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We have been SO busy lately. There is a lot going on, and pretty much every weekend for a month has been lost to family engagements or other things like that. So it was wonderful to take the day off during the work week and have a celebration, just us two.
It's funny, because I took the time to write the last post on the blog in the morning, between housework and the work I couldn't escape, even on a day off. I knew what your big surprise was because you told me more than a month ago when you bought the tickets, and I had booked the room at our favorite hotel downtown. But you had one more surprise for me; a pretty big one. You handed me an envelope in the morning before you went to work (you worked a half day) and had me put $40 inside. It said something along the lines of "Dear (xxxx), here is the fee we discussed. Please take good care of my husband. He will do what you tell him." It was right there in my laptop bag as I packed up all our toys (more on them later) and a variety of pretty things for you to wear to bed, as well as all of the tools you would need to immobilize me. I looked at it and chuckled at least a half dozen times in the morning.
Every time we talked, you kept saying making that 2:20 appointment was the only really important thing we couldn't miss that day. I packed the car and had a light lunch (I knew better than to eat too much when you told me to pack ALL your dildos). Even driving in, you reiterated how vital it was I not be late. We ended up meeting and taking one car into the city, and you took me straight to my appointment without checking into the hotel.
I have to tell you, I thought it was a pedicure. I really did. I know I've told you a bunch of times that I wanted one, and before anyone judges me, it's basically someone cleaning, scraping, and rubbing your feet for a half hour before they trim your toenails. It's pretty amazing. This thought was further reinforced by my budget. I was thinking maybe a small tattoo, until you told me the timeline and price. You had given me the address, but told me not to look it up.
Then I thought that a pedicure was too tame. As we got closer and fought traffic I started to think a pedicure was too tame. You are feeling out your new power, testing the limits of your control over me (here's a hint, there's really no limit) and a pedicure doesn't fit with that idea. I flipped back to tattoo, dismissed it as impossible again, and finally settled on Brazilian Wax. I could see you telling her to leave your initials in my pubic hair and nothing else. Plus I know that it hurts. A lot.
So that's what I settled on, without much conviction, when you dropped me off. I waved as you drove off to park and wait for me to be done, and turned around to look where I was.
A tattoo parlor.
Fooled again. I went inside and the place smelled more like weed than Jeff Spicoli's room. There was an artist working on a guy's shoulder as his friend watched, and a lot of great art on the walls. I asked for the person on the envelope, and they told me I had about ten minutes. I sat up front, and sent you pictures of the place, including the massive earrings (half hoops really) in the display case. And I wondered where you were going to have them put your mark on me. I figured I was about to get a nice set of your initials on my ass, or maybe even my balls. The pain is immaterial, really. It's just temporary.
I had to go to the bathroom, and the artist with the needle in his hand directed me all the way to the back of the shop, and to the right. I made my way, looking at framed prints and original paintings as I went. I found the bathroom, did my business, and came out. And there she was, Audrey Hepburn, herself. Now I love Breakfast at Tiffany's, for Audrey's sake, but also because Hannibal Smith was her beau. Oh, and that awesomely bad song from the 90s. Any way you shake it, I love it, so I snapped a pic, and sent it to you.
On my way back out, I almost ran into someone, newly arrived. It was the person you addressed the envelope to! We chatted for a bit, and I could tell she was really interested in the situation. I handed her the envelope and just said that my wife told you what she wanted, so where do you want me.
She looked pretty bemused, and asked me if I knew what I was here for. I told her I wasn't, but time was tight, so I hope the tattoo was small.
"Oh, honey, I don't do tattoos, I do the piercings."
Whatever reaction she expected, it wasn't what she got. I think I did a pretty good job of hiding how aroused I was by the situation, and just calmly sat in her chair and asked what she was going to pierce.
"You don't know?" again, incredulous.
I reassured her that whatever you told her was just fine. When she told me she was going to pierce my nipple, I quashed a squirming sense of arousal, and just smiled and took off my shirt.
"Which one?" was all I said.
I had one pierced before, and she said she was supposed to pierce the other one.
And so she did. Ten minutes later, the momentary pain replaced by a warm throbbing sensation in my right nipple, I walked out of the parlor, and saw you waving at me down the street. It was the perfect gift, and a great surprise. You already spent a lot of time caressing, pinching, or using your crop on my nipples, but now there was an added attraction. Good thing I left those bandages on, to keep you from succumbing to your desires to lick and suck at the raw piercing. We somehow managed to give it the protection it needed to heal, although your hands still go to it, as if unbidden. It's an intense feeling, enhancing my already sensitive nipples. Just a wonderful gift that keeps on giving, babe.
Next up, Part 2, or how we left the game early to get busy, and how whiskey can be a great, if somewhat painful, enhancement to your mood.
