Giza buyabo

What it says on the tin. I will return.

Jeanette

I guessed she was still angry at me for having exposed her to her dam's dirty little secret, as it were. The truth had never been the friend of most nobles; they covered it as best they could in their quest for statutes and court favor. It was usually worse in the case of royals. Queen Amitolane's conversation with her daughter must have been an interesting one. "My opinion of you has not changed." she said, that same haughty expression on her face, "If anything, my conviction is validated by my mother's admission. Your kind took advantage of her, forced themselves upon her."
I raised an eyebrow at that. "Is that what she told you? Let me assure you that nothing was forced upon her... I didn't have time to educate her about the ways of the Sidhe. Maybe later but for now, we had things to do.
She looked disappointed. Maybe she'd hoped for a demonstration to prove something or other to herself. Too bad.

"Look," I began, as we walked into the dimly-lit pizza parlor, my wooden platforms clicking algorithmically against the floor, tonight is about the mission. I've no time to be your therapist. If you're looking for some kind of justification for your dam's behavior, then you'll have to wait."
I smiled as we came to the hostess' platform, appraising her with a glance or two. Not bad, this one, She was a bit on the skinny side, but far from the wraith look that was popular in this day and age.
"Hi, dudes and welcome to the Munch. Bar or restaurant seating?"
"Restaurant." I answered quickly. I hated the cigarette smoke that came with a bar's atmosphere, and a place with a name like The Munch She was bound to have lax smoking views.
She nodded, and a girl showed us to our seats. It was a bit on the outskirts, but I appreciated this, for it afforded a good view of the rest of the place, including a glimpse of the smoking section.
"Drink orders?"

Getting over a cold

I'm not sure whether or not I should post this. I've been getting conflicting orders from my mum on whether or not I should wear earrings, I was trying to explain to her that I couldn't exactly guess her thoughts. I'm sure that I'm not the only one whose concentration is interrupted from time to time. My mum used to hide all her books in the most gross place in her body until she actually  got what she wanted from me, and when she used to miss me, she'd try to get me to explain what I did  at school or something, and it sounded like she was trying to manipulate me. I still to this day don't understand why she can do what she wants without being punished for it. I think her obituary would be:  "Eat poison or something." She used to suggest that I drink coffee or something, but the fun thing is that you can most certainly get coffee out of a machine, so I think that perhaps she should stop thinking about whether or not people will judge her and just write. Editing can always be done later. It's like saying, well, why did you do this, or why did you do that? Gossip is the worst thing ever.

So, I've decided that giving myself an insulin shot is much better than glucophage

Good thing that giving oneself medicines are better than glucophage. I think that if my parents, for example, are worried about what I might or might not write on my blog, then they should remember that I also have my ways of editing what goes on to the computer and what does not.  The only reason I go along for this reason is the journey and not anything my ancestors might or might not have in store for me. I'm not sure why my family wants to uprate certain issues or not. The only thing about eyestrain is that I've personally learned that I am able to multitask just by being around people. I remember growing up in the church and wanting to submit an essay for my own purposes, I honestly do not care if something that they held to old standards was upsetting. I've been able to gauge my own writing based on who was watching or not. Big brother might or might not be watching, But as I always say, if you can type out of your head, you make your own rules. If I choose to start my own blog or not, it's because I had an objection. If my parents know all about it, then they should take a lesson from one of my aunts (name withdrawn because I haven't asked her), actually read the book, and then see what happens.  Just because I enjoy foreign cuisine doesn't mean that I want to be as vocal as say, Rosa parks. I know what abstaining means and I know what taking a break means (Hockenbury and Hockenbury). Last time I had to preregister was because I had to substitute for someone who wished their name to be withdrawn. In California, I was able to read a variety of books and get rewarded based on how much I wanted to eat.  Now that new services are available, I feel that my parents are feeding off me because, for example, I wanted to be able to play my own wedding service without someone's very rude child messing it up. I am not going to name any names because it would be pretty horrible. It's like doing the rockaway in front of a crowd. Compared to which class did you actually want me to follow the 3 r's?

Keeping Warm and trying to stay Hydrated

So, this diet is getting rather boring, but I think as long as I don't try to go all vegan (hummus and sweet breads to supplement), XD, I'll be okay. I could really go for some mellow mushroom pretzels. I can't believe I wrote a story all about those things. I might have to look that up sometime when I'm relaxed.

