How A Birthday Can Go (Sadistically) Wrong

I am a planner.

Those of you who know me, know this one fundamental facet of my personality. I like to know where everything is, where everyone should be and when. I have a family calendar that is proof of my genius here, carefully color-coded that no one dares deviate from.

Can you say Mom as Dominant? 🙂

What I can’t shoehorn into my carefully arranged plans is Master.  I try, mind you. He resists. (my geek friends are chanting under their breath now, ‘resistance is futile…You will be assimilated…’  but I digress…or do I?!)

Master is willing to allow me to make my plans with Him,  with the full knowledge that He may…or may NOT go along with them. Which often drives me crazy. Which makes me hot. Which frustrates me on one level, and flusters me on the other.

I had it alllll planned out. We had a mutual window of time to meet. Not long -but He worked hard to get there as He had been out-of-town, so He’d already made a huge concession for my plans. It was His birthday this weekend, you see, and I had a special present for Him. No, it wasn’t sexy nor sexual. It was personal and something I knew He would like a lot.

I get to the coffee shop first, as I knew I would. I get my tea, and a special birthday cupcake for U/us to share. I find His favorite table occupied, but by the time I got my order, it was cleared, and I grabbed it. Sunday nights in a cool college town in a coffee shop? Busy as heck. It’s not a big place (but ooooh gawd the cupcakes. My gawd, they are sinfully delicious! They are orgasms for your mouth!) so getting the “preferred Master spot” can be a challenge, so I took this as a good omen.

I set the scene. His present and singing card on His side of the table. The cupcake in the center. And I wait. And wait.

And wait.

The ticking of the clock is an ominous enemy. I look to my phone which is always on silent mode, lest I forget when I get home…and O crap! There is a missed call from Master.

25 minutes ago.


I call Him and He informs me that He’s driven past the shop twice trying to find a parking place and He’ll be there shortly. And He wasn’t too grumpy about the 25 minute delay in my response. And soon, He is there, but alas, I now have barely 30 minutes to spend with Him.

Time goes by so very fast when we’re together…it’s painful how it rushes on when I want to spend hours and hours in His company.

Fast forward a bit…and we’re right at the time when things get …blurry for me.

He catches me all unaware.  I didn’t…expect, I guess, for Him to make me a blurry, pussy-drooling cunt on His little birthday party. I didn’t expect the dose of Dom. I didn’t plan for subspace.


Not a hand, not a finger has He laid on me…He fucks with me just with words.  I’m not sure, exactly, how He started. Remember, blurry…but suddenly He’s talking about a present He got for me.

It was the cupcake, I think, that was to blame.

It’s red velvet, you see. A brilliant (horrible and dye filled but who gives a fuck coz it’s so damn yummmy….) red.

I swear to you, all of you, that I could see the change in His eyes. They go all wolfy-the predator at play. Maybe a touch of dragon; I swear they were glowing.

They are His “Ima gonna getcha” eyes.

And He’s talking about my “problem with anal beads. They go *insert raspberry sound effect here* right outta your ass, nilla.”

“That’s naughty. They’re supposed to stay in there. But I’ve resolved that.”

“It’s red.”

He’s talking kind of loud. People look our way when He does the loud raspberry, for a moment. Maybe they hear him say “asshole” or “anal bead”? I’m not sure. I feel…..dizzy…disoriented, perhaps. He’s talking about anal beads. and my ass. In public. And not giving a nanofuck who is listening. I blink.


What has happened here? The control for our little party has been adroitly tugged right out of my hands, and ms. party planner has been sent on her way, while the slut has been put in her place right across from her Master.

“And it’s this round.”

He makes a circle with His thumb and forefinger. I think I’m shaking my head and my mouth is kind of hanging open. No. That’s not possible. I know, deep in my throbbing gut, He is NOT talking about cupcakes, but …

“It’s tapered, your new butt plug. But even the tapered tip is this big around. Oh, no way are you going to be able to fart that out of your asshole.”

In public.

Not quietly.

He says “anal beads” several times, and LAUGHS as I turn scarlet. I’m embarrassed, a bit humiliated…and so fucking turned on. My pussy is drooling and I was squirming and I think I could have started a campfire just by laying my face on a stick. I was that hot, that…controlled.

He holds His hands apart, painting out with motions how long it is, how large the base, how fat at its widest point, and how it has a little “neck” at the bottom.

I am hiding behind my hair, face in my hands, squirming and giggling softly and…that makes Him laugh. Not quietly, but a large Man laugh that makes people look at us.

And smile.

Unknowing that this Master of mine has evil plans to shove a plug up my posterior…coz He is fascinated with my asshole, and making it stretch while beating me is a huge turn-on for us both.

I’m definitely not in control anymore. I’m not in Kansas, Toto. He’s taken command of the situation, of me. He likes His present, a lot, but He likes even more that He has managed to ‘undo’ me, in under 10 minutes, turning me into a stuttering, gape-mouthed submissive idiot.

He has ass-imilated me.

Resistance is futile.