Pencil sized stools

I picked up a passport size pencil board recently and I really like using it with my passport TN so I wanted to grab one for my Regular TN but unfortunately everywhere I’ve looked it is out of stock.
Does anyone know if there are other brands that sell them? Or if there are ways to DIY one?

My use cases are law school + financial services management job + endless to-do-lists + customizable real estate closing checklists.
I've ordered and am waiting for my Supernote Nomad A6X2 to arrive but, in the meantime, I'm trying to use my iPad Pro 11" (4G LTE) with a Rock Paper Pencil screen protector.
So at least until the A5X2 is released, I could definitely use both the iPad and the Supernote for the iPad's difference in screen size and for the mobile internet connectivity.
If anyone else uses both devices, can you suggest any iOS apps worth trying? Thanks!

I recently got an iPad and apple pencil for reading music and organizing my life as a student and musician. It’s one hundred percent changed the game for me - I’m so happy with it and I feel so organized and professional. I can never go back! I only have one complaint: my iPad is too small. I bought a 2021 9th generation iPad (10.2in screen) because of the price and the overall value. I’m considering upgrading to an iPad pro because of the 12.9in screen size.
My main question is: how long will an older model of iPad last me? I’m highly considering buying a refurbished 2018 iPad Pro from Back Market or Amazon, as it’s cost effective but still trustworthy. But since it’s 2024, will I still be able to get a few good years out of the device? I’d hope for it to get me through college (4 more years) if possible. Is that realistic, or do I need to look at a newer model?

I have my fair share of insecurities when it comes to my small chest - looking disproportionate on my otherwise chubby/curvy hourglass frame, not feeling "feminine" enough, and most recently (with weight loss) my complete and utter inability to get my wideset, shallow b cups to form any semblance of cleavage. This can be especially challenging to cope with in the summer when other, more well-endowed girls are rocking halter tops and deep plunges galore.
BUT - one thing I love and will never stop embracing about about my boobs is the ability to go perpetually braless due to how perky they are as well as the high, upward-tilting nipple placement that comes with my breast shape. I'm going to be 29 in a few months and gave up on bras YEARS ago. Even in professional settings I stick exclusively with nipple covers and only wear them if I absolutely have to, such as with a particularly thin sheer shirt. I love the way my nipples look though the fabric of my clothing, I love the soft, gentle, graceful bounce my breasts offer when I walk, and I LOVE how I still manage to pass the dreaded "pencil test" at almost thirty years old with flying colors.
Feeling unsure about the idea of being surrounded by a bunch of Jessica Rabbit cleavage when you go out on hot sunny summer days? Rock what you've got, free that damn nipple, ditch the bra and you just might be amazed with the new heights of increased sex appeal, confidence, and styling possibilities it can bring! Always remember that everyone is graced with their own unique gifts of natural beauty. Sure, we might never be able to get that perfect Y-shaped Hollywood cleavage that the media trained us to believe we should lust after, but guess what? Our bodies come in all different shapes and sizes for a reason, and we've got plenty of (extra perky) appeal all our own that bigger pairs could never hope to encapsulate or emulate either. It's not a competition, of course - all of us are equally valid and beautiful, but why should busty girls have all the body type exclusive fun? You'll never know until you try!

