Sweet? Did I call my Sadist sweet?

I did.

I know–I did it earlier this week.

And while we’ve not been super-active in the D/s world…today He’s just been delighted to taunt me that I can’t have an O today. I finally, after two weeks, got an O for Tuesday night.

It would have been great except that I was exhausted, stayed up too late, and fell fast asleep. I’m allowed to “bank” these O’s, which I did.

And PROMPTLY used it Wednesday night. A bang. An explosive bang. Still tired, but man, my pussy was doing the Watusi. (It’s a dance. If you’re too young to know it, google it.) A giant squirt, a trembling, shaking slut, totally blown away by the orgasmic force. I think even my eyelashes fainted.

Do you know what happens to a cunt that has been touch deprived for, oh, say two weeks, and then it has a wonderful orgasmic session? It gets stroked and played with and teased and the whole experience is just so damned good–and it quivers with delight for the attention.

And after the explosion?

It stays horny.

Alive.

Wanton.

Wet.

Yes.

That has been the status of my pussy all day today. But Thursday is NO touching day. Only longing for it, only needing it, only wanting it so fucking bad…

Nothing else.

He reminded me right off what day it was–with a Sadistic twist.

you might as well get it through your slut head that you’ll be o-less for the next 40 hours, not just today. too bad for you. happy Me.

That’s a paraphrase, but it’s pretty close to the original. And He was so fucking joyful whenever He texted me. I told Him I was terribly horny.

He grinned back at me.

I told Him I was really, really needy today.

“You’re needy every day. This is really making me happy, though.”

I called Him a Bastard, yet He likes that. He made some other observation about me stamping my foot, or carrying on. Which I wasn’t doing but was close to it.

“This is the best thing that’s happened in My day.”

Didn’t I just write that He was sweet? How quickly I forget the Sadist lurking just underneath the surface, just looking for a way to get to me.

The best part is, of course, that I like it. Even when I don’t. Exactly. Kinda. Sorta.

Aren’t we submissive sluts just the *strangest* of people? Yeah, we are. 🙂

I’ve long ago made my peace with the whole “why do I want Him to deprive me of that which I crave”…I’ve always craved it, that sort of control, and He gets to me perfectly. Keeping me on the edge, keeping me needy, fulfilling both our needs.

That is part of the sweetness, for me at least. That He gives me what I’ve always wanted–to be controlled sexually. To hold my pussy in His hand, well, virtually at least, and be able to close that (metaphoric) hand and say “nope, not tonight. Your pussy is closed.”

It’s what drew me to BDSM in the first place, that someone could/would want to give that much control to another person, especially a person who would also hurt them. You know. Like biting. Or spanking. Or caning. Or pinching. Or paddling.

Pretty much, all the good stuff.

I’ve grown so accustomed to the idea of it that it doesn’t phase me that much, the dichotomy of being deeply cared for, and also beaten. I don’t have to worry about my needs being met because He meets them perfectly. He knows me, from the inside out, it seems.

Sweet, indeed.