A marked woman

A few days ago Florida Dom left a comment on a post and it has been rattling around in the brain ever since. See one does think about the comments you leave on here... and some of them are even real thoughts rather than general death wishes. Anyway the comment was about how one must be proud of the way He marked you and it got one thinking...

Why would one be proud of that? Should one even be proud? Is there some sort of deficiency in one small slave that one doesn't look at them and feel... well much of anything other than a mild inconvenience. Well they are to someone who potters around naked most of the time... and has His mother just down the hall way.

So why is there this general sense of meh about bruises? Could it be that on any given day one is covered in them? At the moment there is the remains of one on the shin, a new one just below the knee, one on the other calf, one on each forearm (big ones), one on the shoulder that hurts like a mother... think that one came from a weight bar during squats. In addition to that there is an assortment of little ones that look suspiciously like finger prints. The kind that emerge if legs aren't spread open fast enough... glares at a certain someone though no doubt He will deny any involvement. Yeah like one did those as some sort of self harm thing... not!

Now admittedly the broken blood vessels that create marks are a little different. They seem to be much harder to achieve... for some reason. But marks are marks. There is no sense of pride or attachment to them. It's more surprise that they happened...

So what is one missing here? How does that even work? Why pride of all things?

Meh too many questions and no answers...

Hate that L