That Fifty Shades Feeling

In the aftermath of Thursday, there has been a strange feeling about us. I reacted, some might say too aggressively, by beefing up our security. Motion sensor lights, intruder alarms and mail catchers have all gone in. I don’t care, the safety and security of my family matters far more to me than a couple of hundred.

At the moment, the flat is upside down. Not because of burglars, but rather because of the impact that burglars have had. My focus has been on security, not cleaning. That’s meant that I haven’t really done anything else.

There is an eery sense that someone tried to cross that invisible boundary. He didn’t succeed, but he tried to succeed. He tried to cross that boundary into our private and personal space. How dare he.

When you’re in the BDSM lfestyle, there is an odd desire not to let anybody else knowing about what you do. The people who read your blog or know you at events are one thing because you consent to it, but I don’t advertise what I do to my neighbours. I don’t want the police or my neighbours knowing what I do. If the burglar had been successful, then not only could he have stolen my belongings, but also robbed me of my privacy. He could have robbed me from the police not knowing, he would have robbed me of that Decent Human Being that I uphold.

Yes, me, kinky. Sorry, officer.

It was bad enough that time a message from “Daddy Wolfie” appeared while I was showing a PCSO the footage of a car racing up and down and doing wheel spins in our quiet suburban street, I don’t want them finding the accessories strewn across the floor that go with that name.

Talking to my neighbours, they don’t seem particularly worried. It’s happened before they say, but they’re novices, chance hooligans looking for quick cash, amateurists. Beef up security and they’ll think twice about it they said, so that’s what I did. Maybe the intruder alarm was a bit too much, but I’m not taking chances, not now. Not when my family’s safety and security is at stake.

I made a joke last night to Wolfie that, short of a domestic cleaner, our flat now had that Escala feeling. We had a.. well.. Magnolia Room Of Pleasure, as we called it, a near iron ring of security, all that was missing was bodyguards and a cleaner. A girl even gets driven places by one of a select few luxury taxi firms because Uber just won’t cut it, I rolled my eyes at the realisation. There was also that damning sense that everytime things seemed to go well, something big and tumultuous happened.

“I’m surprised I don’t have a bodyguard” I said, teasing, trying to lighten the air.

“It could be arranged..” he threatened. Sure, it wouldn’t be contracted, but his father is a retired security guard who is arguably somewhat overprotective. I really should bite my tongue before I say these things.

But I don’t need protecting, except, maybe, from myself and my own calamities.

It’s quite fun when we activate the intruder alarm. The LED on the keypad burns bright red, counting down the seconds until the property becomes armed. We stared at one another for a few seconds, what was it? What did it mean? Were we about to wake up the street?

Two blinks, and then off and silence. The alarm was armed, and we were safely tucked away in our bedroom for the evening. I slept soundly though the night.

The police still haven’t been out, and part of me isn’t sure if they even will show up. He didn’t steal anything, he didn’t try anything, but I do have a nice mugshot of the suspect that might be of interest to them? If they don’t, ultimately, it’s their loss.

Part of me is tempted to pick up again on Friday. Last Friday got rudely interrupted by our visitor, and I’m sort of missing the opportunity to behave in more.. nefarious ways. I’m not saying that strictly nothing happened because, well, Saturday happened, but it wasn’t Friday, it wasn’t Friday night like we enjoy. I still have lights to affix to the bed tomorrow, I still need to play around with Google’s routines and I still have desserts to make. I don’t have chefs or personal assistants to do these bits for me, it’s all on me to get these things done and if I want to play rough.

And after a week like this week, with that tension that’s been in my shoulders for over a week now and has only gotten worse, a girl definitely loves to play rough.

Very rough.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s