Interesting

I totally remember the rocking chair. Thank you, Ms. Jameson. I'm starting to remember other things, weird things: the cart that's used to wheel away brain damaged people or something. The little ladder thing? The purple shirt totally brought back memories, but I'm not sure if they're real or not. Interesting.  Wonder who is shooting darts at the animals in the park. If they're trying to do the poison blow dart thing, then they're going about it entirely the wrong way. You're supposed to extract the venom from the mucus glands on the side of their head, unless it's the amazon poison dart frogs, in which case, it honestly won't matter, now will it?

Xylara

Xylara purred as she enjoyed the attentions of K'var, her faithful jackal slave from the African country of Egypt had come into power and found the desire to increase her new household. African stock was prized for their devotion to their masters, willing to lay down their lives for their owners if needed. Such loyalty was a valuable asset to those who ran a household, and Xylara disliked having to feel paranoid.
That the various African species were rather attractive in her eyes was quite a bonus. To complete his handsome figure, his sheath would withdraw to reveal a rather long shaft, which was as dark as the rest of him. This would swell nicely into a modest knot at its base some time before his orgasm. At the moment, however K'vars paws gripped the undersides of her thighs, his thumbs hooked around the delicate flesh as he pleasured her orally, his wonderfully long tongue plunging between the puffy lips of her sex, drawing loud gasps of pleasure from his muzzle before pulling the organ out entirely. Using delicate swipes of his muzzle before pulling the organ out entirely. Using delicate flicks of his tongue and well timed  exhalation of warm breath against her sensitive tissues. He soon had her murring and squirming against the hold he had on her lower body. It was some time, then before the aroused dragoness realized that she and her slave were being watched.
At first, her reaction was slight: a sharp intake of breath and slight widening of her eyes all that would betray that she realized this fact. She tapped Kvar on the head, and he grunted, his long, pointed ears swiveling to catch any outside sound, pausing as he oriented on a rather gentle  moan, very different from those of his mistress. It was  female and mature, though not experienced. A low thrum could be discerned from the source, "May I have my Mistress' permission to relieve myself? he asked, and Xylara inclined her head in acquiescence, mentally praising her servant for his foresight. It wasn't long before he returned, a rather petite jaguar female head tightly by her arms. She was very attractive to Xylara's eyes, and her fur was an interesting blend of rich jaguar hues, ranging from light orange within the spotted rosettes to an almost red on her flanks and tail. Her underside was a creamy white that showed off her toned thighs and firm breasts  rather nicely, and the dragoness licked her lips at the smell coming from her slit. She smiled a bit.
"Ah, it would seem that our little Peeping Tom is one of my future harem slaves, set for training as concubines. I don't believe I've had time enough to peruse this season's candidates. I'll have to remedy that...
K'var, release her and let her walk toward me."

The Little jaguar moved gracefully, a slight hesitation finding its way into her step. She hadn't known that this dragoness was the one who now owned her. She'd thought to learn about the way her body was reacting, as she grew older, her sex moistening at the very scent of a male. Her own scent would grow stronger, and she'd caught more than one male flaring his nostrils near her, though she didn't know why. Why would they care? Her curious mind ached to be satisfied. Xylara smiled invitingly at her slave, patting the ground to indicate that she should sit down, noting the jaguar's chest as she did so. It was better than most half-grown cubs her age but still quite far from the dragoness's own ample set. Her gaze slid over her flat belly and slim hips, purring as she looked finally at the slight bulge of the feline's pubic bone, her thighs keeping the more interesting details of her sex from view. It was evident from her behavior and smell that she was still a virgin.Deshi-Ra, ma'am."
"Deshi-Ra? That's a foreign name structure, is it not?"  Yes." Her face grew hot, and she felt herself flush under her fur. "My sire was a leopard, and my dam was a jaguar concubine, a low ranking one.
Xylara nodded at that. Low ranking concubines were usually forced into breeding at the whim of their lord or lady, being made to mate with the favored male of the month or week, depending upon the attention span of the owner. Offspring resulting from these pairings were usually sold as slaves or pets, depending upon their appearance. Very rarely, they were kept in order to replenish the household.
"Were you given her to nurse or to be a brood slave."
A Brood slave, one who had been kept ready by order of my master."