*Hello! This is part of my original story, you can hear me narrate it on YouTube
I awoke to the steady ringing of my alarm clock and rolled over in my bed to turn it off. Reaching out a hand from the warm confines of my blanket, I swatted haphazardly at my nightstand, knocking my glass of water to the floor instead.
“Damn it...” I muttered to myself under my breath, now focusing more on the alarm clock and successfully shutting it off. I rolled back over to the center of my bed and stretched, a high-pitched whine escaping my throat as I did. It was a good stretch. I slowly sat up in bed and blinked. Blunked? Blank? I opened and closed my eyes a few times to clear away the hazy clouds that blanketed my vision.
Stretching and yawning once more, I gently tossed my blankets to the side, rotated in my bed, and got up. I only took one step and slipped on the water I knocked over, dropping an elbow John Cena would have been proud of straight to my nightstand. A sharp icy pain radiated up my arm because, of course, I hit my funny bone. It wasn’t funny. My lamp fell over too, and it knocked the plug to my alarm clock out of the wall. The offending glass of water was kicked in the fall and sent violently skittering across the floor until it shattered against the wall nearest my door. It was too early for this shit.
I lay there for a moment as I processed what had just happened. My not-so-funny feeling arm lay draped over my eyes. The water soaked through my boxers and now my left butt cheek was wet too. I want to go back to bed.
Pulling myself together, I rose unsteadily to my feet. The discombobulated coordination of my still half-asleep body struggled slightly during this task. I took a second to look around the room, taking it in and rubbing my sore elbow.
With a defeated sigh, I bent over and picked up the lamp, inspecting it for damage. Everything looked good to me. I set the lamp on the nightstand then leaned back down and plugged in the alarm clock. I set it back up on the nightstand, too. I’ll set the time sometime later. Famous last words? Maybe.
I glanced around once more before I sluggishly made my way out of my room, making sure to avoid shards of glass I did. I headed straight down the hallway towards the bathroom to do my business and take a shower. I entered the bathroom and lightly pulled the door shut behind me. I didn’t have any roommates, but I’ve always had a bad habit of “sneaking” around. I often got accused of scaring people. Anyway, I stripped down, turned on the shower to pre-heat it, and then took my rightful place upon my porcelain throne. It was more like a plastic lawn chair, but you know, potato tomato.
Once I finished my business, I stepped into the shower. I adjusted the knobs as it was just a little too hot, making it perfect. I stepped in and stood with my back to the shower head, water running over my shoulders and down my chest. I rolled my head side to side, getting satisfying little pops as I did. I leaned forward, bracing my hands on the wall and hanging my head. I started thinking about this girl from work, Phyllis.
Damn, was she beautiful. She had the best personality, an intoxicating smile, and a perfect body. Right now, I especially like her body. My mind started to wander in the comfort of my privacy, a steamy scenario beginning to develop a plot in my mind's eye.
I let my thoughts run rampant as I pondered her form. I slowly slid my hand down my chest, past my waist, and gently [MASSAGED MY KNEECAPS], going faster and faster as my eyes slid shut. It just wasn’t enough. Hesitantly, almost gingerly, I spat on my thumb and ran my hand down the small of my back. Then, I [PLAYED THE GUITAR] as fast as I could. Harder and faster, I thought. The steam of the shower was now a thick fog that clung greedily to my skin. Sweat and dew dripped from my body. My breath became labored as my body tensed. Harder. Faster. I kept going until I couldn’t hold it in anymore, and finally, I [READ THE BIBLE].
I continued my shower and finished rinsing the rest of the soap off my body, turned the faucets off, and stepped out of the shower. I grabbed my towel and dried off my face, hair, and then the rest of my body. I fanned my hand back and forth to clear away the misty murk that my shower had created. I don’t know why I did this, it’s not like I can make steam disappear. To further add to the “Why am I like this” questions, I wiped off the mirror to see myself in it. You know as well as I do that that doesn’t work right after a hot shower.
The air was hot, thick, and sticky. It was stuffy, hard to breathe. I put my towel on its hanger and grasped the dripping doorknob. With a sudden bolt of energy that tickled my frontal lobe, I threw open the door with way too much gusto and yelled a long, drawn out “RAH!” as I crab-walked, naked, out of the bathroom. I raised my hands like little crab pinchers while I continued my sideways scuttle back down the hallway to my room.
Ok look... the intrusive thoughts win far more often when you don’t live with anyone. Don’t judge me, ok? I bet you’re weird when no one’s around, too.
I entered my room, making little “mirp” sounds as I did. My tiny, pinchy, hand-claw crab pinchers pinching feverishly in the air as I did. I was facing my wall as I moved around the room, avoiding the broken glass to the best of my abilities. I crab-walked all the way around to my dresser before finally assuming the upright position millions of years of evolution had bestowed upon me.
Sighing dramatically, I flopped over at the waist and began grabbing various articles of clothing from their drawers, when suddenly from behind me, someone loudly exclaimed through a barely contained laugher; “What in the actual fuck was that?”
Let me tell you, if I hadn’t shit before my shower, I would have evacuated my bowels with a force equal to that of a rocket launching right there in my bedroom. My stomach sunk so far through my body that I was certain I’d at least pushed that out.
I shrieked a very manly, strong, high-pitched shriek, diving onto my dresser and hitting the wall as I did. It wasn’t voluntary. I didn’t want to smack the wall, but I was startled, ok? They saw it all. They heard it all. They knew too much. I had to kill them. Wait... That isn’t important. Who the fuck is in my bedroom?!
With all the grace of a paraplegic turtle, I gracefully rolled off my dresser and landed on my head and shoulders, just as intended. I grunted because I wanted to, and not because I knocked the wind out of myself. I then thrashed around violently on the floor as I oriented myself and found my footing. Standing upright, I spun around to confront the person in my room. Only it wasn’t a person.
A tiny figure fluttered like a dragonfly in late summer in the middle of my room. I blunk hard, hoping it was a leftover soap bubble from my shower. Nope. I blonked again. Still there, it was very real. A little, chubby, winged man was right there, hovering over my bed. This pint-sized guy was no taller than my smartphone. He dressed in a green, shimmering gown. His little wings, beating blindingly fast, sparkled like lights through a prism. And his hair, oh his hair was a sight. He had hair that looked like it had a passionate affair with a unicorn, while still somehow also balding. His eyes pierced the air with their deep golden intensity.
He continued to look at me, growing concern shown on his face. “What did you just...” He trailed off as he stared at me, slack-jawed.
“I uh—” I began. “I blunk to make sure I’m actually seeing you?" I replied, a heavy dose of surreal confusion seasoned my words.
“No, no, not that.” he said, waving his hand back and forth and sinking a little closer to my bed “What were you doing when you entered the- wait.” he cut himself off, “Did you just say blunk?”
“I uh... yeah?” I replied, suddenly feeling even more self-conscious than I already was.
The fairy raised his hand to his face and groaned loudly. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he huffed with an exasperated sigh, “The one I’m supposed to get doesn’t even know it’s BLINKED?” he finished, his hand falling away from his face.
I knew it was blinked! I had it right the first time!
“Wow, rude.” I said, blushing from the embarrassment once more. “And wait why are you- why is a-” I stammered, trying to find my words after my mouth already started moving.
“Why is there a fairy in your room?” he offered, his expression now deadpan.
I nodded my head slowly in agreement. He seemed to study me for a moment as he thought some things over. His eyes darted back and forth between mine, and I somehow began to feel even MORE exposed than I already was.
He ran his tongue over his teeth, made a little clicking sound, and then began to speak. “I am Myff, a guardian of the realms, both Fae and human,” he said in a voice that sounded both soft and childlike, as well as wizened and old. He spun his hand in a small forward rolling gesture. "I was sent here by the Seelie court to--”
“You’re a guardian of umm, both realms?” I interjected, cutting him off. My brain did not like this.
Annoyance flashed across his face. “Yes. BOTH realms. The Fae realm AND the human realm. I was sent here by the Seelie court to--”
“What's the Seelie court?” I cut him off again, “How did you get in here? Why are you-” A static-like sensation crackled forth and filled the room. It was at this moment I knew.. I fucked up.
“SILENCE!” he bellowed at a volume far greater than anything his size should be able to make, and I was simultaneously slammed down to my knees by an invisible force that I had no hope of defying. He rose higher in the air, almost until he hit the ceiling. Bewildered, I struggled to raise my head and looked at him.
Slowly the invisible pressure began to lessen and I was left with the fresh pain of being slammed down onto my knees. My knees now throbbed, my not-so-funny-feeling elbow still hurt, my head was spinning, and I remembered I was still stark naked. I felt light headed and sick.
Myff glared at me for a moment, studying me again. I can fully understand why he’s a guardian, now. I made a mental note to not cut him off again. The pressure dissipated from my shoulders while Myff lowered himself down to my eye level, floating in front r to me.
He stopped a few inches from my face and spoke “I am Myff,” he said with a quiet voice, yet booming with a level of authority. “I am a Guardian of both realms and YOU, Ash, will be silent when I speak.” His eyes bore holes through my soul.
“I’m s-sorry.” I managed to croak out, breaking eye contact. “It won't happen again. I’m sorry. I’m listening.” My head now bowed, and I stared at the floor.
Pleased by the reply, Myff began once more. “I am a Guardian of both realms,” pausing slightly, as if expecting another interruption, “and I was sent by,” another pause and glare, “the Seelie,” pause, “court to--”
I violently threw up. Like exorcism levels of projectile vomit. I was like a baby, full of milk, held above a first-time parent’s face. It went everywhere.
“Oh, for fuck sake!” Myff yelled, throwing his hands up.
“...erm.. serry...” I slurred, wincing through the awful taste of bile in my mouth. The room was spinning now, and I couldn’t hold it together any longer. “I thing I'm gunna... fent.” The words felt like water leaving my mouth. I promptly fell over, listening to Myff in a rant with more cursing than other normal words. I blacked out before I even hit the floor. I was out like a light.
I slowly regained consciousness sometime later, my head pounding worse than a clubbed seal. I groaned and tried to sit up, noticing I was in a strange place. I sat up, bathed in soft, ethereal light.
I sat within a circle of toadstools, their tops glowing softly with an otherworldly light. The air around me was alive with the symphony of a lively forest. Gigantic ferns rustled as if sharing secrets, and the trees seemed to whisper their ancient tales. Fireflies danced in the warm, golden light that filtered through the dense canopy above.
“What the fuuuuuck...?” I muttered in amazement.
A delicate voice cut through the stillness. "I'm sorry about that, Ash. I didn't mean to knock you out, but you were being annoying."
Blinking, I turned my head to see Myff perched on a mushroom-like stool nearby. His expression seemed to dance between regret and amusement.
I mustered a weak smile. “Sorry about that, I thought you were trying to kill me honestly."
Myff's wings quivered as he arose and floated closer, his eyes filled with contrition. "I really didn't mean for it to come to that. I was sent by the seelie court to find a hunter and it hasn’t gone well so far." Landing on the mushroom next to me, he continued, “When I used my magic to make you submit, I guess I sent all the blood to your legs.” He was the one avoiding eye contact now. “And... you passed out from that.” He let his voice trail off, inviting me to continue the conversation.
I stared at the little guy for a moment. He really reminded me of a child who got caught doing something wrong and was now trying to put on a tough act, but the regret was written all over his face. Wait wait wait hold the phone what did he just say? Recruit a hunter?
“Myff, what did you mean by recruiting a hunter isn’t straightforward?” My brow furrowed and I adjusted myself to fully face him. “And also, where the fuck are we?”
Swiftly rising from his seat, Myff whisked into the air and began to fly around the clearing. “I’ll answer your questions one at a time.” He mused. He was incredibly nimble for being such a stout little winged potato “First off,” he started, “We are in the land of Fae. This is the realm that neighbors your own. This is a realm of nature and spirits, riddles and rules, light and dark.” Myff flew straight up into the sky, then let his body fall limply back to the ground. He stopped himself at the last moment from hitting the ground. “As for talk of hunters, that will need more detail.”
I silently regarded him, waiting for him to continue as he rose back up.
“Where do I even start?” He pondered his options for a moment as he slowed down to hover next to me. “Are you aware of cryptids?”
“Well, sure.” I replied, reflexively rubbing the back of my neck. “You mean things like creatures from folklore, right?” I adjusted myself to get more comfortable. My butt hurt.
He nodded in agreement. “Can you tell me a few that you know of?”
I suddenly felt very on the spot, glancing sheepishly down as I began to question my own knowledge. “A uh... A Wendingus..” Fuck. Wrong.
“It’s not a test, asshole” Myff exclaimed, laughing softly at my sudden panic, “You know about Wendigos,” He said, annunciating each individual syllable, “and Skinwalkers, and the Chupacabra, right? The big ones you all fan girl about?” He knew from the look on my face that the answer was yes. “As a hunter, you are going to hunt these creatures down and.”
“WAIT!” I yelled, rising to my feet. “Wait wait wait wait wait woa wait what? Back it up. Cryptids? You want me to hunt cryptids?” My disbelieving shock clearly bled through my voice. “But there’s no way, they’re not actually real!”
Myff scoffed at me, the little dickhead. Squinting through the sun in his eyes, he made a point. “You’re arguing with a fairy in an enchanted forest, in the realm of the Fae, and the first thing you’ve seriously questioned is the existence of something in YOUR world?”
He had a good point.
“You have a good point.” I said, “Carry on.” returning to my toadstool stool.
Myff chuckled again and began to settle down once more, putting the sun to his side this time. A soft breeze rustled the trees around us. “Something as simple as a cryptid wouldn’t be cause for interference from the Fae, however.” Apprehension was clear in his voice. I sat still, focused intently on his words. “The reason we need you, and people like you, is because these cryptids... are...” once again making that rolling motion with his hand as if he was trying to lure out the rest of his thought. “Finding ways to eat the Fae. They're becoming... fusions of lore... and magic.” he managed. Taking a pause and then a deep breath, he continued, “We call them Fae Scorn. The amalgamations of nightmare and flesh, cryptid and Fae.”
Cryptids, the stuff of late-night radio shows, Reddit posts, YouTube stories, and blurry photographs. Monsters under the bed, right? But here I was, coming face to face with a truth I couldn't dismiss. But one that intrigued me. Myff's words echoed in my mind, his voice tinged with a cautious gumption.
Cryptids really are really real. That’s reality. It’s really actually really concerning. They're not just mythical creatures from campfire stories. They're out there, and they're feeding on the Fae somehow. Something is changing in our world.
I listened to Myff as he went on to explain some of the sightings, and some hybrids he knew of. I was so enraptured with his stories that I had almost forgotten what he wanted me to do. Did I hear that right?
“Hey, Myff.” I cautiously said, raising my hand in an apologetic gesture for cutting him off yet again, the woozy fear of earlier not forgotten. Swallowing the inner bees, I pressed on. “I don’t have any powers, I don’t have any special skills aside from my ability to crab-walk well enough to fool my cat, and I’m not brave or heroic. There’s no way you have the right guy. Right?” I was starting to hurt my own feelings, Myff quietly listened. “I mean, if you’re assembling the A team, the Avengers of the Fae, you need someone far better than me.” I hung my head low and intertwined my fingers, tears beginning to well in my eyes. I really wasn’t much when it came to the big picture, was I? I continued “I don’t--”
Myff slapped the shit out of me. Like... Hard. With one little flick of his tiny arm against my delicate, beautiful, and manly face, I was sent flying off my toadstool stool in an arching corkscrew. I realized, as I was spinning towards the ground like a torpedo, that I was still naked. This was like doing a helicopter, but way more complicated. And horizontal.
I landed about 10 feet away from my starting position. Thankfully, my face broke the fall. I opened my eyes as I slid across the grass, getting a whole new look at my toes thanks to the scorpion pose I was now in. I stopped my slip n’ slide adventure in a heap a few feet later.
I lay still briefly, a weird flood of euphoria devouring my pain. My fingers instinctively brushed against the dew-kissed grass, and the moisture clung to my skin like the delicate droplets of a morning mist. It was as if the earth itself was sharing its secrets with me, inviting me to be part of this timeless dance of life and renewal. In that tranquil moment, lying in the sun-dappled field, I felt connected to the earth in a way I'd never experienced. The dreamy sensations of dewy grass on my face were a reminder that nature's beauty was not just something to behold but to be immersed in, a source of endless wonder.
I felt like the silver lining of a lofty cloud. I felt like I was soaring. I gradually teetered back up to my feet, and I felt all... wibbly wobbly. I felt wrong. Something I was seeing wasn’t right. What was it? The dreaminess made it hard to pinpoint. I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing until the haziness began to clear away, and then I opened my eyes. I knew what it was right away.
My head was wrong. Like, it was backwards. I was staring at my own butt, it didn’t look half bad if I’m being honest. But oh fuck. Did Myff break my neck?!
“MYFF!” I screamed in my manly, high pitched, warbly voice, “AHHHHHHHHHHH!” The sound was unvoluntary and I began flapping my arms like a baby birb kicked from its nest. I sounded like a gargoyle in heat. I think. I guess that’s what they sound like, I don’t know. I’ve never actually heard one before. Anyway.
“AHHHHHHHH!” Myff mirrored my screams as he rushed to my side.
“AHHHHHHHH!” I screamed again.
“AHHHHH!” Myff screamed, now flying around me.
“MYFF! OH MY GOD! WHAT THE FUCK!?” I screamed while I tried to figure out how to turn my body with this new perspective. If I walked forward, I went backward from my perspective. But if I tried to walk backward, my legs were also on the wrong side. My brain didn’t know how to process fine motor skills. I settled for unsteady shaking and stumbling since that seemed to turn me well enough. I was trying to see Myff. "MYFF!" I yelled his name once more.
The dappled clearing that was once a shining example of serenity now brought me a feeling of fear. The soft sunlight no longer felt like it was nurturing my soul. Now, it felt like the sun wanted to blind me. It was hard to breathe through my twisted neck. Each step rocked my world back and forth. At this point, I was utterly terrified.
But all is well that ends well.
Myff shot out of the forest at blinding speeds, just barely registering as something perceptible in the corner of my vision. He flew to where I wobbled and stopped in front of my nose. I must've looked like a wreck; head upside down, ugly crying that made me drool, which then ran into my nose, and over my eyes, and through my hair.
"You look disgusting." Myff commented under his breath, obviously disgusted.
"No shit you pompous mosquito! You broke my neck!" I yelled and flailed my arms again, but I stopped because it made my head bounce around, and that was no bueno.
It was then that I noticed Myff was glowing green and yellow. He was radiating a buzzing energy that tickled the back of my eyeballs and gave my ears an erection. It's hard to explain. Have you ever Q-tipped your ears and hit it juuuuuust right? It was like that, but better somehow.
Myff's face of disgust dissolved into his stoic, deadpan, resting bitch ass bitch face. "Has it not occurred to you yet that something outside of your understanding is happening?" he questioned me flatly.
"Of course it has," I ugly cried. "You broke my neck! I’m looking at my own butt crack!" Slimy drooly snooty tears covered my face.
Myff did his shitty little shit eating shitfaced chuckle, and then asked me a very obvious question.
"Why aren't you dead, Ash?" One of his eyebrows was raised quizzically.
Actually... I was at a total loss for words. Why wasn't I dead? There's no way I should have been able to survive having my head spun like top while it was still attached to my body.
Myff then gently placed one hand on my forehead, calmly caressing my cheek with the other. The energy he was giving off made my eyes sneeze, twice.
He embraced me, warmly swaddling my spittle slicked head. I felt my worry melt away instantly. It was intensely calm. Myff leaned over to my ear, and I heard him inhale a shallow breath before he whispered, "Ash?" His little breath tickled my ears. "You're being a little bitch." He then counter-broke my neck. Unbroke it? He threw my chin like the baseball your dad never threw for you.
My new scream of surprise came out like a turkey gobble as my head snapped back into place. I felt like a leggo in a vaccuum for some reason. I looked up at Myff just in time to see him wiping my amalgamated snotty drool out of eyes. He looked a little green around the gills. Not that he has gills. Gills like the figure of speech or whatever that's called. He looked sick. But not like... cool sick... Like ill. But not like totally dude gnarly ill, but like he was going to vomit. Serves him right.
Now that my head was right, I just went and sat down. I know, boring. What else are you supposed to do when a fairy breaks your neck and then unbreaks it? Dance? No. I went and sat back down on my toadstool stool, breathing deeply. After centering myself once more, I asked the now obvious question, “Why didn’t that kill me?”
Myff buzzed over to me, looking at me incredulously, before he went on to explain in incredible detail, and with lots of necessary information, exactly what was going on. He told tales of ancient Fae power, humans being born with latent Fae abilities, and Fae being born with human abilities (they get depression and develop a fear of doorbells, tragic).
As it would happen to be, I am someone with latent Fae powers. I’ve had them my whole life, and they were always active. I’ve just never “basically died” before to know it. I guess I should explain the power before I get too far ahead of myself.
According to Myff, my power makes me a Stitcher, or a battle tank of sorts. We’re called stitchers because our abilities allow us to take on a lot of big boo boos and we’ll stitch ourselves and our wounds back together from the brink of death. We can still die though. Like, cutting off our heads, taking too much blood etc. we die. We also apparently develop excessive strength with some training.
The reason my neck didn’t unbreak automatically was that I didn’t set it straight for my powers to work right. That's why Myff broke and unbroke me, to demonstrate. Myff is violent when he wants to show you something... I’m going to keep that in mind.
Beyond Stitchers, there are Riddlists, Savagers, and Etherealists. I’ll go into more detail about these in the future. K baii

