He Didn’t Make me do it; He Made Me WANT to do it

He’s clever.

Devious.

Inventive.

And insightful enough about His slut to know what makes me tick. What makes me burn with wanting. What makes me happy.

It was way back on ZNN, last week. You recall ZNN? Zero touching, NO, Nada. There is, however, much teasing by Master. He’ll send naughty little texts that heat me up.  But no pleasure in the traditional form, rubbing, or vibes, or cumming. Definitely no cumming. Instead, He uses remote torture.

His favorite is the clit flick. Clit flicks are a dual torture, since I do them at His behest, hurting myself for Him, which is a trigger for me, a good trigger. Hurting myself in this small way, for Him? Definite turn on. And let’s face it- I’m a masochist. By the time we get ’round about to 8 p.m. the flicks get pretty sploshy. But they are also just painful enough to make my clit feel all excited for about 45-50 minutes. And after a very brief respite as the turn-on ebbs…it is time to snap it again.

So….. I spent a lot of ZNN fantasizing about Friday night, and the potential orgasm awaiting me. He texts me, I text Him, and sometime in the early evening I ask Him something like “how can I please You?”

He sends back this one:

Ask for ZNN Day to be extended – since it is your favorite day.

I blink. Really? Did He just ask me to ask to extend Znn to please Him?

(Dammit! I don’t have the exact response  sent–I had to delete my texts…my inbox gets full fast!)

I responded something like, “oh okay. Will You extend Znn, oh Master of mine?”

And He responded a speedy “No.”

Okay, my response was kind of flippant. You all *know* I am a wiseass sometimes. But His reply made me a bit huffy and indignant. After all, it was His idea. After all it’s HE who loves Znn. Okay, there’s a part of me that does too. The whole “He’s got the control and I don’t” thing. It is just one of those mysterious subbie things that you don’t “grok” if you’re not into control.

So I pondered a more gracious, well-thought-out request. One that was more sincere. More meaningful. More real.

More submissive.

It suddenly wasn’t a flippant game that we were tossing back and forth, but a true gesture of my submission to this Master of mine. And He accepted it graciously.

As I lived through my Friday, spending most of the day extremely turned on,  something suddenly occurred to me. Since I started working on Saturdays, with this long commute, leaving home at 7 a.m. and not returning until 6 p.m. He has never given me a Saturday orgasm.

Rut roe.

Not only did He get Friday as a “gift”….but He knew that I wouldn’t get Saturday either. That clever Bastard!!

I could all but *see* His wicked grin as I asked Him about this. Now, you all know I’m a spoilt slut, and He says it all the time.

“You’re such a spoiled slut, nilla,”

“Spoiled, spoiled, spoiled.”

Which makes me giggle. He’ll randomly deny me Orgasms just for the mind fuck of it. But I usually get several O’s a week.

But not last week.

Sunday dawns and my first thought upon waking was “omg I’m so turned on.” As my ZNN was extended and extended and extended, I began having wicked sex dreams, and fantasies….so on my way to pick up my kiddo in the City, I called Him, in a desperate need to know if it was possible to have an orgasm.

He informs me that Sunday had just become a “two letter day”…and it doesn’t take an active imagination to know what those two letters are, does it?

N.

O.

Which means that the only O I got this entire week was on Tuesday, and it was very small. Lady-like. Proper. The kind of O that you go, oh, that was nice.

Wasn’t it?

Was that an orgasm?

Or a hiccup in my pussy?

Yeah.

It was like that.

So now I’m a horny bitch ready to hump the walls, the car tires, a tree…pretty much anything. And I know HE knew exactly how horny I was, too. I called Him several times on Sunday, each time a bit more desperate. I’d start the conversation with “May I have an O, Master?”

Which earned a fast “no, what else?”

At the end of a long and emotionally draining day, I sent him a text poem. It was in rhyme, a funny little thing about the loss of an O, how sad it was, and how needy a pussy would be without one.

And He relented!

I got an O!

But…there were conditions. There are always conditions. I must have a half O at the front end. Then I have the Orgasm itself. And then at the back-end? Another halfway-there orgasm…and then STOP! Holding onto the need to cum, trembling, shaking, wanting to fall over the edge…and denied.

I feel so many things at once.

Satisfaction. oh, YES! I’ll have the best O ever, since I’m so so sso needy. And He cranks me up with that half O, at the start…making me wait for it, wait for it…aaaah, so good.

And then I think more about what happens afterwards. He is so fucking devious! Controlling. Gods, how I love that about Him.

So I’ll get an orgasm, eventually (sometimes it can be hard to get back “up the hill” after stopping so close…). And when I cum, I know it will be awesome. Awesome. Knee-popping, eyes rolling in my head, awesome. And yet….

After satiety?

He will send me right back to the place I was at before, hanging on need. A gift, with bite. Just the kind of thing He’s so good at.

A gift that I plan to unwrap slowly, enjoy every damn minute of…even knowing “what lies ahead”.

That’s part of the gift, too.

🙂