The other day, my friend d (yes we all call her d, with a lowercase d, because d is a slave and that is how she refers to herself) was not feeling well, and I was trying to think of ways to cheer her up.
Now it just so happened that the night before, her Master, the MotherfuckingSadist™, had made ominous threats online to turn my tits purple. (Why, I have no idea; it's not like I did anything to deserve such monstrous treatment of my delicate breasts.) When I told Husband about the online threats (and what I did to deserve them, which was nothing, I swear) the whole thing prompted Husband to break out into prose...if you can call it that. It went something like this:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Your tits will be purple...
Then he stopped.
"What comes next?" I asked.
"I don't know how it's supposed to go," he growled at me. "Go look it up yourself."
Now, the other bit of backdrop to this story is that my second-to-oldest son was on a trip at the time, having the vacation of his life with his friend and his friend's mom. His friend's mom and I are also friends. She knows I'm kinky, but not to what extent, if you get my meaning.
So I send d a text version of the poem Husband gave me...only I didn't send it to d. I sent it to Son. And this is what happened.
Of course, he had to fucking promise to show his friend, his friend's mom, and every other person under the fucking sun.
I tried to lay down my own threats...to no avail. He knows me too well.
There was nothing I could do anymore, nothing but wish myself a hole to crawl into.
They take after their father.