Okay, so I have been bouncing around a few different Reddit pages lately trying to figure out what is going on. I have always been very regular, with the same consistency (soft, but not too soft). Been this way for YEARS. Over the last few months, I have developed a pain in my left side. It's basically right at the bellybutton level, but on the far left side. The actual side of my body. It alternates between a sting and a sharp cramp, not constantly all day, but everyday for sure.
At first nothing had changed in the bathroom, but as of the last few weeks, my stool is suddenly hard as a brick. The size and shape has not changed, no visible blood, but you could literally use it as a weapon and bludgeon somebody with it. This has obviously lead to less movements. I went from twice a day, everyday, to once every two days.
I feel like it has to be related to my side pain, because I have changed nothing in my life. I am not on new medication, I haven't changed my diet (no new fiber or anything like that), and I stay as hydrated as I always have.
My blood tests all came back clear. I am going in Friday morning for a CT scan. I keep leaning towards possible IBD, but most people with IBD seem to have diarrhea, but I rarely every get that anymore now that I have been on a consistent probiotic for years.
Anyone else have anything like this? I am a 33M btw.

I thought my Monday was rough. Until I experienced Tuesday. Those who believed that it was important for me to supplement my academic study of male masochism with first-hand experience — Luke, Paul, Brooke, possibly Neil as well — certainly were getting their wish. I less so, although there was no denying the authenticity of it.
I had to wait until Brooke and Luke were asleep to complete my punishment lines. When my alarm went off at 5 AM in Tuesday morning, after only four hours of sleep, I groaned.
As I was driving over to Kevin’s mom’s house, I received a text from him: Get me an Egg McMuffin from McDonald’s on your way here. Text me when you get here so you don’t wake up my mom.
I had dressed in a clean pair of yoga pants and plain black T-shirt (fortunately, at the time, my dresser wasn’t yet full of humiliating shirts, like it is today, and my cuckold horns shirt was filthy), so I was grateful for the drive-thru at McDonald’s. I resisted the temptation to order myself hash browns and instead limited myself to a banana and cup of coffee. I was determined to avoid more punishment on Saturday following my weigh-in.
Although it was to be another unseasonably hot day, the sun was just starting to rise when I pulled up to the house, so it was still fairly cool. Kevin was waiting for me on the porch. He didn’t thank me (let alone offer to reimburse me) for the sandwich, but rather ate it as he walked around his truck, inspecting the work I had already done. Finding fault with the cleanliness of his wheel rims, he instructed me to stop working on the interior of the car and to reapply myself to the wheels and hubcaps. I tried to explain that I had scrubbed these areas repeatedly yesterday, but that some of the blemishes simply could not be removed from the aging vehicle. He stood above me, supervising — as I worked on my knees — pointing to areas that he felt were not sufficiently clean.
“Sir, I can’t get this spot out. I’ve tried several times,” I said, as I strenuously, yet futilely scrubbed a black mark at the bottom of one of the rear wheels. It looked like it had been there for years. Kevin’s filthy plumber’s boots were right next to my face as I crouched down and scrubbed.
“Scrub harder.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m scrubbing as hard as I can. Some of these stains just won’t come off.”
“You’re not trying hard enough. Here, let me try.” He grabbed the sponge from me and bent over to scrub it. It took some effort, but sure enough, he was able to remove the spot.
“See, you’re not working hard enough. Luke will be disappointed.”
“Sir, I promise you that I’m trying as hard as I can. I’m just not as strong as you are, sir. You have really bulked up at the gym since the last time I saw you.” I thought a little flattery might help convince him not to complain about me to Luke.
He flexed his bicep and stared at it admiringly.
“That’s really impressive, sir. Look at mine, by comparison.” I flexed mine, and felt like Popeye without the spinach standing (or, in my case, kneeling) next to Brutus.
“I guess you’re right,” he said. “I’ll tell you what, if you clean my boots and tools, I might not say anything to Luke.”
Have you started to notice a pattern here? A slippery slope of submission. For example, if I hadn’t been forced to clean Luke’s truck that time I was caught by Kelly, I probably would never have met Paul and, therefore, wouldn’t later that day be going to his condo to work as his maid. It seemed that one act of submission and exposure begat another. Where would it end? Would it end? At the time I am making them, however, my concessions always seem like good ideas, given my lack of options.
And so it probably will not surprise you to learn that I replied, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I think I can use the same soapy water and leather conditioner I’m using on your truck. If you remove them, I can get started right away.”
“Remove them? Why bother? Just do them here,” he pulled down the tailgate of his truck and sat on it. I filled a fresh bucket of soap and water and got back on my knees to begin my task.
“My boots are dirtier than usual. My last job was a real shit show. Literally,” he chuckled.
I tried not to think about how exactly his boots got so filthy, as I used a towel to wipe off the foul smelling, caked-on debris. Kevin had a relaxed, arrogant expression on his face, as if having a guy twice his age kneeling before him to clean his boots was the most natural thing in the world. I heard the unmistakable noise of a photo being taken on a phone and looked up to see Kevin’s iPhone pointed at me.
“What are you doing, sir?”
“I just wanted to text Kaylee. She’ll get a kick out of this.”
What could I say in response? Challenge him and likely face Luke’s wrath? I bit my tongue.
After cleaning them, I applied some of the leather conditioner I had used on the truck’s seats and began buffing his boots energetically with a microfiber towel. It was just at that moment, of course, that Kevin’s mom, Darla, walked out of the house in sweatpants and a jacket, a cup of coffee in her hand. I will confess that my cock began to stiffen the moment I got on my knees and looked up at Kevin; the pure act of submitting stoked my arousal, as usual. But it was when Darla arrived that my cock really began to push painfully against its restraints.
“Oh, it’s you again,” she said looking down at me.
“Wally didn’t have time to finish my truck before it got dark yesterday,” said Kevin.
“Good morning, ma’am,” I said.
Ignoring me, she said, “It doesn’t look like he’s cleaning your truck right now to me. I guess Luke’s new lackey is now your lackey too. I raised some smart boys.” She smiled proudly. “At least this one isn’t wearing a bikini like Luke made his first boss wear when the old guy used to clean this truck back before he gave it to you.” She laughed heartily at the fond memory of one of my predecessors’ humiliations at the hands of her older son. So nice to be participating in the family tradition, I thought.
“Well, it is December. It’s a little cold for a bikini,” Kevin laughed. “Walter, stand up and show my mom the pantyhose, or whatever it is, that Luke makes you wear.”
I did as directed, causing Darla to laugh. “Those are women’s work-out pants, honey. But I can see the bulk beneath them. One of Luke’s signature methods of dominating the husbands he cuckolds. As I’ve heard your brother say more than once, ‘If you really want to own a man, control his cock.’”
“Wally is a college professor. Luke said he studied at one of them Ivy League schools, out East.”
“You can see where that’s gotten him,” she said. “Well, it’s a little chilly out here, I’m going back inside. I have I feeling I’ll be seeing more of you,“ she said to me with a smirk as she walked back into the house.
After I finished cleaning his boots, Kevin directed me to go into his garage, bring his tools out into the driveway and wipe them down with soapy water before loading them into the bed of his truck. He watched me work the entire time, not lifting a finger.
When I finished, he paid me a compliment. A most unwanted one, as it tuned out. “Nice job with my boots and my tools. Now that I’ve got my license, I could really use an assistant. I’m gonna talk to Luke about letting me borrow you sometimes.”
I didn’t respond, hoping this thought was just a whim of his that would soon be forgotten. I hoped in vain; it was indeed the slippery slope again, a continuation of my descent.
After I finished with his tools, I spent another hour finishing cleaning the interior of the truck before Kevin headed off to his first job of the day and I headed off to campus. This time, I did change into my jeans in a fast food restaurant on the way, too wary of facing Darla again to go back into the house.
I still wore the leather choker that day, and was highly self-conscious as I lectured to the 24 students in my Chivalry and Courtly Love In Medieval Literature class.
I had to be and Paul’s and Anna’s by 4 PM, so after my lecture, I walked to the drugstore to buy the Johnsons’ furniture wax and a toothbrush. I was starving. Having only had a banana that day, and having eaten very little besides salads, fruit and low-fat cottage cheese since my disappointing weigh-in on Saturday, I decided to treat myself to lunch at my favorite Thai restaurant in town. Given how hard I had worked and how little I had eaten over the last couple of days (and thinking about the humiliation that lay in store for me that afternoon), I figured that I deserved this one small self indulgence. I ordered seafood Tom Yum soup and beef Massaman curry. A caloric dish to be sure, but how much could it possibly hurt after my spartan diet of the last few days?
I was still savoring my soup when the waitress brought my curry and rice to the table. Just at that moment, I saw Neil enter the restaurant with a female colleague, Annabelle Nash (she taught Shakespeare, mainly). They greeted me as they went to their seats, but I could see Neil scrutinize the dishes on my table and shake his head disapprovingly (if subtly). Self conscious as I was, I nevertheless cleaned my plate (grateful Neil’s back was to me at the table where he and Annabelle sat). After I paid my check, I walked over to say goodbye to them.
Neil said, “Hey, pal, would you mind swinging by my office at around 2:30 for a few minutes?”
“Sure thing, Neil. Nice seeing you, Annabelle.”
When I met him in his office later, Neil closed the door and asked me to sit down.
“Walter, I have a bit of a dilemma that I hope you can help me out with. Luke made me promise to tell him if I caught you cheating on your diet on campus.”
“The restaurant is not on campus,” I smiled, attempting a joke.
“You know what I mean,” he answered, with a serious expression. “Was that beef Massaman curry? Do you know how many calories are in that dish?! And all the carbs in the rice? You should always ask for brown rice instead of white, you know. And you had soup too, I noticed.”
“But I barely ate anything the past three days. And I only had a banana for breakfast.”
“You’re always making excuses. That’s why you’ve basically been stuck at the same weight now for the last few weeks. You’re at a threshold, and to lose more, you need to be super disciplined about what you eat, and exercise more. No more excuses, Walter.”
“You’re right, sir. Please don’t tell Luke,” I pleaded.
“Look, I know what my telling him means for you as a consequence. But I promised him I would. And his methods with you have been successful. I feel I have to honor my promise.”
“Please, don’t. Maybe I can make it up to you somehow. How about a foot massage?”
“Giving me a foot massage isn’t going to burn many calories.” He thought for a minute. “I tell you what. The four days a week that we’re on campus together, how about if you bring me a coffee each day in between my classes? I don’t think that will conflict with your teaching schedule, and the exercise of walking to the Corner Cafe each day will do you good. It’s 3300 steps there and back; I’ve measured it on my iPhone. That way, I won’t feel as guilty for not telling Luke about catching you cheating on your diet today.”
“Yes, thanks Neil. Sir, I mean. That seems more than fair.”
Neil got up and shook my hand. “Deal. And you don’t have to call me ‘sir’ here on campus, pal.”
“Thanks, Neil.”
“But I will take you up on that offer for your amazing foot massages on Wednesdays after my back-to-back classes. You can give me one tomorrow when you bring my coffee.”
“Of course, thanks again, Neil,” I said, as I left his office. And so that is how I came to be Neil’s coffee boy for the balance of the semester (and future semesters, even during my sabbatical). And his foot boy, or reflexologist, or whatever you want to call it. Notice how it went from me offering to give him one foot massage in return for his silence, to me getting his coffee four days a week and massaging his feet once a week. In an instant! I guess negotiation was not one of my strong suits.
As I drove to Paul and Anna’s condo — the next stop on my gauntlet of service and humiliation that day —the Paul Simon song Slip Sliding Away ran through my head, the refrain in particular:
Slip sliding away You know the nearer your destination The more you’re slip sliding away
If old Paul was correct, the further I slid down the slope, the closer I’d come to my true nature. I wondered how much further I had to slip. Would I be the slave to everyone by the time I finally reached the bottom of the slope?
As I parked my car, I did another mental inventory of what I needed for my second visit to the condo. Johnsons’s furniture wax, check. Toothbrush, check. Punishment lines, check. I was wearing sheer, black nylon panties under my jeans. Then I remembered: I had completely forgotten Anna’s directive that I research and practice how to curtsy. All I could do is hope that she had forgotten. If not, maybe I could wing it? Better yet, maybe she wouldn’t be there this time. But did I really want to be alone with Paul?
Carrying a bag that contained my punishment lines as well as the furniture polish and toothbrush, I entered the lobby to find the same obnoxious doorman as last Tuesday, sitting behind his desk.
“I’m here to see Paul Betz.”
“And you are?” He knew perfectly well who I was, but wanted to force me to say it.
“The maid.” I looked down at the floor, ashamed.
He picked up the intercom. “Mr. Betz, your maid is here to clean your apartment. May I send HIM up?” The prick just had to emphasize my gender.
“Mr. Betz said you may go up. Apartment 11B. The elevator is around the corner,” he said, as if I had never been there before, a smug smile plastered to his face.
“Yes, thank you. I remember.”
When I got to their door, I got down on my knees, as Paul had instructed me. Should I have rung the bell first? Should I knock? Or would that annoy them? I had been announced, so they knew I would be coming up the elevator. I waited there for several minutes. The longer I waited, however, it seemed to make less and less sense to ring the bell. Maybe they were busy and not ready for me yet, even though I was very punctual? Maybe they were….having sex? I didn’t want to risk disturbing them. And, so, I continued to wait.
I then heard the elevator door open, with dread. A woman, probably in her mid thirties, walked by me to her apartment across the hall, staring down at me with an amused expression. When she opened her door, I heard her yell to someone in the apartment, “It looks like Paul and Anna have a new one,” before the door slammed shut.
Just then the the door in front of me finally opened. I saw Paul’s feet first.
“You may enter. Remember, on your knees.”
I put my hands down to crawl into the apartment, before he snapped at me: “No! I didn’t say on your hands and knees. I said on your knees.”
