Measurements

As we go through life, it becomes increasingly apparent that we are always being measured…and that the results of said measurements are generally pretty displeasing. Are you tall enough to get on that ride at the fair? Are you too old to jump in the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese’s? Are you sure that that bra size will offer you enough support? Are you too fat to get on the new Harry Potter ride at Universal Studios?? Does your cock stack up against that porn star’s ridiculously huge crank?

And even when we’re not being measured by others, we seem to insist upon measuring ourselves in every conceivable fashion. How many pounds did I put on after that cruise? Could that moron at work actually be smarter than me?? Is she prettier than me?

Evidently, to measure is to be human…and there is one measurement that I’ve been looking forward to for some time now. One measurement that will further bind me to my Daddy and Master (as if it were possible). One measurement that won’t displease me in the least. Just one little measurement.

Daddy is going to measure me for my collar.

Yes, I am his wife, his partner, his baby girl, his best friend, and his slave, but we just never got around to getting me a collar. And Daddy has decided that it is time.

Time for him to collar his little one. Time to put me on my knees before him, naked except for the collar and the taut leash that he’ll use to guide me to his throbbing cock. Time to bind me to the bed for hours on end, forcing me to contemplate my life as his slave, as the snug collar reminds me of my eternal subservience. Time to give his wonderful little whore a tangible reminder of her status as property to be used.

So, at the very moment that Daddy wraps the tape measure around my soft neck, I’ll know that we’re taking yet another step together on our path through life and through D/s. And I guarantee that I’ll be positively beaming when Daddy’s takes this measurement… :)