Shop 'Til You Drop (Dead)?

Over the weekend, Donna, our beloved senior correspondent, forwarded an article from the Sunday Times that I had overlooked: Sex Toys in the Attack. The gist of this cleverly written piece is that us aging baby boomers are likely to have a stash of not suitable for our kids' viewing items tucked away around the house, that probably aren't getting as much use as they used to get. What happens when, on the occasion of our untimely (or even timely) demise, they are still there to be unearthed by those consigned with the burden of sorting through and disposing of our "estates"?

I can relate to this problem big time. Over the summer I spent many hours sorting through the accumulated detritus of my aging Mother. We had relocated her to a nice assisted living apartment. In her mind her "relocation" was akin to be shipped in a cattle car to a concentration camp. Under protest she had designated the things she wanted to move there, but that left behind a Condo crammed with what one can only refer to as junk - things she had been unwilling to toss away though she'd not used them for 20 or more years.  I did come upon some things that were decidedly creepy in  her dressers and closets - though only one could be marginally considered a sex toy, an ancient,  over-sized vibrator that I would like to think had something to do with her bad back.

But what if our kids had to go through the drawers and closets of the UCTMW World HQ? Presumably there would be no reason for them to find and sort through this blog, and its 4 year plus  documentation of their parents' peculiarities and misadventures. But there is a whole lot of incriminating evidence stuffed here and there in dresser drawers, bedside tables, and little wicker hampers in our closet:  cuffs, canes, collars, crops, clamps, crystal cock.

And that only covers one letter of the kinky alphabet.

I've been on a bit of a "down sizing" tear here since having to deal with all my Mother's crap. We hope to move ourselves into a smaller place come spring and it just won't all fit. But the thought of our cute Co-Eds, or my somewhat prissy and judgmental oldest daughter  finding Mistress's strap on harness makes me a little squeamish.

I suppose I'll be dead under those circumstances.  But, as the author suggests in that article, what if our sense of shame lasts for 30 days after our body goes cold?

Some of the most embarrassing items that could be unearthed are my cock cages, stuck on my sock drawer at this very moment. Could I be any more obvious?

"Gee....wonder what Dad used this for?"

And I seem to be adding to my collection. Like shoes, one cock cage can't be used for every occasion, can it?  With Suzanne's encouragement many of you chimed in with some suggestions over the weekend. Setting aside piercings, which Mistress thankfully vetoed,  the selection seems to have expanded exponentially since the last time I was on the market.  Better yet, the discounters have gotten involved, making products available at lower price points! The miracle of free markets has done its destructive work in earnest.

Now the folks at Amazon.com, determined to dominate in every conceivable market - why don't the Iranians get their nukes there? - have wedged their jack boots into the realhm of male chastity devices of various materials and configurations. Could it be long before you can pick them up at WalMart with your flat screen TV and cat litter?

The ones that really creaped me out involved steel needle like devices crammed down the tip of your cock.

 WTF! How could that be safe, and what strange kink does that appeal to?  It would seem like a cock on a spit ready to be roasted. Maybe we should get the WC to try one of these out and give it a consumer product review for these pages. He's been pretty unproductive lately.

There are now "woodies" to make sure a good Slave doesn't get one:

Maybe these are popular in Holland, as an accessory for wooden shoes, but  would seem a little clunky, and unsanitary too. The plastic ones are hard enough to keep clean.

There were a few steel models I may try out that have hinged rings to deal with that schmushing problem on cold mornings I've encountered:

That one also looks like it might be easier to take a pee in, something that needs to be considered.


But I settled at least initially for the good old CB6000, the Ford Fiesta of the product line. Cheap. Nothing flashy. May be dead at 40,000 miles, but gets the job done for that trip to the office, the Court House, or flight to Atlanta, as long as you use the plastic locks:

While this might eliminate some of Slave's lame excuses, it doesn't solve the problem of who gets to dispose of this stuff in the event Mistress and Slave get buried under an avalanche this ski season, leaving behind a house full of incriminating evidence of Mom and Dad's "sick" side. Any suggestions on how to solve that problem?