I shuffled forward into the apartment, cursing myself for having not purchased knee pads, as Paul had suggested. I told myself that I would have to start taking notes from now on , so I wouldn’t forget things I’d later regret.
“Lines,” he said, simply.
I pulled the several loose leaf pages out of my bag and handed them to Paul. “Here, sir.”
As much as it hurt my hand to write all of those lines, the mental anguish of having to repeatedly write that I would no longer mention academic integrity — a subject that I was passionate about (ridiculous as it might seem to you, coming from a professor about to clean the apartment of two of his students) — was worse. Paul knew that, of course. I was to learn that, despite their many differences in style, like Luke, he was a natural sadist, with an impressive ability to zero in on areas of his victim’s vulnerability or sensitivity to exploit for maximum humiliation. Lucky me.
“I’ll count them and check the neatness of your writing later. Did you bring the Johnsons wax and toothbrush?”
“Yes, sir. Here.” I showed him the contents of my bag.
Anna then came into the living room from the kitchen, munching on an apple. Both were dressed similarly to last time, Paul in sweatpants and Anna in tight yoga pants. Anna was barefoot this time, her pretty, pedicured toes painted a metallic silver color. She caught me staring at her toes, and smiled.
“Don’t worry, Professor Rollins, you will get to know my feet very well. They will be your best friends before long.”
“More like his unattainable crush,” Paul snickered.
“Crushes,” Anna corrected him. “Professor maid will have a crush on both of my feet and on all ten of my toes. He will worship them and he will pine for them. And they won’t give him the time of day,” she said. Then she abruptly said to me, “Obeisance!”
“Excuse me, Princess Anna?”
“Obeisance means assume the position of respect and humility before your superiors,” Paul explained.
“Yes, sir. I know the meaning of the word, but I don’t know what position she means.”
“I don’t like your condescending tone. It reminds me of when you corrected me in class on Monday about the cucking stool. We’re going to teach you not to use that tone with us. Certainly not here, where you are nothing more than a slave. But not in class either. You will be very careful in how you interact with Anna, Kelly and me in class from now on. We are your special students.”
“We are the teacher’s pets, and the teacher is our pet,” giggled Anna.
I certainly didn’t intend to be condescending — I was on my knees, for fuck’s sake — but I guess that quality just naturally creeps into my tone at times, unconsciously. Perhaps an occupational hazard of being a professor? Or at least, a hazard in the situations in which I increasingly found myself.
“Strip,” ordered, Paul.
“Yes, sir. May I stand for a moment?”
Paul nodded his ascent. I quickly removed my shoes, socks, shirt and jeans, and stood before them in my panties and chastity cage.
“Obeisance here means you drop down onto your belly, you clasp your hands behind your back and you slither like the worm you are to your superior’s feet and kiss each one reverently. Obeisance!”
I was standing several feet away from them. I did exactly what Paul described, finding that the only way to propel myself forward from that position was to grind my crotch into the floor. Not only was it incredibly uncomfortable, but I feared that my chastity cage might scratch their hardwood floor. Fortunately, there was an area rug covering most of the space separating us, so I was able to slide myself — indeed, “slither” was the correct word — towards their feet. Figuring ladies first, I planted kisses on Anna’s lovely bare feet, followed by Paul’s socked feet.
Paul asked me, “Where is Luke today?”
Still prostrate on my belly, inches from their toes, I answered, “He is traveling today, sir.”
“Overnight?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What about your wife?”
“She is working tonight.”
“You didn’t say ‘sir.’ That’s one demerit. At the restaurant?”
I had never said anything to them about Brooke’s job, even during Paul’s initial interrogation of me at O’Riordans. His detailed knowledge of my life was unsettling.
“Yes, sir.”
“What time does she get home? Don’t lie, I have my ways of checking.”
“Usually around 10:30 or so, sir.”
Anna interjected, “Good, you can work longer than two hours, then. The condo is a disaster, and we’re having a little get together on Thursday. That little bitch, Chrissy, said her mother is sick. Supposedly. So she wasn’t able to clean on Sunday. You have your work cut out for you, professor maid. Where is your page uniform?”
Oh, no! Another order, I forgot. I didn’t hesitate to lie. “My wife wore the jacket today, princess. She occasionally likes to wear it.” Did Paul have ways of checking on that, too, I wondered.
“Bring it with you on Thursday. Fortunately, I picked out some other things for you to wear today. You’ll find your clothes on and next to the spanking bench in the dungeon. You can change in there and then present yourself to us before you start cleaning.”
“Yes, princess. Thank you.”
As I walked upstairs to the dungeon, I was still trying to process Anna’s extremely troubling remark a moment earlier. Not the fact that I had to work longer than two hours, nor that the condo was especially messy. Rather, it was the fact that they were planning on inviting guests on Thursday, the day I was to spend four hours with them, including preparing and serving them dinner. They had promised me that I wouldn’t be subjected to further exposure. Still, I had to risk asking, at some point, who they planned to invite to their “little get together.”
Expecting to find a maid’s uniform in the dungeon, I was not completely mistaken. Draped over the spanking bench were sheer black, thigh high stockings and a garter belt as well as a white lace maid’s cap. On the floor next to the bench were a pair of what appeared to be brand new, black high heels. Presumably, these were purchased specifically for me and would not painfully pinch my feet like Chrissy’s did.
The garter had a velcro clasp, so was relatively easy to put on. I initially struggled attaching the metal clasps to the thigh highs, but got those on as well. I then put the on the ridiculous cap. Finally, the most challenging part: the heels. They were my size, thankfully, but I was very unsteady in them, even partially twisting my ankle when I first tried to walk in them. Regarding myself in a large mirror hung inside the door to the dungeon, I looked utterly absurd, especially with my bare torso and rock-hard nipples.
Anna laughed loudly when I wobbled my way into the living room, where she and Paul were now reclining on the couch. My cock strained against its cage as I stood before my young monarchs, watching them scrutinize my ridiculously attired form.
“Don’t worry, professor. You’ll get used to the heels before you know it. Now let’s see you curtsy.”
The moment I was dreading. Should I confess to her that I had forgotten her instructions and beg her forbearance? Or should I wing it? I chose the latter, and chose unwisely. Not having a skirt to lift, I sort of mimicked lifting a phantom one and lamely bent my knees before standing straight again. There was no extending my right foot behind my left, no holding my position for two seconds when I bent my knees, no lowering my chin, no maintaining eye contact with my mistress. In other words, my improvisation was a dismal failure.
“That’s pathetic. Did you bother to practice at all?”, asked Anna, with a scowl.
“Yes, princess. Maybe I picked a bad how-to video.”
“You only watched one? You didn’t read anything about the different steps involved? It’s not hard to find instructions on Google. I checked myself. You either are lying to me or you’re a complete bimbo. Is it really true that we can’t leave marks on his ass?”, she asked Paul.
“For now, yes, unfortunately. But I think I’ve figured out some ways to punish him that won’t leave any long lasting marks.”
“Good. He deserves it. Maybe a little pain will help you remember to do what we tell you to do in the future, and to do it properly,” said Anna to me.
“Yes, Princess Anna. I promise to study how to curtsy very carefully before Thursday.”
“You better. Including a deep curtsy.”
“But that doesn’t get you off the hook for fucking up today,” said Paul. “Now get busy.”
I gathered up their dirty laundry first (scattered throughout the apartment), and started a load. The condo was indeed a mess. I later learned that Paul and Anna simply never picked up after themselves. Why should they when they had a seemingly ever increasing stable of menials to do so for them. However, when one of the servants fell ill or for some other reason failed to clean on their allotted days, the next one paid the price, as I did that day. It was quite challenging walking in the heels, but Anna was correct that I got used to them fairly quickly. By the end of the nearly four hours I was with them that Tuesday, I was managing to walk in them reasonably steadily.
As I worked, I caught snippets of their conversation.
Anna said, “It’s a bummer we don’t get to control his cock.”
Paul replied, “I know. But I’m working on that. It’s going to take a little time.”
“That’s good. Without control of his cock, it doesn’t feel like he’s truly our slave, you know what I mean?”
“I do. Just be patient.”
“How do you plan to do it?” Anna glanced at me. “Or don’t you want him to hear?”
“I don’t care if he hears or not. There’s nothing he can do about it. The key is to make friends with Luke. He was willing to lend Rollins to us at the Ren fair when we asked. My guess is he’ll be willing to share him again. And regularly. Besides, Professor Larson told me Luke built a huge pool at his house. I’d love to swim there when the weather gets nice. Indoor pools just aren’t the same.”
I knew that Paul had taken one of Neil’s classes last year, but hearing that they had been in touch since the Ren fair — bonding over their shared love of swimming, no doubt — was concerning. I hoped that there wasn’t anything else they were bonding over.
Anna instructed me to use the Johnsons wax I had purchased to polish the expensive looking coffee table and end tables in their large living room. They watched TV as I worked around them, ordering me as they did last time to serve them drinks. The toothbrush was for me to clean the crevices in the tiled bathroom floor of the master bathroom. Anna said that the crevices made it difficult to thoroughly clean with a mop. That may have been true, but I suspected this was more about humiliation than cleanliness. She supervised me as knelt down and scrubbed the first few tiles, urging me to pay particular attention to those closest to the toilet. She stood in the entrance way, as I bent over with my panty-clad ass sticking out. Although my cock fought against its confines almost the entire time I was there that day, there were certain moments such as this that the throbbing was particularly unpleasant.
As I was mopping the kitchen floor, I heard an alarm go off.
“Get your ass in here!”, I heard Paul yell from the living room. “It’s time for your punishment. Normally, I don’t administer correction until a servant has completed all assigned tasks for the day, but since we can’t leave any visible marks on you for the time being, I’m going to make an exception for you. Five demerits from last week plus one from today. Not to mention your compete failure to learn how to properly curtsy. Get over my knees.”
“But what about the punishment lines, sir?”
“You’re questioning me? They were to address a separate issue: your idiotic obsession with academic integrity.”
“But, sir, didn’t you say that you would address my demerits on Thursday when I would be here longer?”
“That was before I knew you could stay here longer today. I intend to take advantage of it. But I’m also happy to administer part of your punishment today and part of it on Thursday. I’m sure that our guests will enjoy it.”
“Uh, sir, I was meaning to ask you about that. You, you…you and Princess Anna promised you wouldn’t tell anyone or show anyone…” My tongue was tied.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, professor. Our guests are Kelly and Archer,” said Anna.
“Archer, princess?”
“Archer is Kelly’s boyfriend. You two go way back. He saw you cleaning Luke’s truck in a speedo and you cleaned his muddy boots at the Ren fair. That was so much fun!, Anna giggled.
“What are you waiting for?,” Paul snapped.
I walked over to him and lay across his knees. Across the knees of my student, dressed as some fetishized maid. It was a truly surreal moment.
“The advantage of a hand spanking is that it can hurt quite a bit, but it won’t leave marks. The redness will fade in a couple of hours, and I think I know how to go right up to the edge of leaving bruises without actually leaving them. The key is lots of repetition. I’m going to give you twenty spanks for each demerit. Normally, it would only be ten, but that’s when I’m using a paddle, strap or crop. Or cane. We will inspect your cleaning when you’re done, and any additional demerits you earn today will be addressed on Thursday.” Paul rubbed my bottom with his hand as he spoke, a sensual exertion of control that I did not expect.
“Did you ever think you’d get to spank one of your professors?”, Anna asked her boyfriend with almost childlike delight.
“Great to check this one off the bucket list. Someday, I’d like to have a Senator or Governor over my knees.”
“How about the President?”
“You never know. There are submissive cucks and closet masochists in all walks of life.”
And with that observation, Paul’s hand came down hard on my panty-clad bottom. It came down again and again. The first strike hurt, but it was the cumulative effect that really turned this hand spanking into a tear-inducing punishment. I managed to be fairly stoic until about the 30th strike. By around the 50th, I was kicking my legs. Eventually I kicked with sufficient force that both of my heels came off. Although my sheer panties offered next to no protection, about midway through my punishment, Paul pulled them down and struck me on my bare bottom. Around the same time the tears came, I started squirming around on Paul’s lap.
“Stay still!”
I tried, but as the spanks kept coming, I continued to squirm on his lap. Paul then reached between my legs and firmly grabbed my balls. That certainly got my attention.
As he squeezed them, Paul said, “Do you think you can be still now?”
‘Yes, sir. I do!”
Through great exertion of will, I was able to remain still as Paul delivered the final twenty or strokes. He pushed me roughly off his lap onto the floor after he finished.
“Normally, I would now make you stand in the corner with your ass on display for 30 minutes or so, but I want to make sure you have time to finish cleaning.”
I wiped the tears from my eyes and replied, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Anna sat down next to Paul on the couch and, inserting her hand into his sweatpants. said, “That was hot. Did it excite you as much as it did me? Oh, I can feel that it did! Let’s go fuck on our freshly made bed.”
“Sounds good, babe. If we’re quick, he can wash the sheets again before he leaves.”
Which is exactly what happened. Their inspection of my work only resulted in two additional demerits this time.
Before I left, Anna left me detailed instructions for the meal I was to prepare on Thursday.
It was 9:30 PM by the time I got home. Given that Luke was away, I was hoping Brooke would release me when she got home and give me footjob or maybe even allow me to make love to her like she did on Thanksgiving. As exhausted as I was, I had been in a near constant state of frustrated sexual arousal throughout the day and its myriad humiliations, and I was dying to be released.
Unfortunately, Brooke had a difficult night at the restaurant (two men who hit on her, and one who stiffed her after she politely rebuffed him) and was in a foul mood. So instead of being released, I spent still more time on my now truly aching knees, giving her a long foot massage through her sweaty stockings as she silently watched TV.
That was still the highlight of my long, long day.

