The Spur Ch 09

Ah, amore misterioso, altero, croce e delizia al core.

(Ah, love, mysterious and proud, torture and delight to the heart.)

Francesco Maria Piave, La Traviata

JILL

Steve had driven us through the beautiful Central New York countryside for the weekend, without telling me where were going, or what we'd be doing when we got there. All he told me was to bring an evening dress, and to be sure it had a boat neck, scoop neck, spaghetti straps, or whatever would assure an unimpeded view of my neck for the whole evening. Also, he said to bring an outdoorsy outfit suitable for easy hiking though the fall foliage of the surrounding countryside.

At last we pulled into the driveway of an adorable bed and breakfast. A slim, hearty woman met us on the porch and shook our hands.

"Steve!" she said, 'Welcome back. And you would be Jill; nice to meet you!" After exchanging greetings and stowing our luggage in our room, Steve went back out to the kitchen with our host, Janice, to confer about dinner places, hiking trails, breakfast hours, and anything else he could come up with. He seemed to be taking his time, which I appreciated. He had said we needed to leave early for dinner in order to be 'there' on time, but we obviously weren't in a rush.

The voices stopped, but still no Steve yet. I showered, shaved, brushed my teeth, dried my hair and put it into his favorite up-do, figuring that if we wanted to see my neck all night he'd probably want my hair off it.

I had just finished my make-up, pulled on a pair of boyshorts, and slipped into the dress, when I heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," I said nonchalantly, moving toward the dresser in the bedroom. Steve took one step into the room and froze, managing somehow to close the door behind him. I was appraising my face in the dresser mirror, when he said "Turn and look at me" in a husky, commanding voice.

All smiles, I proudly turned to face him. 'So he wants to see my neck, does he?' I had thought as I picked out the scarlet, off-the-shoulder gown with an old-fashioned sweetheart neckline. He did his sexist finger-twirling thing again, and I again obliged him, because frankly, I loved it when he looked me up, down and around like that.

"My goodness," he said; "my goodness. You. Look. Radiant!"

"Thank you!" I replied, dropping a curtsy. "I was afraid I might have overdressed."

"Not even a little," he said; then, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, he added, "Did I talk in my sleep about my plans for this evening?"

"No, I promise." He continued to stare until I began to blush, then he said, "Give me twenty minutes."

It's so unfair how quickly men can get ready, but when he emerged, damp hair brushed and wearing a gray suit more dressy than anything I'd ever seen him in, it was my turn to gawk. Smiling, he took my arm and steered me toward the dresser.

"Look into the mirror," he said. 'Eyes on your eyes." As I obeyed, I heard him remove something from one of the dresser's drawers. (When did he stash that there? I thought.) Putting down the box, he opened it and removed the tissue paper from the contents. He held the object over my right shoulder.

"You may look, now," he said. I looked, and gasped in astonishment.

It was a choker, about half an inch wide, fashioned of gold into an exquisite filigree of Celtic knotwork. At every crossing of the golden "ribbons", the maker had set a tiny, enameled flower. In the front was a miniature, inlaid jade grasshopper.

Entranced, I held out my hands, and he lay the treasure in them. I turned it slowly around, examining it minutely. It was beautiful. At the back, I discovered that, in place of a clasp, there were two small, horizontal rings. I looked at him questioningly, and my stomach dropped and my breath caught when he produced a tiny, golden padlock from his pocket and set it down deliberately on the dresser next to two identical keys on a chain.

Turning me to face him, he said, very gently,

"Jill, will you do me the honor of wearing my collar?" My eyes full of tears, I could only nod at first.

"I need you to say it out loud." Swallowing hard, I at last replied,

"Yes, Sir; I will wear your collar with pride."

"Then continue to hold it up between us, and repeat everything I say."

"Yes, Sir." Taking a deep breath, he began, and I echoed each line:

"With this collar,"

"I, Jill, called Grasshopper,"

"pledge to you, Steve,"

"that I will embrace you,"

"fully and wholeheartedly,"

"as my dominant,"

"and offer myself to you,"

"wholly and without reserve,"

'as your submissive."

"As long as we are together"

"as dominant and submissive,"

"I will surrender myself completely into your hands,"

"holding back nothing as far as I am able;"

"I will remain wholly present to the moment,"

"experiencing fully everything we do together."

"I welcome your authority over me,"

"embrace your discipline,"

"accept your punishments,"

"relish your rewards,"

"and rely on your loving care."

