Perfection

You know those beautiful summer nights. Where the sky is a gorgeous shade of persian blue, no clouds around to muck it all up. Perfectly clear, perfectly clean, perfectly blue. Nothing but the glint of far off stars in perfect white sparkles.

A cool breeze blows the heat of the day away, ruffling the leaves of the trees around you. Sounding every bit like a sigh of relief, as if the trees, too, are grateful for the breeze cooling their limbs.

Across the way, the moon, full and fat, and brilliantly white, peeks just over the top of a cluster of trees. A full moon, illuminating the blue of the darkened sky. As it crests the tops of the trees, it throws a shimmering spear of light on the water, straight at you. No matter which direction you move, that shimmering arrow follows, as if the moon were pointing you out, spotlighting you, waiting for you to dance and sing and otherwise entertain the night life.

I felt like singing and dancing. Standing there, with the love of my life beside me, taking in the beautiful splendor of the world around me. Wondering what I had done to deserve such intense joy, such beauty in my life. And thinking that Karma deserves a big, ol’ kiss.

That’s about when Karma “kissed” me back. I think that Karma can be a right mean old bitch, especially when one (me) gets a little too cocky in the world. There I was, gazing out across the river, and just beginning to think that I deserved such amazing things. When something jumped up and bit me on the back of the thigh.

Hard.

Yelping loudly, I spun around, only to encounter Master standing there, wearing that open-mouthed “Uh oh” look, and holding up His fishing pole. The other end of the pole? The “business end”?

Was in my leg.

Silently extracting the hook from my leg (ow!), I calmly and politely handed it back to Him. He then had the nerve to ask me if I *liked* it.

Um. Not so much.

Tonight Karma was in the shape of a big fish who snagged Master’s line, yanked it back like a slingshot, and shot me damn near in the ass. I settled back into the business of enjoying the beautiful summer night.. without the cocky. ;)

(Well, I don’t know about karma but Master really did hook me. And the way His eyes lit up when He asked me if I liked it was downright scary. I see fish hooks in my future and not because some evil fish spit it at me.)

(Also, Master bought me an mp3 player. w00t! No more talking to the dog. No more people thinking I’m talking to the cracks on the sidewalk. No more talking to the cracks on the sidewalk! Now to load her up with some walking music. Suggestions for music to exercise by?)

~cunt

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Out and About

Wednesday evening we went to the store. To Shop-ko. It was late and so not very crowded, but I was extremely self-conscious about the collar. I made a point to watch people, to see if they were giving me those looks. You know the kind, the up and down, nose wrinkle, lean over to their friend and whisper type.

But they weren’t. There were a few second glances at my neck that I caught but no negative expression on that person’s face and nobody asked me about it.

I’m not the center of the universe after all. ;)

So I was feeling very much better about it.

Yesterday’s trip to the doctor’s office (“raging infection”, she said. Doesn’t know how the last culture came up clean. Full 7 day course of antibiotics instead of the usual 3 days.) also involved other errands. Post Office, gas station, etc. I was pretty comfortable with the necklace, though still very very aware that it was there.

Am had gone with me and while we were sitting in the doc’s waiting room, I noticed that her bracelet, a black leather cuff with silver studs on it, would match what I was wearing more than what she was wearing.

“You should let me wear your bracelet. It matches me better.” I teased.

“You should give me that necklace. It would look better on me than on you.” she retorted.

“No way. It’s mine. Why would it look better on you anyway? Is your neck prettier than mine or something?”

“Because I’m 14 and I’m supposed to wear freaky stuff like that. You just look like a sex slave.”

Now, I’m hoping that she thinks the wide-eyed, jaw-dropped look of shock I gave her was because she’d said the words “sex slave”… and not because she nailed it dead on.

She reached around to the back of my neck on the pretense of taking the collar off. “How does it come off?” she asked, obviously not feeling any latch back there.

Do you know how hard it was to say that it requires a key? That it is indeed locked on. She returned the wide-eyed, jaw-dropped look right back at me. And I thought to myself oh here we go. this is it, she’s going to put all of these “clues” together and drop a bomb on me right here in the doctor’s office.

Her open-mouth snapped up into a pout. “I want one! That is so cool!”

“Yep. And the keys can be made into cute little earrings too.” Relief. Oh.My.God. I know it’s coming, but fuck me if I am not ready for it.

So how weird would it be if I did get her a matching necklace? Her necklace matches her mother’s sex slave collar. Lordie. I am so going to hell.

After that, we kind of teased back and forth about sex slaves and collars, but while I was in the store getting the ‘script filled, I was more self-conscious about the collar than I had been before (if that’s possible). If that’s what she thinks when she sees it, then surely anyone else is thinking the same thing!

But then I had to ask myself. So what? So what if all of Wal-mart looks at me and pegs me as a sex slave. Or as any kind of slave. I am, right?

Right.

But I have changed back to the necklace. I’m not ready to be “out there” with my parents. No, not that confident yet.

~cunt

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