i am F18 now but i’m wondering about an experience when i was 12. i always guessed it was sunstroke but i realised, i have no idea what it actually was. wld appreciate any ideas or similar experiences… im fine now, but interested in what people think this cld represent
i was outside playing golf with my family in very high heat + sun. i wasn’t wearing sunscreen or a hat, + i have pretty pale skin. i remember gradually getting more fatigued and slightly nauseous in the sun. i think was outside for around 2.5hrs? then when i went back inside i started to feel kinda weird, like a little unwell. i didn’t have much appetite. by dinner i had lost my appetite completely. i was also very fatigued. that night i woke up from sleeping and hallucinated that my leg was growing the size of the room. i then had some more mini further hallucinations of hiding in the hunger games (these were more half-conscious + dreamlike than the leg one).
the next following days i experienced these symptoms:
• further hallucinations (confusion? my family initially thought i was joking because i seemed normal but was saying nonsense eg “the ipad is going to blow up”)
• extreme fatigue - slept for most of the day
• no appetite
• light sensitivity - even phone light would make my eyes burn. i stayed in darkness w blinds shut.
• fast movement (eg turning my head) would give me this drop in the stomach + strange feeling of doom/anxiety/loss of control of time perception???
• diarrhoea
• after a week, i started to get blood in my stool
these r what i remember, there might have been more. i never took my body temperature (had no thermometer) i think the worst of the symptoms lasted for around 4 days (excessive sleeping, hallucination, mental dissociation/ delirium). i got tired very quickly for the next 6-7 days, and the diarrhoea + blood in stool seemed the worst around 6 days after first having symptoms (but this cld be just cus i was able to be aware of them by then). the symptoms gradually went away by themselves by ~12 days.
the fast movement experience remained with me for a good while afterwards, like 4 or 5 months. same with the hypnopompic hallucinations - never to the same extent, but i would often wake up and continue seeing my dream. eg faces on the walls, figures in piles of clothes. it gradually subsided but i still experience it sometimes (rarely tho).

