Anticipation….and Dread

Sunday is coming, Sunday is coming!

Oh dear. Sunday is coming…

Punishment and some heavy duty pain will be on the roster, and I have no idea in what order. Will He do the punishment right away to get it over with? Or let it ride a while until I think He may have forgotten about it? (He won’t forget about it….and I would no sooner believe that then….that I’ll have an orgasm any time this week.)

I asked. I begged. “Please, Master, will you hit me harder next time?” and now…it’s almost next time. He never works with a script, He says…plays it out however HE feels like it. Sometimes, it is foot torture to start, sometimes the Wall, sometimes a bit of kissing and having a snack. This slut has no idea how it works in His mind; I am just along for the roller coaster ride.


He loves to make me squirt. He’s like a little boy with one of those trucks that you can fill with water and make spray out the little nozzle? Have you seen them? He has to drive me over a certain point…the point where I think He has worn me out. When my pussy is throbbing with the soreness of being so used and abused. For He fucks me, and puts toys in me, and finger fucks me, and eats me…pussy gets verrrrry sore.

That’s the point where He will pin me. It is innocuous, insidious, and sneaky. An elbow on my hair. A leg woven around mine, His hand holding my wrist. I can’t sit. I can’t wiggle. I can’t move.

And His hand is free.

He might pinch my nipple, and bite it. He might pinch my belly…He loves to make me squeal. Inevitably, His fingers cruise down between my thighs, pinching my pussy lips, perhaps smacking that tenderized area. Sometimes He’ll do that until I cum from the pain of it…the vibration of His hand, and the sharp stab of pain never fail to rouse even my tired flesh.

He’ll stop, eventually. He’ll crooon into my ear as He slips His fingers into me, hushing me. I moan, toss my head a bit…already so gone in subspace that I can barely talk. And then He’ll fuck me, with those big Man fingers of His, moving from tender to merciless in a heartbeat, and driving me up and through that pain mountain, until I squirt into His hand. I love being used so hard, so rough, so brutally. Sometimes, I will lay there in His arms, coming back to myself as He hums to me, and shudder through an aftershock.

And then, He’ll do it again.

These soft and brutal times come near our ending of the day, when He and I need to go our separate ways. When parting is such bittersweet sorrow.  He calls them “nilla quickies” because it happens fast. He’ll stop occasionally, get me a drink of water or gatorade to recharge me a bit, before He falls upon me and drives me over the edge again.

But this time? This time I am nervous. For I’m to be punished. I’ve not been physically punished by Him that I recall.  I’ve never crossed the line the way I did on Saturday, so that part has never surfaced between us.

Today, a flurry of texts as I expressed my concern.

“Yanno, I’m very much dreading this visit with Mr. Belt.”

If I recall…and I do recall, you requested Mr. Belt’s presence and then set the stage for his triumphant return by being a naughty slut.

“I kinda thought Mr. Belt would kiss me…play a bit….and You are right…I did the fuck up…accent on the fuck.”

” ON a scale of 1-12…where 6 is blisters and 12 is blood…how disappointed are You?”

I am not your problem; I roll with your periodic fuck-ups; Mr Belt, however, has no sense of humor.

“Mr. Belt! You have won an all-expense paid vacation to the cooler (where I work)!! No heat nor humidity will bother you! Call today at 1-800-NILLAS ASS!”

Very cute – but Mr. Belt is on a mission and he will not be deterred.


He is funny…and quite in earnest. Mr. Belt will have his pound of flesh. And I have an entire week to live out this mindfuck.

We just spoke on the phone, right after I finished that last sentence. He proposes that I have, in some way or form, engineered this scenario, in order to be punished, especially by Mr. Belt.

It’s true I’ve asked for more pain, and for Mr. Belt. There is something intensely satisfying to me about the smack of leather on my flesh.

But engineered?

That would be deceitful…and I am not.

Subconsciously, though…? Maybe?

I’ll state for the record, that it was VERY late when we finished talking Saturday night, nearly midnight. I was very tired, and very horny. I don’t always think things through…I’m more …reactive, rather than thoughtful.  Impulsiveness is my bane, at times.

The still-plugged-in vibe was under my left thigh. When I reached to unplug it I paused and went…”oh. Master didn’t say ‘no more touching’….”

It was all purely physical…I was horny, and thinking about my pussy…and not consciously thinking that “taking” this orgasm, utilizing this “loophole”  was a way to get punished.

I was thinking with my cunt.

Is it topping from the bottom when your subconscious makes these decisions? I think I was way beyond cause and effect. It didn’t even fully dawn on me until the next morning that what I had done was bad…and I made certain to inform Him as soon as we were together.

Gods, I would hope that He doesn’t see me as that kind of woman, or slut, as to have planned this all.

That’s not the way I roll, Master. Not at all.

Disappointing Him?

Hurts way more than Mr. Belt will.