Touch(ed)

Oh, what a busy day today was. Work went by quickly, and I had plans to meet up with Master afterwards.  He was supposed to be gone, but His plans changed, and we could hook up, at least for this brief time. How lovely it is, to get a wee surprise like that. Our play-day is postponed, but we still get to touch one another.

And how He touches me. With sweet words, and dastardly play. I want to kiss Him. I’ve painted my lips red for Him, and pull up to where He is parked, ponytail disheveled from my day, and the drive. I get out of the car, and lean into Him. He grabs my ponytail, and bends me over, ass in the air, head down by His knees, and pins me against the car.

And tickles me.

Finally, He lets me up. He leans towards me, as if to kiss, but there is that gleam in His eye…and as I lean towards Him,  to meet His lips, He grabs  each side of my waist and squeezes it so fucking hard it takes my breath away. A muffin-top is NOT a thing to have when one has a Dom who loves to pinch!

I pull away, and His grip slackens.

Once more, I lean towards Him and once more,  just before our lips meet, He tips His head away and pinches me, hard!  I yelp and rear back in pain. O fucking OWIES!

This goes on for quite a few minutes, and He is laughing softly to Himself. I’m not sure He’s even aware of it…just these soft chortles as I lean in,  cooing, yearning towards His lips, into more pain. The closer I get, the more it hurts…and I realize it’s a test. Do I want to kiss Him bad enough to take the pain He is giving me to “earn” it?

Hell, yes!

I have ginormous bruises already and it has only been a few hours since our meet. But well worth the price I am willing to pay to kiss Him.

I’m feeling frisky, playful, He says. He’s tickling me devilishly, and I’m all squirmy and girly. Then I start stalking His man-nipples. Aren’t male nipples neat? Tiny but they get so hard… 🙂 And I flick them, and pinch them, and am admonished for doing all that.

And we laugh.

“You’re in such a playful mood today,” He comments, and it’s true. After what was truly a hellish week, being upset and moody, and angry, and hurt and crying, to be here in this place and time with Him, and just being happy…was a delight. He supported me and verbally stroked and hugged me and lifted me up all week. It was a good feeling to just be able to be with Him, and be in a good, happy place.

We talk and tease, and He pinches me more, then little smacks, then some subtle nipple pinches that rise me to my toes like I was a ballerina studying for the role of the Swan! Holy HELL on a stick!

We played, semi-publicly, for about 40 minutes before I needed to go, before He needed to go. But there was one more “kiss test” to go through, before we parted.

I’ll wear these marks for a week or more.

A few minutes ago I called Him, as I had yet to hear about an orgasm. And you all know I’m greedy like that. We chatted for a few minutes, then He had me describe how the scene would play out for me…which always embarrasses me to say out loud. I know, funny, for a wordsmith who can tell the smuttiest of stories…but that’s how I roll (to use the vernacular of the teens).

“Well, Master,” I pause and ‘umm’ for a minute, and He ‘encourages’ me to speak. There is a subtle note of “do it now or lose it” so I start to speak.

“….I thought that nipple clamps would be good…it always feels like You’re here when I use them. The weight of the chain and the chill of the metal…”

“Good, go on,” He says.

“….and…um…the vibe, Master. I’d torture my clit with it a bit, maybe get close a few times before I go over the edge…not as close as YOU make me get but…close enough…” my voice trails off. I’m really not sure what more He wants.

“Pins on your nips instead of clamps. No. Wait.”

There is a verrrrry pregnant pause. The “Oh Shit” part, where my pussy tingles and I’m torn between ‘oh no no no…and the hideous joy of obeying His wishes.

“Okay, clamps on nipples, that’s good. And your tapered anal plug up your poop chute. And nilla?”

“Yes Master?” I say with trepidation in my voice.

“How many clothespins do you have up there with you?”

“TWO” I yelp triumphantly, giggling wildly.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me you cunt!” He says, but He is laughing too.

I count them. There are 12. I have counted them out loud as I gathered them up.

“Eleven. Eleven is a nice number. Eleven pins on the kitties, nilla.”

I swallow hard enough for it to be audible.

“And nilla?”

What now?       “Yes Master?”

“Be sure to find some of the bruises I put on you today. Make sure that there are pins on the bruises. Two if you can make it fit. Want to mark those bruises with those pins, got it?”

OH Holy Fuck!

“Yes Master…” and I admit it, my voice was *that* close to a whine.

He laughs.

Yes, He did. He laughed. Totally delighted.

“Remember, ELEVEN pins, nilla”

“I’ll take pictures, Master.”

“I’ll look forward to that, nilla,” He says, smugly.

And I admit it, when I hung up the phone, *I* laughed. That fucking sadistic Bastard got me again.

(yeah, I do like that He keeps coming out on top!)