Hi everyone!
This sub was really helpful for me when I was learning about my diagnosis and researching what the simple hysterectomy recovery would be like. So, I thought I'd share my experience so that someone in the same situation might benefit.
TLDR: Low pain, quick recovery, highly recommend. Skip to the numbered lists for shopping lists.
I am 37 years old. I was diagnosed with adenocarcinoma in situ on my cervix in October of 2023. I had a cold knife cone biopsy on my cervix in December of 2023, and the simple hysterectomy with bilateral salpingectomy on February 6, 2024. This procedure was a robot-assisted laparoscopy. It was my second robot-assisted surgery; I'd had an unrelated cholecystectomy (gallbladder removal) in May of 2023.
My recovery from the cholecystectomy was extremely quick, with very low pain, so that was what I was expecting with the simple hysterectomy. I was right! But I'll get there.
I'll start with the cold knife cone. I was told this would be a really simple, pretty much pain-free procedure. My oncologist told me to expect 1-3 days of pain that resembled period cramps. I went under general anesthesia for this. I had mild cramping the first 24 hours after the procedure. I also had bleeding. My doc told me some bleeding was normal, but the amount I was having did not seem normal.
I went back to my oncologist about a week after the cold knife cone, and she applied silver nitrate to my cervix. This slowed the bleeding temporarily. But two days after Christmas, I ended up in the ER with VERY heavy bleeding, enough that I was lightheaded and could not stand. Turns out, there was a knicked artery. The ER docs were sure I'd need emergency surgery, but they ended up stopping the bleeding by just packing my vagina with gauze, waiting several hours, and then applying Monsel's solution to the artery. I spent 8 hours in the ER, but I was thankful to not need emergency surgery.
I wish that had been the end of it. Unfortunately, another area of my cervix started bleeding heavily, so back to the hospital I went. This was a few days later, so all my normal docs were back from holiday leave, and I didn't have to go to the ER. They ended up using a combination of Monsel's solution, and an actual gauze "bandage" that I passed after a few days. This is what finally stopped the bleeding for good.
Onto the hysterectomy. I came to this sub to get some ideas of products that would help my recovery. I bought a bunch of stuff, some more useful than others. Here's what I ended up finding really valuable, and what I'd recommend to people having this procedure:

1. The absolute GOAT of my recovery: A large, weighted heating pad. Holy moly I cannot recommend this enough. I actually already had it, but it was huge, HUGE in my pain management routine. I used it day and night. I have the Pure Enrichment WeightedWarmth Weighted Body Pad with Heat (6 lbs). Worth every penny and more.
2. A weighted sleep mask. I had one that came with my 15 lb weighted blanket that I'd never used before. Turns out, it was instrumental in helping me sleep on my back.
3. An elastic belly binder from Amazon. This went a long way in managing pain for the first week. I wore it day and night for the first 7 or so days.
4. A couple long, long sleeve 100% cotton flannel nightgowns. Very comfy. However, I hate looking like a slob, even if I'm recovering from surgery, so I only wore these for the first couple days after surgery.
5. Some loose rayon pants with a drawstring from the thrift store. Comfy, more stylish than a nightgown, and can be worn low on the hips by adjusting the drawstring.
6. A seatbelt pillow from Amazon. Very useful for the drive home from the hospital, and for my 2 week follow up.
7. Fiber One cereal. I already eat this everyday, but I kept up the routine to avoid any constipation.
8. A cute as hell cotton throw blanket from Baggu. If I'm going to be couch-bound, I wanna feel cute.

Here's what I bought that I didn't end up needing:

1. A large ice pack. I never craved cold, just the heating pad.
2. A body pillow. Never used it once. I thought I'd need it when I started trying to sleep on my side, but a normal sized pillow worked better.
3. Witch hazel hemorrhoid pads. I did not experience any constipation!
4. GasX. Didn't help the bloating.
5. Azo. Didn't help the catheter discomfort.
6. Regular laxative. I took one dose, but didn't really need it, as I didn't experience any constipation.
7. Cough drops. The ibuprofen I was taking ended up giving me terrible acid reflux. Cough drops didn't help at all, nor did Tums. Quitting the ibuprofen made the reflux go away almost instantly.

Here's stuff that I commonly see recommended that I didn't buy and didn't miss:

1. Any kind of special underwear. No idea why I would have needed this. I just wore the bikini underwear from Target that I already had.
2. A shower seat. At no point was I unable to shower standing up.
3. A reading pillow.
4. Maternity pillow.
5. Stool softeners. I've had a bunch of surgeries and this is always what they recommend you take. They are BS. Skip stool softeners and just get regular laxatives.

