog collar story has reminded me
of something that happened to me many years ago.

Was going out with a bloke who was a bit rough for my liking (there's only so much of that that I feel is comfortable for me, and he went beyond it, but I was young, dumb and often full of his cum, so, there you go). Anyway, one of his kinks was that he used to like to tie me to the bed. Handcuffs, scarves, belts, anything handy would do as long as it secured me so I couldn't get away. One day the usual suspects had been utilised and found wanting so he nipped downstairs and got the collars and leads of the family dogs, and used those.

Fast forward wavy lines to about a week later. We're in the pub one Sunday afternoon having a few drinks at a table, it's busy but not too mad and Sky Sports is on. His mum's behind the bar - she and his dad manage the place and pretty much everyone there at the time know us both.
The phone rings, she goes to answer it.
"Oi, Ratbag," she calls to my bf over the noise.
"What ?" says he.
"Yer dad wants to know where the dog leads are, he wants to take Ben and Star for a walk," she bawls.
Muffled embarrassment from my bf.
"What did you say ?" she calls.
He goes over to the bar and leans across the people waiting to be served.
"What ?" she bellows, as the tv is playing some football match full pelt and she can't hear him.
He sighs.
"I said 'THEY'RE LOOPED AROUND MY BED POSTS' !!!" shouts he.
Instant silence in the pub as all eyes swivel our way, even the fucking football commentator shut up, I swear. I want to crawl under the table and die.

They never let us forget it.
(womanwhocanonlylivewithdogs, Mon 26 Oct 2009, 11:38, Reply)