A picture of a spoon in a ceramic pot

And The Dish Ran Away With The Spoon

In our kitchen in a ceramic pot there is a simple piece of wood that in many way symbolizes our D/s relationship. We obtained this item through slightly nefarious means. We were at our first munch (that wasn’t our own) at a lovely pub called The Fish and Eel, and yes they really do name their pubs like that and to be fair that is one of the less obscene names they give their pubs. So in this odd land when you go to a pub and you want to order food if you sit and your table and wait for a waitress to come and take your order you will be waiting for a very long time. You have to order at the bar and often they give you something to take back to the table so they know where to deliver your food.

That object varies from place to place, sometimes it is just a number card in a fancy metal stand. Sometimes it is a wooden spoon. To be precise a white wooden spoon with the number 32 painted on it. I know, it would have been better if it was the number 42, but as fate had it that was not to be, but still it works. We had not ordered food that particular night but one of our dear friends had and the spoon came with her dinner. Just one look at it and I knew it had to be mine. So after the food was delivered I slid the spoon up my coat sleeve.

Yep, a purloined wooden spoon. It sits in our kitchen, mixed in with all the other wooden utensils that we have. But it only gets used for one thing. To remind her who she belongs to. To remind her that I can just grab it, and her and make that very beautiful bottom all nice and red anytime I choose. It is a simple object that conveys so much about us and who we are and even though she protests while I use it, I know that she is happy that we have it.

I know I get a grin on my face when she steps out of line just enough for me to get the spoon out and use it.

It’s the little things, isn’t it?


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