Little did I know that my Orgasmic Friday night lay at the mercy of the Red Sox, who apparently were up, bases loaded, one out at the top of the seventh inning. This is American Baseball here, folks, and I’m not gonna educate you about it…that’s why there’s Google!
So, Master, a huge sports fan, but especially of baseball, decides to hinge my FNF orgasm(s) on whether the Sox score runs. It’s the top of the 7th inning…one out, two to go. He is pleased with this decision, because in reality, I could have earned two, three, four or more orgasms. But the Red Sox have followed in the footsteps of their once heroic pitcher, Roger Clemens, and went belly-up, hitting into a double play and ending the inning with runners stranded on all three bases.
This meant…no orgasms for nilla on Friday night.
Now, bear in mind that I had NO idea that this was all going on at Master’s house, and in Master’s devious head.
I don’t think much about it…He could be at Starbucks, working. We often don’t hook up until 10. But at 10:10 there was still no answer. And I was freaking out.
He’d had an accident.
He’d had a heart attack.
He’d had open heart surgery.
He’d gotten lost after he beat his GPS lady into a pulp.
He’d been hit by a train….
oh it went on and on. This, after I told aisha that I didn’t spin scenario’s anymore.
Big dummy that I am!!! I may not have *thought* I did that anymore. . . but the panic that ensued when I realized just how many hours it had been since I had heard from Him just escalated…
And I sent one last, frantic text.
“Yeah, so? ” He responds.
Oh, grrrrr…from fear-filled to furious. HOW could He treat me so cavalierly? So *meanly*….oh…
Didn’t I just write about that yesterday? Duh.
I call Him and remember to speak respectfully. “You worried me, Master” I said in dulcet tones. Really, I did that. Emotional me, and yet….I was so calm, so cool, so submissive.
So perfect. …*snikker*
“What for? I’m fine.”
“But…You didn’t answer me for hours, Master, and I was worried and…”
“Yeah? I was ignoring you, nilla.”
The calm and perfect facade cracks. I grrr.
I grrrr-ed. At my Master.
Eventually we talk about it being FNF…
“Yeah, but there is not going to be *any* fuck in your Friday Night Fuck, nilla”
*sound of screeching brakes*
I stutter when He does this to me. Honestly. Aisha will tell you, I do not stutter in real life. I don’t. But He brings me to that point all the fucking time of late.
He explains that the Red Sox fucked up my O’s for the night. Now, I’ve been O-less since…Wednesday? And I’m feeling a bit desperate. Too bad. So sad.
“Master…” I text Him later, “That’s just not fair…”
Fair? Now you know in your heart, pussy and ass (not necessarily in that order) that “fair” is not a concept that I adopt/acknowledge/give a shit about, n’est pas?
I think about that for a bit. And yanno, I’m so losing my “perfect submissive” statue here. Do you think the Academy of Perfect Sluts will ask for it back?
I reply: “Eyeroll. Yes, Master.”
Me? Sarcastic to my Lord and Master? *snikker* Yeah. A bit.
Good thing He likes me that way.
His last word on the subject:
That’a good slut.
Hmmmm…I will take a good girl from Him over my “perfect sub statuette” any day of the week!
And dear gods…I hope I get to cum soon.
*********LAAAATE Saturday night update****************
I called. He answered. He plugged my ass.
I came! Twice!