(Please forgive the sloppy edit needed to get past the censors.)

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“Beth” was waiting on someone else.  I stood back against a wall of fetish wear that I never browse.  I come here for other things.  I’m here for bondage gear that I can’t fabricate myself in my workshop with raw materials from the home improvement store.  I’m here for “toys” to fill in for (as opposed to ‘take the place of’) the dominant in my mind, on my screen or using remote control to use me, train me and/or otherwise own me. 

Y’all, I like being owned.  I need that feeling.  I need it.

I’m also here because I can pay cash and not give an ID.  Nothing is delivered to my house.  Nothing is ‘special ordered.’  I only buy off-the-rack.  And the store is in Cincinnati which is just over two hours drive for me (less if I take the highway but I like the backroads better).

“I’ll be right with you.”  Beth smiled and I smiled back.  She knows I wait for her.  Everyone here is nice and knowledgeable.  If Beth isn’t working, I’m fine getting help from someone else.  But with the someone elses, it’s purely transaction.  They might use some of the products at the front of the shop that the tourists buy because this is sort of a destination store, or that the vanilla couples buy so they can feel like they’re edgier than they really are.  But Beth is a legit switch.  She knows the merchandise they stock and she knows a lot more than that.  Beth can give me the low down on how an item will feel to me, and if it will excite a dominant to use it on me. 

Also, Beth has known me for a lot of years now.  She doesn’t make me ask questions.  She just reads me and follows me to the back where the less-purchased items are located.  We make the minimal small talk.  But then it’s on to shop talk.  Beth reads my eyes and my body and shows me the product I’m looking at.  She runs down the specs.  Then she gives her review.  Beth always has a review.  Why a D-ring is better for a self-bondage girl using tethers to immobilize herself than an O-Ring.  The O-Ring is easier to use if you’re just locking cuffs together rather than to a fixed point.  Beth told me that the first time she waited on me, an dang, she was right. 

“Can’t go wrong with this one, Tina.”  Beth held up a shoe box-sized black cardboard box with a plastic window in the front.  Inside, encased in a plastic mold (bucket list item for me…to be so well secured as the hook) was a shiny silver “hook” about the shape of candy cane.  Embedded in their own plastic “nooks” around the shaft were four silver spheres of different sizes and three egg-shaped silver “toppers.”  See the “stock photo” with actual dimensions posted below.

Beth held the box for me as I examined it and read the highlighted features.  Beth cleared her throat.  Something was on her mind.

“Are you playing with a partner now Tina?”  I knew the question was coming.  This is outside of my usual interests.  Way outside.  Even prepared, I must have bristled visibly because Beth and I were suddenly engulfed in the most awkward silence of all time.  I curled my toes inside of my shoes to try to root my feet into the concrete floor and avoid simply turning and walking out the door. 

“I’ll take it.”  We both exhaled.

“OK.”  Beth’s smile was relief.  For both of us.  She led me back to the counter to complete the transaction.

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I’m home.  I’m all buzzing with energy.  Shaky, but good shaky.  For the first time, I feel like I’m exceeding the minimum “pleasing” level for my owner.  I feel like I’ve found the way to demonstrate how much she means to me rather than saying it with words.  This toy is going to enable us to share our interest in an exciting and intimate way that’s new for me and special to her.  And it’s also symbolic of our trust and out understanding.  She never asked me to go get an anal hook, but I realized she wanted it.  For us.

I feel so fucking lit up right now.  I’ve stopped waiting for something to happen and I did something.  I think it’s something right.

Now I’m curled up in my dog crate.  It’s locked by a magnet that will let me out before too long.  My plain leather collar is tethered to a foundation post by a long chain giving me access to most of the basement once the crate door opens.  The key to the lock is held by another magnet on a timer.  After I send this, I’ll lock my cuffed wrists behind me.  The handcuff key is outside of the crate secured to yet another magnet on a separate time.  I want to be chained up, locked up and owned as @Julanni is reading about the hook.  Our hook.

I’m just very happy right now.