Friday, April 1, 2011


Standing idly chatting to a customer, in between selling her useful item, it came to one’s attention that she was peering at one in a rather disconcerting manner... well for someone who was wearing rather spiffy glasses and with no other obvious impediments. In the end, after one last uneasy shuffle, she asks is that a collar? Yes it is. As in a real collar... as in collared she enquired, looking sharply focused for the first time in the last ten minutes.  Yes it is. Oh... she seems a little non-plussed. But doesn’t it worry you? Not really. The odd customer recognises it for what it is... like you... everyone else just likes it or ignores it.

Now getting busted at work is a semi-regular event. Seriously the area has more kinky people in per capita than any other town round here. It must do judging by the “like minded” folk one finds at work. Though it would be fairer to say they find one small slave. It would also be fairer to say some of them are more memorable than others.

Like the woman ... obviously a domme judging by the sharp look one’s reply elicited...who enquired if one was aware the collar had significance in certain circles. Really, one deadpanned in the most sardonic tone one could muster. Which is when one got the look... it was the tone wasn’t it... bad slave L

And then there is the personal favourite, who upon spying the collar asked politely if it was indeed a collar. Upon having his suspicions confirmed, he proceeded to launch into an exhaustive list of people one might know. Mistress Soandso, Master Whoseitwhatsit, slave suchit... the man got around.

In both cases the people in question decided to launch the interrogation at the checkout with enormous queues, which is why one was temporarily manning a cash register. Please people for the love of all things private, if you find one of your own kind, a busy checkout is not the place to have these types of conversations. Peoples standing in them are bored and listening. Besides it makes the checkout chick surly.


Dina said...

I, too, had been "figured out" a few times, though it had nothing to do with what I had on me at the time. I suppose because of me being a Domme--there was much more reluctance to continue "pressing" me for details.

What bemuses me, though, is what these people think is supposed to be happening, once they've asked their question of "Are you...?" and got a positive reply. Are you supposed to act like two foreigners having a chance meeting in a remote location and realizing that you two went to the same school "at home", regardless of you being a generation apart? What is supposed to happen in the moment of after? I haven't the foggiest. I mean, you are still perfect strangers to one another.

Master's piece said...

Yeah, and at least one of us is reluctant to go further. The trouble with the people one meets is that they are BDSM sceners and we have very little in common as a base point. Hell one doesn't even have anything to wear to their events.