Onto my experience.
My oncologist told me the typical recovery time was 6 weeks. After a lot of hemming and hawing, I ended up taking 4 weeks of leave from my job. I combined FMLA and short-term disability (STD) for this. My STD plan paid out 60% of my paycheck for the duration of my leave. I could have chosen to take a small amount of PTO to make up the rest of my paycheck, but I decided not to. I like to travel, and I'll be damned if I'm wasting PTO on surgery. I make a very good salary, and am financially stable enough to have made this decision.
I decided on 4 weeks because, other than the adenocarcinoma in situ, I am a very healthy person, and I figured I would have a quick recovery. I am thin, I'm a runner, VERY physically active, eat a plant-based vegetarian diet, on no medications, with no other health concerns other than migraines.
I could have gotten away with only taking 3 weeks, but I'm glad I took 4. I felt fully recovered when I went back to work.
I checked in for my surgery at 5 am. This was my fifth surgery in as many years (other than my gallbladder, the rest were musculo-skeletal related to sports injuries) and this was the first time ever my partner wasn't able to accompany me back to the surgery prep area. I was shocked, and immediately burst into tears.
Being alone in the prep area was by far the worst part of the experience. It was lonely and boring. Thankfully, he and I texted nonstop the whole time.
TIP: The worst part of surgery for me is getting the IV port. You can request a numbing agent! I had a numbing agent for the cold knife cone IV, but they didn't offer it this time and I didn't think to request it until it was too late.
The surgery went off without a hitch, no complications. However, I had a bit of a rough time in post-OR recovery. My bladder hurt like hell from the catheter. It was a super uncomfortable combination of pain and feeling like I needed to pee, which I didn't actually, but the feeling was there. I requested the max amount of pain killers they could give me, which they did, no questions asked. I spent more time in OR recovery than I usually do.
When I finally asked to be discharged, I wasn't feeling super great, but I just had to get out of there. For the first time EVER, I was experiencing post-surgery nausea. Usually after surgery I can't wait to eat something, but not this time.
NOTE: You will probably be given a scopolamine patch to alleviate the nausea. I am allergic to scopolamine (it gives me hallucinations) so I didn't have one.
I never actually threw up. Once I was in my partner's car, I cranked up the AC and rolled down the windows. It was around freezing outside, and the blast of cold air alleviated the nausea. However, I wasn't able to eat more than an a couple applesauce cups that evening.
I felt completely fine when I woke up the next morning. I wasn't supposed to shower until 24 hours past my surgery, but I couldn't stand the gross hospital feeling, so I showered right away with no problem at all. My 5 incisions were closed with medical adhesive. They looked gnarly as hell, but didn't really hurt.
I was given 1 day's worth of opioid painkillers. That was really all I needed. After that, I alternated between ibuprofen and tylenol every 4 hours. I had very little pain from the incisions themselves.
95% of the pain came from the gas bloating. During robot-assisted surgery, they fill you with carbon dioxide gas to give the robot room to work. You gradually pass that gas over the next couple weeks. I was prepared for this from my gallbladder surgery, but it was still super uncomfortable and straight up painful the first few days.
Having said that, I'd rate the overall pain from this surgery as low. A couple years ago I had a major ankle surgery. That pain was a full on 10. Comparatively, this was like scraping my knee.
I was mostly on the couch for my first week. I was able to get up and walk around with minimal pain, but rest is what my body needed. I had my live-in partner helping me with stuff, and also my brother came to stay with us for a few days to help out.
Sleeping was a bit of an issue. For the first week, I could only sleep on my back. I'm not used to sleeping on my back, and by day 3 my upper back and neck hurt like HELL. The pain from sleeping on my back was so much worse than the surgery itself. Sleeping upright didn't really help, so I just powered through it. A weighted sleep mask helped a lot. I think I would have been more comfortable if I'd stuck a pillow beneath my knees, but my dumb ass didn't think about this until after the fact.
For the first week post-surgery, my abdominal binder was a godsend. It really helped out in pain management. I wore it day and night, I had no issues sleeping with it, I just loosened it ever so slightly.
Around a week after surgery, I started getting BAD acid reflux. It turns out it was the ibuprofen. I immediately stopped taking it and only took tylenol. This was completely adequate for pain management, and the reflux quickly went away.
Exactly one week after surgery, I went on a walk around the neighborhood by myself. It was glorious. After being cooped up inside all week, I nearly wept at how beautiful the world was. I wasn't in pain, and only walked for 30 minutes. I thought I could have kept going, but I decided to play it safe. I went on 30+ minute walks every day for the rest of my recovery.
I had enough of sleeping on my back after week 1. I wasn't really ready to sleep on my side when I first started trying, but I couldn't take sleeping on my back anymore. I used a normal size pillow to kind of tuck under my stomach and lean against while sleeping. It was slightly uncomfortable for the first couple nights of this, but I started needing the pillow less and less, and by the end of week 2 I was comfortably sleeping on my side every night.
2 weeks post-surgery I had my follow up with my oncologist. She was really pleased with my progress. I felt good enough that I wanted clearance to exercise. She was ready to clear me to run, but my partner, who is very wise, told the both of us no. He knew I would push myself too hard. My oncologist ended up clearing me to do spin classes and light cardio, but nothing involving weight lifting or any kind of abdominal exercises. No pilates, no yoga, etc. I was pleased with that, and started doing very short spin classes almost everyday. I own a spin bike and was able to do this at home.
The rest of my recovery was a breeze. I stopped taking any kind of pain meds after 2 weeks. In the 3-4 week range, I picked off the medical adhesive on my incisions while in the shower.
At the 4 week mark, I could wear jeans for short amounts of time. I was still slightly bloated from the robot gas, though, and mostly wore my rayon pants.
It took 5 full weeks for the uncomfortable sensation from the catheter to fully go away. During that time, it felt like I had a UTI. I didn't, they checked me for it at my 2 week follow up, but it definitely felt that way.
At my 6 week follow up, I was fully cleared to do any kind of physical activity I wanted, including weightlifting, and cleared to have penetrative sex. My lab work came back completely clear, and I was cancer free. I'm now in the process of getting the HPV vaccine, and I'll need to have pap smears every year for the first 3 years, and then I can go back to once every 3 years. There's a small chance the cancer could return to my vagina. If that happens, it will be very complicated. I feel optimistic that it won't happen.
I've read that many people have unexpected complications post hysterectomy, like constipation. I had the opposite experience. Not only was I never constipated post-surgery, but now that I'm fully recovered, I've never been more regular! Despite a clean vegetarian diet, I've always been prone to constipation. That seems to have gone away entirely.
Sex has been a wee bit painful. I'm still a bit tender, and I'm sore for the first few minutes. But, it goes away, and I've been able to have very enjoyable sex, especially now that I never again have to worry about pregnancy. Throwing away my birth control was a huge moment for me.
Which brings me to this. I am childfree. Having this hysterectomy was not a difficult decision for me. Before all this, I'd been interested in having a tubal ligation. A hysterectomy is so much more final and reliable, though! So not having a uterus has been super awesome for me. No more periods! No more worry about pregnancy! It's so freeing! However, I can understand that others might have a hard time making this decision.
Thanks for staying with me for this long post. I spent a lot of time worrying about this when I was preparing for my surgery. I hope my experience can help others.
Oh, one more thing. Here's what it cost me after insurance:
Cold knife cone biopsy: $1,000 ER visit: $235 Hysterectomy: $5000 Anesthesia for hysterectomy: $500
This was BY FAR the most expensive surgery I've ever had. I'd never paid more than $1500 total for a surgery. Fuck American healthcare.

