We’d been matching socks all day. Both Master Pravus and I have a bit of a sock fetish. This has lead to the accumulation of socks to the point in which we have a basket of unmatched socks that I can actually fit in. I mean, I have to sit in it, but I can do it! I typically will fold and match socks while Master Pravus is doing the heavy lifting before tubbie time every day, but also sporadically throughout the day. It’s a constant battle especially with several costume changes a day for work etc. You know. Well, every now and then Master Pravus decides we’re going to just get them all done at once and completely empty that basket. Time to get to the bottom! He’ll lift it (which I just can’t do, it’s heavy as heck!) and dump it on the bed, and then we sort of take turns working on it. I do as much as I can, but I gotta take little breaks because I can’t stand as long as he can. And like I said: basket huge.
It was getting late though, and I don’t remember who shot first. But before I knew it, socks were flying and I was in Master Pravus strong arms, and then I was on top of him in a blur of very fake sounding “Oh no” silliness. Everything was kind of hazy, but he did grab my wrists and fold my arms in a sort of cross, safely moving me off of his tummy after a while, and onto my back. I have no idea how my bra got undone. (I honestly? How does he ever do that? How does he? How?) And before I knew it he was smacking and hitting me and.. Just some fingering and such. As you do. On a pile of socks. (Are you giggling? I was kind of giggling about it, that and the endorphins from being smacked around always make me giggle a little.) I came pretty hard, started screaming. The screams turned into tears. This is becoming a habit lately of mine. I can’t even.
“It doesn’t matter why, Kitty. Master is here.”
“But why do I always cry-cum lately? It’s. It wasn’t our hardest..”
“Master is here.”
He held my hand. He told me there’s probably just something inside we have to knock loose still. Something that’s trying to get out. He’s probably right. I have always ascribed to the belief that the dungeon is there to make us stronger for our real lives. It’s there to toughen you up, to help you be braver. Maybe there’s some more tears I need to cry out and once they’re gone I’ll be able to handle more things without crying again. I guess it’s not such a big deal. Crying is ok. Crying happens. Crying is maybe just a part of the process. The socks? I can’t explain those at all, but I like them a lot. ::Giggle::