Master(ed)

He has this laugh.

It’s sexy. It’s hawt. It comes on rare occasions, when I manage to surprise Him. There is more than a hint of danger in that laugh. It makes my toes curl, my heart flop over, and my pussy quiver.

I heard it Tuesday night.

We’ve been processing what happened Sunday. Talking a lot about it. He knows how very turned on I was/am/continue to be.

He read me the “report card” from the Guest Dom. He asked if I wanted to touch my clit.

um. yes.

*grins*

So He gave permission. Doled out the report in bits and pieces. Discussed certain key points. Would stop in the middle of a sentence.

“How’s my clit? Is that pussy wet?”

I’d tell Him, and add that I was getting close.

“Well, I should hope so.” He says, and goes back to the report as if there had not been a break at all. My breathing gets more and more ragged. Fuck yoga…I was full-out sexed up…and it wasn’t long before I was begging for permission to cum.

Which, thankfully, He gave.

And then told me to keep playing with my (now very sensitive) clit.

Going back to the report, He gives His impressions, His grades to my performance. And lets me know that there could well be a follow-up in my future. (the guest Dom has asked about it, too).

“Are you ready to cum again?”

“Yes Master.”

“Oh, good. Then go ahead.”

And He laughs that wicked laugh as I cum again, hard. And even gives me permission to have another O after we hang up.

Woot!

Did I mention how sexed up I was? Terribly. My pussy is still tender, just 48 hours after being well used, slapped, pinched, grabbed and fucked. But I have been so incredibly turned on…it’s been crazy.

But I have one more question to ask before we end our call for the night.

“Master…?”

“Yes nilla?” His voice is a sexy almost-growl. I hear the answer of that call in my bitten shoulders, still throbby. And between my soaked thighs. It is the call of one mate to another, a visceral kind of thing.

“Next time…I want…would You…perhaps…” I stop nervously. Wary of topping from the bottom. Yet knowing He wants to know what’s in my head.

We’d talked about my liking His hurting me. I like when He hits me. I really like it. He’d said, laying with tangled limbs, that His challenge was in not hitting me too hard…He’d like more, but He needed to hold back, to keep from damaging me.

I lay in my little bed, pussy throbbing as I prepare to ask for more.

“Please,” I almost whisper, “please, Master, will You…hurt me more next time? Hit me harder, treat me harsher?”

There is a moment of silence. I wonder if He has led me here, or my very ownership of being a masochist has caused me to take this path. I assume the second…the first proposes a style that He is not comfortable with, a form of subterfuge. He is WAY more open about His plans with me, if only to continue to keep me simmering.

And then He laughs.

The laugh of hunger, and Dominance. The Lion, laughing before He consumes his prey. A laugh of delight, and want.

It only makes me crave Him more.

I am well and truly Mastered.