Dom Laughter

He’s a pretty funny guy, my Master. He’s the master of funny voices, and we’ve been spending the day texting silly things back and forth to one another. Monday is always a late day for Him, and tonight it was late for me as well. I didn’t get to talk to Him very long on His drive home.

But it turns out it was long enough.

We shared tidbits of our days, which I love. That feeling of being connected to His life fills me with happy. He was sharing this story about a coworker, and it left the opening for me to beg for an orgasm tonight.

“Well, when was your last O?” He asks.

“Friday night.” I reply promptly.

“And how many o’s did you have during Friday Night Fuck, little girl?”

“Three, Master.” I did hesitate. I know He knows how many. What *is* He up to?

“And what happened Saturday? I gave you an O and a half on Saturday. What happened there, hmmmm?”

I sigh. He is determined to rub this in.

“I fell asleep, Master. The moment my head hit the pillow…” my voice trails off, as He starts to laugh.

“Ooohhhh, that’s right….you fell asleeeeeep…” He laughs some more. “Silly little slut slept through her orgasms. Tsk.”

“And then You wouldn’t let me have one last night, You made me go to bed and sleep…and You know, Master, those half-o’s aren’t a party for me. They’re hard.”

“REallyyyy?” He sort of drawls.

And I’m not sure quite how it happened, because I’d sworn to myself that I would NEVER tell Him how rough it is. Coz then…you all *know* what would happen then.

We talk about my getting an O. And I say that I really want one.  Coz of missing Saturday, then the possibility of a Sunday O.

“But the half O, nilla. I don’t know which way you would have gone there.”

“I can tell you now, Master. I was going to take the half-o at the end. Because that gave me a 50/50 chance of an O on Sunday. If I took it first there was zero chance. The odds weren’t the best, but it was better to hope that You’d give me the O, than to *KNOW* You wouldn’t.

He is impressed, I think.

“Well, then you may have your O, with the half O if you choose…”

“YES! of course I will take that, Master!!”

“You’re so spoiled” He laughs again. “You spoiled slut. You KNOW you won’t have to wait long for relief, because you always get an O on Tuesday. Smart. Smart slut. Okay, large plug up your ass, clamps on both nipples, chain in your mouth, vibe on your clit. When you’re close to cumming, I want that vibe fucking your pussy hard. And when you’re going to round two, that half O? I want you to be so close to the fucking edge of that cliff before you pull it away…”

“You know, Master,” I say, my brain obviously disengaged at this point, ” I HATE half orgasms. They’re really, really hard. They make me mad. They make me cry, Master, and say really, really bad things about you. I moan and thrash and …”

He starts laughing, joyous, happy laughter.


“What, Master?”

“nilla! What a wonderful gift. Oh, my gawd, nilla! OH, you’re going to get so many half-o’s. Friday night fuck will be so fucking miserable for you! Oh god!”

And He laughs *that* laugh. The one that lets me know the Sadist is on the phone. And that He’s thrilled, and ready to ramp it up and play.

“Oh, nilla. You know, I thought that pink brush was the stupidest, best gift ever. This? This tops that, little girl.”

I can almost hear Him rubbing His hands together in glee.

“I’m going to keep my ear canted to see if I can hear you moaning, and saying bad things tonight little girl. . . and I can hardly wait until Friday! Goodnight, nilla….and thanks. What a great gift! Christmas in July!”

I hear His hoot of laughter as He hangs up the phone.

It sends a shiver right up my spine (and makes me wet, too, dammit!)