M. put up the winch that he got a long time ago, in the living room, suspended temporarily by some chain off of the huge-ass ridge beam. Just seeing it there is something else, and I’ve got to figure out a way to make it look less obvious, though it will be easier when he gets power run up to it. I so enjoyed watching him install it, the care he took to make sure it was stable, hearing him say things like he only has one slave, after all, and he’d like to keep me around. It would not have been fun it the whole thing fell down on my head, or dropped me on mine.

I so liked the way it feels to be hanging there like a piece of meat in a butcher shop, and I haven’t a clue why. I couldn’t take it for very long, though. My arms felt like they were coming out of their sockets. I wonder if it’s something we can work up to, if there are exercises I can do to make it hurt less. With the arm of the couch just near me, I kept trying to get my feet on the edge and sometimes succeeding, only to have him mutter about having to move it away. I’m so strange, though. Even the sound of the motor as he moved me up and down was hot. I swear it’s because he’s had me playing with myself and watching his really heavy kink movies, and one of them has a lot of suspension in it. I’m so easily trained!

I dreamt all night of different ways to be suspended, ways to be left just hanging around. My fear of heights didn’t kick in at all, but I think that’s because he kept my mind on him and the singletail when he had me up in the air, and he didn’t put me up all that high. When he talks about swinging the arm around and making me hover about the entrance way? Then I get queasy and afraid, even dizzy, just thinking about it.

Okay. Must not think about that anymore.

We have stuff to do and places to go today. The weather is supposed to be absolutely perfect, clear blue skies and warm. The asters are all blooming and the leaves are starting to change. M. says we’re going to work on the shed foundation until we tire ourselves out. We’re going to dinner with Columbine in Boston, and have stacked up about a thousand little stops along the way because we so rarely leave the house anymore.

That’s all going to change soon, I fear. M. has an interview in town next week, and I’ve got a headhunter working on me as well. As much as we wish we could live off the land, we just didn’t get close enough this summer to make it fly yet. Even the porn doesn’t even begin to cover the $700/month internet connection, sadly. With drastically reduced incomes, we’re just not going to be able to keep it up for long.

And oy, the medical stuff is so worrying. M. has his stress test next week, of course after my health insurance is over and the cobra coverage is so expensive. I think he’s going to go with a gap policy instead, which is about a fourth of the cost, even with very high deductibles. Such a pain in the wallet.

I went up north to get checked out myself this week. M. is worrying that I’m not healing well lately. He says I’m bruising easier, the marks are lasting too long. I think he’s just whacking me harder, but he’s not convinced. When carrying a mushroom basket hurt my wrist, and I finally linked it to the wrist that I use with my vibrator, even I admitted something might be wrong. I don’t think we’ve been having that much sex that my wrist should hurt! I just passed five years cancer free, but they ran a ton of blood work anyway, just to be on the safe side. It was interesting talking to the doctor about my concerns, without being able to discuss the types of marks and bruising in detail. It’s really hard to separate normal aging aches and pains from anything we should worry about. I wish I had a kink-friendly doctor.

Okay, no more morbid stuff. It’s the weekend, and we are going to have a great one. Let the fun begin!

Oh, wait. A poll. Hmmm.

M.’s been talking about suspending me by my tits for probably a decade. The thought of it scares me to death. What do you think?

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