James woke up as his fiancé was climbing into bed beside him. He didn’t sleep much and was resigned to not getting that last half hour of rest. He gave no indication to her that he was awake, instead waiting for her to drift off before beginning his preparations. Talking to her was always hard before a night shift, it was easier this way.
The cold shower washed away any tiredness his uneasy slumber brought and after stepping out of the shower he meticulously shaved and brushed and groomed until no hair was out of place. James hated this rule for the night guards, it stretched out the time before night shifts and gave him time to think, and worry. Nonetheless, all night watchmen must look immaculate, and James made sure this was the case. This golden rule included not having any distinct scent whatsoever, it may offend the visitors; No cologne, no scented shower gel and only prescription perfume-free deodorant. While he knew some of the guests to be more lenient in this matter, he didn’t take the chance.
Walking into the bedroom, he took out the black garment bag hanging in the corner of the closet and quietly laid it out on his side of the bed. The night watchmen uniform comprised of a white shirt, a black tie, polished black dress shoes and black suit pants; All ironed, starched, meticulous. These were made specially for the guards, flexible and easy to run in. James regarded the uniform in the mirror, he was dressed more like an undertaker than a security guard. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He gave himself a once over. Not a hair out of place.
James walked over to his sleeping fiancé and planted a kiss on her cheek. He found himself lingering there, taking in every detail of her face. Anything could happen on the night shift. He needed to savour this moment.
When it was time, James reached under the bed and picked up a worn brown leather briefcase. A brass plate was fixed to its face reading, “Night Watchman PPE – Property of James Nolan”. He wondered how many times that plate had been replaced.
That night was a good one. The biting winds of late autumn had yet to come rolling in, leaving the air comfortably cool. James strode towards his old death trap of a car, dead leaves crunching beneath his feet. He made a mental note to look into buying a replacement, something new that he wouldn’t be embarrassed driving, no loan needed. At least the night shift granted him that luxury.
The drive to the Old Library was a serene cruise down empty roads. The artificial stars of streetlamps shone before a black cloudless sky and flickered past the rolled down windows. It was cold, yes, but at least this way James could make sure he didn’t sweat in his tin box of a car; It was hard not to sweat before a night shift.
Was a march to the gallows ever this beautiful? No get your shit together James.
All throughout his ritualistic preparations James had let these thoughts slip through his experience hardened façade. But thinking like this didn’t help one bit working in the library, and he had a job to do.
As he pulled into the campus grounds his training subdued this fear and his mind was once again focused on the task at hand. Finding a parking space with relative ease, James pushed the handbrake and stepped out of the car, retrieving the briefcase from the back seat. And there it stood at the centre of the college grounds, far older than the stained concrete building that surrounded it. A long gothic behemoth made of artistically carved stone and aged wood; The Old Library stood returning James’ stare.
He could see the warm glow of the lights in the main hall and surrounding rooms. Good. He wasn’t the first one in.
Assuming the rest of the boys were already at there stations, he entered the library from an unassuming door that led to the tunnels underneath the library, tunnels not even the long tenured professors at the university knew about.
The night managers office was the first door seen when entering the tunnels. Pushing the slightly askew door aside, James entered the office, eager to just get to his patrol and get the night over with. Thick-spined books and bizarre relics from God knows when and God knows where decorated the large bookshelves flanking the night managers desk. The desk itself was a large ornate mahogany structure with a large plaque at the front depicting a hand clasping a small leaf-shaped sword. The entire plaque seemed to be gold plated, barring the hand which possessed a gleam of polished silver.
Behind the desk hung a washed out and frayed tapestry. The scene portrayed in those threads was a truce of sorts. On one side, a line of men knelt, all clad in bloodstained cloaks and dented helmets with their swords in the scabbards planted firmly in the ground. On the other side knelt a line of exotic beings, all strangely beautiful yet equally terrifying. In the centre stood two figures. A man and a god. God was the only word James could think of to aptly describe it, not a god in any modern sense of the word but a god, nonetheless. A god that has been long since forgotten and stripped of any name, title or sacrality. The man, dressed similarly to the supplicants behind him held a short golden sword pointing downwards with one hand, the sword seemingly bursting with light. His other hand was an intricate silver gauntlet, blending seamlessly with the regular skin of his upper arm and shoulder, and was grasping the forearm of the god, who in return wrapped its twisted bark hand around the man’s silver arm.
James shook off thoughts of ancient fairytales and folk legends, recomposing himself and looking down at the open leather-bound ledger on top of the desk. The rest of the boys had already signed their names in the book so James quickly marked his signature down along with the time and date, and left it open on the same page for the night manager who should be arriving at around 6am for debriefing.
James hadn’t notice that the other guards’ signatures were all written in the same heavy scrawl.
In the empty locker room, James opened his briefcase and lifted out a medallion connected to a polished silver chain. The medallion itself was a smaller version of the insignia decorating the night manager’s desk but still possessed an impressive weight. He then pulled out a thick leather holster belt containing a custom revolver with unusually thick bullets and strapped it around his waist.
Wanting to get the night over with, James moved to the Great Hall where he would begin his patrol route. Things were quiet tonight. While the guests were typically shy and did everything they could to not be seen by others, they tended to make an exception for the night guards. However tonight, there was no one in sight. James regarded this as strange, but not dangerously strange.
After standing on sentry at the entrance of the hall for half an hour, he began to walk slowly through the alcoves created by the grand bookshelves. At the end of one of these nooks, there lay a thick leather book opened beneath a reading lamp. The book was bound in a repulsively dry and thin leather, dotted with blemishes and imperfections. James glanced at the wood print illustrations on the opened page. A collage of twisted bodies, all marked with a symbol composed of sharp triangular runes surrounding a jagged spiral. The pained faces emerging from this torturous orgy all faced up, screaming at a dark shapeless figure perched at the top of the page. With a queasy stomach, James closed the book, allowing him to rid his mind of the disturbing drawing and to continue with his patrol.
Halfway through his inspection of the main hall, James felt a slight paranoia. Unlike his general uneasiness of the night shift, this feeling was more present, directed. As if something in this room put him in immediate danger. Goosebumps formed on the back of his neck, and he could feel, no, he knew he was being watched.
Reluctantly he glanced over his shoulder and saw that the lights in the entrance corridor to the main hall were off. The lights in the old library were always kept on. Always.
Squinting at the dark entrance he understood that whatever was watching him was waiting just beyond that threshold. James turned his head and continued with his route. This wasn’t something to investigate. On top of that, guards were not supposed to deviate from their route and add unnecessary risk. Anything can happen on the night shift.
Continuing his route, at an albeit faster pace, James neared the exit of the Great Hall. Then he heard a click breaking the maddening silence. He spun his head around and saw that the first light in the hall had been switched off. Then the second. James ran.
Once he reached the end of the hall the final light had went out. A coarse, rattled breath emanated from the darkness, almost touching James’ neck. A stench violated his nostrils, of what once might have been decay, now dry and dusty.
Determined to get as far away from the unknown threat as possible, James exited the hall and sprinted to a sign that bore the same insignia as the medallion around his neck. Turning the sword upwards on the sign, James pushed at the wall, and once he had just enough space to squeeze through, he shut the hidden doorway behind him.
James breathed heavily as he scanned the small closet sized room, composing himself and planning his next port of call. While not being outwardly impressive, the room was a beacon of safety for any night guard unfortunate enough to be in an emergency. On the left wall hung a large first-aid kit, on the right was an array of buttons, red caged lights, and large speakers, all with labels indicating which safe room they were wired to. Here James could catch his breath and contact the other watchmen on patrol tonight.
James began to systematically call each safe room. Pressing down hard on each brass button, James spoke.
‘SOS. This is night guard James Nolan; I am being pursued by a visitor.”
After relaying the message through each speaker, James sat down on the stool in the corner of the room and waited. Silence.
James sent the emergency call again.
Silence.
James racked his brain trying to think of any possible reason as to why he wasn’t getting an answer.
The night guards are here aren’t they? They signed their names in the ledger.
James recalled how easy it was to get a parking space. How he hadn’t ran into any of his colleagues in the locker room. How there were none of the usual visitors during his short-lived patrol of the library. How no matter what he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off with the night shift this time around. The hairs out of place.
Nobody’s here.
As this thought was circling through his head, the light on the far-left side came to life and the speaker let out a loud buzz. But no voice followed. Once that column deactivated, the second proceeded to go through the same act, then the third, and fourth, until all lines of communication activated and deactivated. Once all were quiet once more, a knock rattled the hidden doorway. The knock persisted and grew louder. Suddenly the entire array of speakers came to life, emitting a deafening screech, with all of the lights basking the room in their red glow. Whatever had been knocking was now slamming hard on the door, shaking the entire room, almost knocking James off his stool.
With no time left to think, James unclipped the pistol from his hip and fired into the door. The smell of ozone wafted through the room and James blinked hard, attempting to clear the white neon after image the bullets left on his eyes. The slamming had stopped.
Using what little time he thought the shots had given him, James shouldered through the door, sprinting down the dark corridor, beelining towards the tunnels underneath the library. They were too well protected. Even though the tunnels were off limits to visitors they couldn’t enter if they tried.
Skipping down the service stairwell multiple steps at a time, James could sense his pursuer was getting further out of reach. That feeling of unseen eyes piercing through him had dissipated, the lights in the dingy stairwell were still on, and he couldn’t hear that rattled haunting breathing behind him. Slowing down to a jog, he reached the entrance to the tunnels, a metal doorway surrounded by gilded symbols and ruins he never had the patience to learn the true meaning of. After the events of tonight he would learn. He would comb through whatever knowledge the library had at its disposal, if not for his own safety, then for his fiancé, and his duty to the library.
With a movement well-rehearsed by now, James turned the sword upwards on the insignia fixed to the tunnel door and stepped through, fixing it shut behind him. He walked down the concrete tunnel with shaking steps. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and tonight’s trauma was deflating James. The short breaths that were the precursors to uncontrollable sobbing began to escape James’ mouth just as he was about to reach the night manager’s office. But before he could break down, he noticed it. That smell. The smell of moth-eaten fabric and ancient rot.
He turned his head, and there it was, standing at the end of the tunnel.
It stared at James with hollow eye sockets stuffed with brown cloth. Its withered body was encased in desiccated skin, blackened by millenniums of soil and darkness. James could see areas where its failing skin gave way, revealing frayed fibrous muscle and chipped bone. A rats-tail of withered copper hair fell over one of its shoulders. On the other lay a thin cord of dark rope, looping around its neck in a flimsy noose.
James felt a sharp pain in his chest. He looked down to see blood beginning to soak his white shirt, slowly forming a crooked spiral. James’ last thoughts were of how stupid he had been to not notice what was wrong with tonight before it was too late.
After that night there was a new opening for night watchman at the old library.

Hello!
I'm trying to fix these adjustable height chairs that have loose bolts all over because the metal they are made of is thin and the rod is hollow so the threading has mostly stripped out (photo/video in link).
https://photos.app.goo.gl/9sJL9te5kJE5JWhp6
For the hollow metal to metal joints I tried the helicoil approach someone suggested in the group but it was not stable enough. I found a better solution with internally threaded metal plugs/sockets 13mm length with a lip. I enlarged the holes to 5/8" with a metal drill bit and hammered in the plugs. I didn't bother with a threading bill because the threading doesn't stay.
For the circle and square (I dunno what the vocabulary is) I used the 5/8" drill bit to make a corresponding hole and got longer screws and covered nuts to stabilze the joints.
However, I can't find a local hardware store to figure out my bar stool rod size in order to purchase the matching nuts to add above and below the stripped socket of the bottom part of the chair.
Anyway experienced with Amce threading who can help me identify the nut I need? It looks to me like the rod is between 3/4 and 7/8" imperial diameter which is throwing me off. It's pretty perfectly 2cm though, so is it metric and therefore a trapezoidal screw thread not Acme? It seems to have 6 ridges per 1" length of rod. I cannot find a chart of metric diameters like the imperial one below:
https://www.roton.com/products/acme-lead-screws-nuts/engineering-data/
I don't have any knowledge or experience with machining or welding so I am doing my best to figure how to fix something instead of buying new stuff which will inevitably have the same issue.
Thanks in advance!

Today i discovered a small painful pea sized lump just outside of my anus. I have contacted a GP and I’m convinced it’s piles. My symptoms include:
Blood while going to the loo Blood flow out of my anus Some pain while going to the loo Mucus in my poo/stool Some pain in my stomach and nausea
I just wanted to sound off and see if anyone also thinks this sounds like piles?