Sundays at Starbucks….

Sunday morning brought a quick little meet with Master. OH, so lovely, to have this one window of time that is just us. And filled with good adult conversation…politics, and the state of the union and Presidential election politics… just good to have one on one grown up time.

And then there are the  sly little sexy things that pepper every meeting with Master. A kiss comes with a secret pinch…He grabs some bit of me and gives it a good jolt…and when I pull away, there’s that smile, that gleam in his eye. We both get a taste of what we crave, even in this vanillaville setting.

We arrived at almost the same time. I saw him walking in as I pulled into the lot. Consequently, he was still setting up his computer, and hadn’t gotten his coffee.  I love to do this little task for him;  fix it how he likes it, bring it to him…it is a ritual that I very much enjoy.  He always insists on paying (I’ve learned to not argue about that, though it’s hard!)  Those first few minutes are a flurry of pure vanilla, computers and coffee and settling in.  When I sat down across from him, I smiled. Gosh it is so good to be with him.

I also told him how “glad I was that we could meet this morning, because I couldn’t come tonight. ”

He looks up at me, eyes sparkling.  “How did you know that, nilla? Wow,  you really are psychic, aren’t you?”

(Did you catch that right away? or are you going back to reread that part again? Coz I’ll tell you true, it took me a minute to figure out what the fuck he meant! Slow, sometimes this slut is very slow….and it was so totally unexpected, and so out-of-context from *my* meaning….)

And when I *did* catch on?

“MASTER!!! no no no no please? OMG…”

He didn’t *really* mean that? Did he?

Then again, this Master of mine isn’t shy about throwing around his Domlyness.

For example, Saturday night, in the middle of  a series of short and  Master-ish texts, I get one that read:

“you know you aren’t having an orgasm tonight, right?”

And he would not refer to it again all night, no matter how many times I tweaked him. He would respond to any other text…but when I tried to slip in an O plea? Silence.  And last night I was so so so soooo horny.

Two ZNN’s in a row? I tried to not think about that, actually.

(yet throughout the day I kept thinking about it)

(and getting hornier and hornier)

(what *is* it about this whole control thing that is SUCH a freaking turn on??)

There was other fun to be had, despite the brevity of our time Sunday morning…..

There was the heart I slipped onto his knee, and one onto his shirt without him knowing.

Oh, funnah.

And then I realized he was wearing a dress shirt with his jeans.

“Master, are you going somewhere?”

He reminds me that he’d told me last night where he would be, and yes it was semi casual, but really in my heart of hearts, I knew it was not someplace he should be sauntering around –at least…not with  shiny prismatic pink hearts on his shirt and pants.

So, now…. I have to fess up.



“you  (giggle)…um…might want to take the hearts off you then…” (insert more giggles)…

“you didn’t….” he looks at my face…”you did. You are so dead nilla.” I show him where I’d tagged him…oh. Yeah, I’m so dead. And laughing my ass off about it too…!!

*   ***   *

I got him a fun little critter with fake bunny ears that is wearing a collar which says “some Bunny loves you”…which He played with all morning. Making it peer over his laptop at me, sometimes the face,  sometimes the ‘butt’ and making “man jokes” (if you have boys, you know what i’m talking about!  If you don’t? think— burp or fart….)

This is one of the pictures he had me take..and right as I snapped it, He made the critter “fart”. Loudly.

(Frankly this makes me hysterical. Life with boys, yanno?!)

Isn’t it cute? He really did play with the funny thing…we talked later and he said the critter was getting to be a pain in the ass…kept insisting on driving… *grin*…I love that He loves the silly little things I get for him…

*   ***   *

You know, I’ve written plenty of stories, and read plenty as well, where the slave/slut/whore/cunt is made to get to her knees in a public venue. I’ve *always* believed that it was, frankly, stupid.

I mean, who would really really do that? Really?

I dropped my hair clip.

I scouted the floor around my feet. No clip. It’s a big thing, too, made to hold a lot of hair, so pretty hard to miss. And then I spot it. As does He.

And he laughs.

This wicked, dirty, nasty, lovely laugh.

It has landed on the floor …. between his feet. “Come and get it,” He says, all double-entendre. So I do. I have to get on my knees, and bend under the table.

He grabs a hunk of curls and pulls my head down. .. . and holds it there between his legs.


And ….


What a fucking rush!

There were no people. Just Master, and his slut. There was no pain in my hair, only the sudden throbbing between my legs. There was no cold, hard floor under my knees, just the warmth of his leg under my cheek.

I’m not sure how long he held me there. Thirty seconds? Time stopped for me. “Pick it up,” he says at last, in this dark, hot voice. The Dom Voice. The one that tells me to get the fuck back on the wall. The one that orders me to “spread your legs. Wider.”

THAT Voice.

And I do, and slowly climb to my feet, sliding into my seat. It’s very hard to put words down that describe how I felt.

Utterly submissive, to be sure.

Humbled, but not ashamed.

Owned.  Oh, yes, so very owned.

Whatever happened in that moment, we both felt it. He may have known before, yet,  now He has empirical proof that I am his.  As he put it later, “you were inches away from the promised land there, slut. You could smell it. So close and yet so far.”

Yes. Oh yes.

I’m a hungry, horny, wanton slut, craving.

(with new-found respect and understanding of other sluts who have knelt before their Masters/Owners; it is a powerful and amazing experience to be  in that zone….)

And in case you’re wondering…He did finally relent…and gave me a Sunday night orgasm…

Coz you know…

He’s that kind of Dom.