"I will strive always to please you,"

"and to make my own needs known to you,"

"that you, in turn, may strive to fulfill them."

"As your submissive,"

"I know that I can pause, or stop, our play,"

"at any time I need to."

"And I know that, as my Master,"

"your whole care shall be for my happiness,"

"pleasure,"

"and fulfillment,"

"until such time as you should choose"

"to remove this collar,"

"and release me from your service."

"This is my whole-hearted pledge to you."

"Now put the collar on," he said. I slid it onto my neck, searching out the two little holes at the back. Then I picked up the padlock, slipped it into place, and closed it with a snap as he slipped the keys into his pocket.

* * *

Floating as I was about six inches off the ground, I really don't remember much about dinner. I noticed a lot of other elegantly dressed diners, so I presumed we were all going to the same mysterious place. We talked, but I forget about what; the food was very good, but I don't remember what it was. We gazed at each other, out for the first time as Dom and collared sub, and his bursting-with-pride smile is seared on my heart.

After dinner, we drove to--a large wooden building beside a beautiful lake? An opera house? Here? Even if I had ever been to an opera before, I would have been boggled; as it was, I had to remind myself not to gawk like a tourist with my mouth agape.

Inside, the theater walls one both sides were entirely of glass, surrounding us with beautiful view of the lake and the autumn trees. We found our seats, and I glanced at the program book: La Traviata, by Giuseppe Verdi. Of course, I had heard of it, but I knew nothing about it. As I began reading the synopsis, knowing that the plot would be hard to follow amidst all that Italian, I heard a sort of electronic hum, and looked up to see the wooden walls slide together, like giant pocket doors, until the outdoor light was shut out and it looked more like a theater inside.

"That was cool!" I said. Steve grinned and took my hand as the lights went down.

From the first high, trembling chords in the strings, I was caught up in the beauty of the music, and startled at how it worked on my emotions. I'd always thought you had to "understand" classical music in order to appreciate it--but here, with a live orchestra in a hushed theater, it was so much more immediate, more vivid, than I would have expected.

The lights came up on a resplendent, if slightly frenetic, banquet scene, and I was surprised to hear the chorus singing in English. (I learned later that this company does everything in English.) Well, I thought, that will make things easier.

But even though I could understand the words, I continued to be surprised by how strongly the music influenced my emotions. As angry as I was with Alfredo's father, Giorgio, for persuading the courtesan Violetta to leave Alfredo to spare the family honor, I couldn't help sympathizing with him during his beautiful song to his son about their family home--as though the music itself were a character, or a kind of window into the human characters' deeper emotions. I had expected all that singing to be unrealistic, and it was--it was more than realism. And even after two and a half hours of music, plus an intermission, I still left the theater with Alfredo's haunting love-song to Violetta repeating itself in my head. And yes, I cried at the end when Violetta died.

With city-dwellers' aversion to fighting traffic, we took a walk by the lake while the parking lot emptied. I noticed Steve was limping a little, favoring his right leg. I asked him about it, and he said he was just stiff from sitting for so long.

"What does 'La Traviata' mean?" I asked.

"'The fallen woman'," Steve answered.

"Pfft--men obviously came up with that."

"It's a pattern as old as the sun, Grasshopper," he said. "The fallen woman has to die. Who always gets offed first in all those bunch-of-stupid-teenagers-gets-picked-off-one-by-one movies?"

"The slutty girl, duh."

"Exactly. Society has always punished openly sexual women." We walked in silence for some time while that depressing thought dissipated. Finally, I asked,

"Why did you take me so far from home to collar me?"

"Well, knowing how self-conscious you are, I thought you might prefer to get accustomed to being collared in public by going out for the first time among strangers."

"That was thoughtful," I said, taking his hand and snuggling into him. "Thank you."

"Besides," he continued, "I wanted you all to myself. And I grew up not far from here."

"This place is amazing! What are we doing tomorrow?"

"Well, there are several nice trails; I thought we could go out for an early hike and walk back into town for lunch."

"That sounds lovely!"

"Then, I figured we could go to the Baseball Hall of Fame..."

"Sure," I said, doing a poor job of pretending enthusiasm.

"...or I could take you back to the B&B and do fiendish and unspeakable things to you."

"That one!"

"It's a plan, Grasshopper," he said, putting his arm around me and pulling me close.

I couldn't remember a more perfect night.

STEVE'S JOURNAL

A sub should not have to settle for being fingered on her collaring night. She should have her brains fucked out. I need to see a doctor. Couldn't get an appointment until November, though.