Breeding Size / Bondage With A Stranger

St Andrew's bondage cross on a red painted background

The mind is a dangerous place.

For more than the past year, I have tried to keep cherry shrimp in my aquariums, notably without success. I bought a couple to manage an algae problem, fell in love with the way they swim and just bought more of them ever since. Even my family love them, and I’ve considered shrimp-only tanks, due to my fascination. I even wrote a whole post about the critters.

Cherry shrimp, or Neocaridina Davidii to give them their scientific name, are supposed to be the sort of guppy of the freshwater crustaceans world: Easy to keep, easy to breed, hardy creatures and very little effort required. With a weekly water change, a bit of blanched courgette twice a week and no sudden dramatic environmental changes, your colony should multiply in no time. Unfortunately for me, so far, that hasn’t been the case. I wasn’t sure whether it was the “liquid concrete” that is our municipal water, some sort of parasite or some sort of other chemical in the system, but nothing seemed to fix the problem. Not to be beaten, I stripped the offending tank right back and started the whole ecosystem over.

For so long, I’ve kept the Neocaridina Davidii “blue” variety, more commonly known as the blue velvet or blue dream shrimp. Unfortunately and for whatever reason, blue cherry shrimp have had a phenomenal price mark-up and a starting colony of ten was promising to set me back about £80. Instead, I opted for the bog standard, most popular red cherry shrimp, picking myself up fifteen shrimp for £35. A couple of die-offs is fairly common within the first few days, but it should still leave a starting colony of about a dozen, provided it all goes well.

“They’re breeding size, so they should more or less settle right on in and do their thing” I said casually to Matt.

“Like Kitten then, Kitten’s breeding size” came the reply.

“Wolf!” I squealed in horror. I pulled the duvet over myself to hide my shame.

For whatever reason, both Matt and the Captain take great delight in degrading and embarrassing me. Not in an excessive kind of way, but perhaps in a way that I know, that I accept, that I even believe in, as a part of my submission.

For so long, I’ve held the belief that women are to breed and to please men, as submissives. It’s not very feminist of me, of course, and actually by day, then feminism is something that I firmly believe in. I vote, I believe women can do some many roles as well as men, and I won’t stand for sexism or catcalling if I see it. In private though, there’s no denying that in my mind, my submission to men, certain men, is innate.

From the Captain, the assault on my composure is near ongoing. It’s constantly in the background, save for the times when he knows that I need it not to be, and he pushes me harder if I push back. The Captain is quick to remind me that my duty is to please, that he is proud of me, and that I please him in a lot of things. From Matt, his pride is more of a known quantity, but his degradation of me less so. When it happens then, the delivery catches me off guard.

By nightfall last night, we tuned into the next episode of Married At First Sight Australia, something of a guilty pleasure of ours. I have to admit, I wasn’t fully watching it, though the Schadenfreude part of me often enjoys the marital drama that unfolds. It’s interesting to see, in a way, interesting to discuss the different situations and activities as they happen: How would you resolve that particular problem? How would you feel in that particular situation? In a group setting with other couples, would you rank your partner as the most attractive member of the opposite (or same) sex or not? If not, why?

For “intimacy week”, the couples were given some basic bondage supplies. The idea, I supposed, wasn’t so much about sex as it was to explore touch, sensuality and closeness – the bizarre kinds of things that BDSM can often promote.

“Face it, this soon in that’s pretty much bondage with a stranger” I alluded. About two weeks in? There was no way that you can know somebody that well in that time!

“Bondage with a stranger?” Matt laughed, “that sounds like something that Channel Four would get on board with”. He’s not wrong.

For whatever reason, my mind began to run with the idea. Bondage with a stranger? Why the hell did that idea turn me on so much? No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t sit still.

The more I tried to shake it, the further down the rabbit hole my mind went. I imagined being stripped or at least immodestly dressed, blindfolded and secured to a St Andrew’s Cross. I’d know nothing about my match, how old they were, what they looked like, be they male or female, nice or nasty or whether I’d even matched with anyone at all. All that I’d know, was that I was bound, bared and helpless, and quite possibly at a stranger’s disposal.

Well heck, a relaxing evening was going to be a difficult ask from then on.

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