Before we get to that HNT Redux…
Master and I made up the day I posted my pity post. And He (as usual) was right. He did all the normal things He always does…all the reaction was mine. So lest you think He’s a badass…yes, He is…but He takes good care of His slut. Even when she’s in a “snit” as He called it.
Now that comment of Master’s sparked a last little flare of outrage. I mean, we were working it out, making up, clearing the air. But really?
Nilla doesn’t have “snits”…but I swallowed down my retort after that first “snit???” and have just sucked it up.
He keeps bringing it up, sets the scene of Him waiting for me at a new coffee-house He has discovered–including a cup of tea with no bag…just the string…which He ordered post-snit commentary when He knew I wasn’t coming. (I didn’t mention, did I, that I welched on seeing Him because I was so pissed and hurt? What an idiot I am sometimes. Now it has been 3 weeks I have seen Him. My stupid asshattery sometimes astonishes even me.)
The “snit-string” is a new and recurring theme. He made me go to the store tonight and purchase tea bags that have strings (the ones I use are stringless). I have to save the strings. They will appear at some later time as part of a correction. Not a punishment, but a way to change my thinking, He says.
He has managed to embarrass me, adding a fat dose of humiliation, by making me ask the check out kid (who looked like he was 12) what the return policy was on tea bags if I took the strings off –since I only wanted the strings. I laughed it off as a joke, while the kid stared at me in bemusement.
It was hot…and humiliating. I mean, I left there red faced, knowing they would talk about the weird freaky lady after I left, who only wanted to buy tea bag strings.…yet doing as He had ordered had made my panties damp, too. Damn I hate that. Dang-it…I love it, too. Fucking quixotic creature!
He’s never done anything like that to me before. Not sure if I like it…but it sure drove His point home. Being a rude girl is never going to be a good thing.
And speaking of humiliation…you remember that I had to post pics of my titties with “Bronco’s” on them? That was the bet I’d made with Fiona, when I was full-on certain that my Patriots would rule the day. Turns out they (and I) rued the day they showed up at Mile High Stadium. Andddd……Turns out I forgot the FULL rules of the bet (honestly, I can’t remember shit these days…) I needed to put on my nipple clamps and jump around for 15 minutes THEN take the picture.
So I thank Fiona for letting me go for a week, and here, my dear, is the completed deal: clamps, a quarter-hour of jiggling (ouch…they hurt more when it’s this fucking cold, did you know that?)…and my “Bronco” message!
Here’s to the winning team…may your Superbowl dreams come true (but wait until NEXT year!)
please forgive the typo of putting my “d” backasswards! My eyeliner was running out and I didn’t have enough to correct it. The full text reads “Tortured by a Bronco’s fan”.