We had face-time last night.
So appreciative when He makes time for me. I know He pushed and pulled His schedule to accommodate me, so nice since I may not have time in the upcoming weekend.
I came in with my knitting bag. I know. So fucking vanilla. But deadlines loom and I have several “must finish” projects on my docket. So, I knit. I am not *certain* but I think He likes it.
And the conversation was so very unvanilla.
So very Domly.
So very, very naughty. All about Big Red. All about Mr. Belt. About the two of them having a very important meeting …at my ass. About the Wall, and our playtime and the words that sent a shiver of nerves through me.
“This is going to be a very painful playtime for you, nilla.”
Nerves, yes. And a fast, super-intense lust as well. I was wet, I could feel my pussy leaking as He looked at me. He looked apologetic for a moment. And then spoiled it by grinning. He has almost as much fun in the “set up” to a playdate, as He does during the actual play part. He is the Master of the mindfuck!
To change the topic from my ass, and it’s fate, I had to ask the question.
I’d sent Him a text, you see. A question for when we meet behind closed doors.
“Master…what is are the odds of getting my tits caned on our playdate?”
He never replied.
Several texts went back and forth after that, all unrelated, but he never answered that one. So as we drink our tea, as He tells me some of the plans for my ass, as I knit, I bring it up.
He sits up a bit, shoots me this look. I swear I have no idea how He does it. One minute semi-vanilla talk, the next His face is pure Dom. It’s…compelling. His gaze sharpens (no, that’s not just a plot device in a story. It really happens.) as He gives me the look, as He answers slowly.
I clear my throat, shift a bit in my seat.
“Uhm…I sent You a text earlier today and You didn’t answer it. I was …ummm…wondering…if…..” and my voice trails off.
“If? And which text would that be?”
And I *know* He knows. Just like that.
I feel the blush. I hide behind my hair and my knitting.
“You know…the one…”
Again I can’t make myself say it.
“I can text it again.”
“Oh no. I want you to say it.”
My eyes close, open. Maybe I said a prayer in my head in that short moment.
“Master….” Not a whine. Just nervous voice. He really wants me to say it? Like, out loud?
His eyes are all over my face. I feel like how I feel when He has put me on the Wall during playtime. Exposed. Excited. Overcome. Defenseless. Turned on. Embarrassed.
“Say. It.” His voice isn’t loud. It’s whip-snap sharp though. Clearly an order, and no longer a tease.
I try hard to not mutter. I know He has a bad ear. Fail.
“What? What did you say, slut?”
Yes. Right there in Starbucks, He plays with me. Turns up the heat, makes me feel the burn. I clear my throat, take a sip of tea, drop my now-still hands into my lap, clutching my needles. I stutter. (how embarrassing.)
“The text. Caning. My….tits…The odds.”
“Oh, yes, I recall seeing something about that. You wondered what the odds were of it happening? Tell me, nilla, why the sudden interest? A porno you saw? A story you read? What was the catalyst for this sudden …interest?”
He needs to know it all. Inside I sigh. How to explain to Him that my mind works in perverted ways and that I came up with it all on my own. I might have seen it on a porno, had I watched one. I may have read it in a story…had I read one. But no. This all popped into my head one masturbation night.
I did send that report to Him promptly, so He had some awareness. He files things away, then wants to know more.
“I don’t know, Master. I really don’t. I may have seen it or read it. But…the truth is –it’s a big masturbation fantasy for me.”
“Aaah. A fantasy. Well, you know I’m committed to making your fantasies reality for you, slut.” He says the word as if He’s tasting something delectable and savory.
He pauses, and His eyes go all golden. He’s my very own Lion, though there is NO leash that could control Him.
“I’d say, slut, that there is a 100% probability of that happening, then. The thing is…hmmm…caning is terribly painful. You remember that I do it on your thighs and calves.”
“Yes Master. I remember. It hurts like fuck-all.”
“Yes. Even more so on the tits. I wonder if there should be a balance for the pain.”
You never know what you set in motion when you proposition a Dom. Never. I swallow hard before I ask the inevitable question.
“Uhmmm…what …kind…of counterbalance, Master?”
I’m worried that He won’t answer.
I’m equally worried that He will.
“Oh, you know. Big Red up your ass. Maybe.”
He pauses again.
“Then again, I kind of want Big Red to be the star of the show. Nope.”
He purses His lips, His eyes boring into mine. I swear I see the flames burning behind there. I am almost scorched from the heat, the weight of the intensity. I’m falling into Him and I never, ever want to get up.
“I’m thinking…the new anal beads I got you. Quite a step up from the other ones I used to use. Quite a step. Prep for Big Red.”
As He speaks, my mind races…anal beads? New ones? Why, He never said word one about that! He draws my attention back to what He is saying.
“Yes, those would definitely take your mind and split the tension between your aching asshole, and your aching tits. Good idea, nilla.”
Yes. Good idea, indeed.
Apparently I’m full of them.
(and soon to be ‘full’ of other things, too.)