Sunday Stuff

Master is the Master of Mindfuck.

I told you the tale of the Box.

The torture of it.

Friday night comes, our FNFuck date…I call…He tells me to call, but later. And …don’t put batteries in the vibes.

*blink*

Wh-aaaa-t?

you won’t need them.

I won’t need them? WTF?  “Master?” I say, my tone puzzled.

you don’t need me to explain nilla. you won’t need them because there is no using the new toys. Congratulations, little slut. you’ve just been Friday Night Fucked…Over.

FNF?

FNF?   “Master” I say, striving to maintain an appropriate tone of voice “How is it FNF if there is not any toy use? That’s not fucking, Master. Please Master? Fuck your slut?!”

no. no. NO.

I told you already. you’ve been fucked.

No. No, I’m totally sure I’ve not been fucked. Still wet. Still horny. Still wanting. Definitely not fucked.

Comprehension dawns. He’s not played one of these games on me in a long while.

The great Master mindfuck.

“Oh. OH.. OOOOH! MASTER! NO nonono!!! 

He laughs.

That deep, rich, ‘I gotcha’ laugh.

oh yes.

I’d been fucked alright.

Mindfucked.