HNT~Master of nilla/Mad slut

We had a little tiff on Wednesday.

Okay…that’s not fully accurate.

*I* had a little tiff. I was…angry. Frustrated. Annoyed. And we needed to talk a few things over, hash them out. He and I know each other well. Very well, after these nearly 3 years. He knew I was pissed by one of my very…um…non-giggly…responses to a text He sent that normally would have made me laugh.

And it turns out, totally coincidentally, that He was in *my* neck of the woods having a meeting with a client. He gave me a clue to figure out where he was…and I took the opportunity to meet Him. It couldn’t be long, but I have a kiddo with strep. I haven’t brought kiddos on ANY errands this week, so it was easy enough to run up to meet him for 15 minutes. My teen was capable of keeping an eye on the little’s for a bit.

And there He was, in his business clothing. It turns me on. Realllly turns me on, to see Him so garbed. My mouth pools, my pussy drools…but wait! I was *mad* at him.

So I get out of the van and he meets me at the passenger window. We look at each other, then I drop my eyes, and walk around the van. He wasn’t there. I look up when He laughs. He’s on the driver’s side of the van.

“This is a perfect way to talk to each other.” And he laughs, the Bastard. And…so did I…it was funny. And it was a good way to keep from getting all mushy, to talk about my issues…and hear each other out.

“You know this is blogable, right?” He says. “This way of handling our issues…a car apart. You can even put my picture in your blog.


“I can?”

“Yes, you can…”

I take the pic. He wants to see it. To check his hair or something. And He can’t reach. So I open the door, and hand it to Him. He looks at it, approves it. Goes to hand it back.

And grabs me by the hair and yanks me down onto the seat.

“Stay there.”

I’m laying across both the passenger seat, and the driver seat, feet hanging out the car. My sandal falls off.

“Now, tell me again why you were so upset *this* morning. And keep that head down.  No moving. Just talking.”

So I start. And in about 15 seconds I realize…He’s not at the driver’s window anymore…oh FUCK! and his hand is around my ankle, and tickling my piggies…and as I giggle, He *thawacks* my ass (hard) with my shoe.

“Get mad at *me*, will you?” He says, chortling in his glee.  *WHACK&Laugh*

Then tickling of the feet. The back. My legs. And finishes with a few more whacks to my ass.

Not punishment, mind you. Just….maintenance? He comes back to the driver’s door. He unfastens the clip holding my hair in a sloppy bun, grabs a hunk of hair, lifts my face. Clips the hairclip on my nose and laughs. 

“You’re right about some things, wrong about others, you know.” And He talks as the clip (one of those ginormous clips with “teeth” things to hold my mass of hair up) squeezes my nose.

And we work through it as he …calms me.

Not the way you’d gentle a skittish horse, but definitely the way you’d soothe a ruffled slut.  There was pinching, and tickling my ears and neck, and poking my back while he took 2 phone calls, and I had to be silent as he tortured me.

It was good. It…soothed me, and not because of the play/torture…but because He talked, because I talked, and because, when all is said and done, we do love each other deeply.

I, um, also had to confess to eating most of a bag of chips for lunch.

“Do NOT harm yourself because you are pissed at me, little girl. That is not acceptable.”

We just spoke on the phone a bit ago…and there will be no orgasm tonight as punishment. I’m to lay there imagining those chips going down my throat, stopping my orgasm. Yeah. He has the right. And the right of this. And tomorrow is ZNN…and it’s a very long, long, LONG time until FNF.

Oh, didja want to see that pic of Master? Here ya go!