Bonjour from Little Kitty Slave

So after such a monumental gap between posts, I really don’t know how to get back into my sorry, sordid (sexy) saga.

I’m sorry I gave up. The fact is, I’d wanted this blog to be sexy and steamy and the fact is, sex and steam were the last things on Hubby or my mind for months and months after I found out I was pregnant.

Everything I WANT to write about – like being a submissive LittleKittySlave – was put on the back burner and while Hubby and I had a pretty healthy sex life (all things considered) if wasn’t exactly worthy of inclusion on a blog.

Well, that’s not entirely true. There are some important things I learned:

1: When you’re pregnant, you can’t get more pregnant, so no condoms. And sex without condoms ALL THE TIME (instead of just when it’s ‘safe’) feels really, really good.

2: Being pregnant is a great excuse for not doing the shopping, cleaning the house and eating mountains of junk food. “I’m tiiiired, Hubby. Can’t you do it?”

3: Being pregnant is (in the short term) cheaper than a boob job. Boing! Instant ‘D’ cup. Although they say in 18 years of life, a baby costs a total of £150,000 so maybe my maths are off here.

4: Pregnant women’s skin is awesome. Smooth, soft and no breakouts. Saved a fortune on Oil of Olay.

There are some downsides though.

5: No more than a glass of wine a week (gack! How did I cope?)

6: Constipation, heartburn, sweaty-boob pits.

7: None of my sexy clothes fit.

8: Wearing sexy heels feels like something the UN would class as Cruel and Unusual Torture.

9: Flirting with sexy men falls entirely flat when you are with-sprog.

10: You end up looking (and feeling) like a fucking cow.

So in a nutshell, that’s how I spent most of the nine months of pregnancy. Although there were a couple of highlights I will write about a little later.

But let me get back to telling you what happened and how things are now.

Hubby got the job in Paris. He’s back and forth on the London Eurostar every Monday at some ungodly hour, stays with a mate (previously a hotel) until Friday and then comes back home at about 11pm at the earliest.

Fortunately, the Eurostar is fucking fantastic and takes three hours (and you gain an hour going there) so Hubby doesn’t have to spend the weekend traveling. Catches a train from Basingstoke at 6am, straight to Waterloo, onto the Eurostar, arrives at about 9:30/10am and Gare du Nord is, like, ten minutes from where he works.

The downside is coming back, since he loses that hour he gained (so the trip takes four hours as opposed to two) and British Rail is it’s normal fucking useless self, so he spends as long on the train from London as he does on the train from Paris.

Also – it’s FUCKING expensive. He earns half as much again as he did in England and almost all of that goes on travel and whatever he pisses it on in Paris (hopefully not slinky French whores – although I’ve given him the benefit of the doubt on that one.)

And worse of all – despite all the shit we went though – I miss him.

Let me tell you this. It’s no fun being fat and pregnant with swollen ankles at home ALL ALONE when you can’t even drink wine to make up for it.

So that’s how it was for most of my pregnancy, with one or two bright (strange, sexy) exceptions I’ll tell you about later. I gave up work three weeks before I was due.

When it about came for me to pop, Hubby asked for a temporary assignment to their London office and they gave it to him, plus his prerequisite eleven days paternity leave, so when my beautiful, darling baby boy was born (an Aquarius) he was there to pick up the pieces (and he was an eight pound little lump, so the pieces he needed to pick up were the shredded remnants of what used to be my perfectly plump, tight little vagina.)

Two months ago, I made the decision to give up my job and become what the Yanks call a ‘stay at home Mom.’ The question of whose home it would be was up in the air, since without my (generous) paycheque, we couldn’t afford for Hubby to work in Paris and for us to keep our house in Hampshire.

So, gasp gasp, we made the decision to move to France.

So. Here we are. On the outskirts of Paris in a tiny two bedroomed apartment. Me, my hubby and a screaming baby (that’s not fair. Baby is actually very calm and good natured.)

I’ve gone from bossy career bitch to stay-at-home wife and mother and if my descent into a real life submissive ‘little kitty slave’ was going to begin anywhere, I guess it would be with me abandoning the mantle of shit-hot, sassy saleswoman.

But Paris has been both terrible and amazing. Suddenly after all those months spent with nothing to write about, I’ve been inspired to start blogging again and tell you all about it. I hope there are still some readers out there who are interested in reading about my sexual misadventures!