I tried to post todays post via my phone, but alas. Some entity ate it. Yes. It is gone. Poof. Evaporated into the ether. Ah well. I’ve only lost a post a few times but it SURE is aggravating. Then again, I was uber tired last night so maybe it wouldn’t have made any sense?
That’s my hope, anyway.
The original post would have been called “Naughty slut”. Remember that post the other day about perfectionism? Well, I managed to perfect “naughtiness” this weekend. Who knew, right?
Master was away. Busy, for some of the time. Driving away, driving back. HE wasn’t driving, and I didn’t want Him to be bored or anything like that. So I started “text poking” Him. I even wrote a song to the tune of “Row Row Row Your Boat” (You can youtube the tune if you are unfamiliar with it, it’s not letting me get links today–apparently technology thinks I should be doing something else….!)
I must’ve sent a bajillion texts. Some just a simple “poke”. Some were longer or with more pokes. The jibes flew hard and fast, with NO response from Him, until waaay late in the afternoon.
He got home last night, and I called Him on my way to fetch the teen from the City. We talked “vanilla-ish” for a while….and then.
“You know, slut, there is a price to be paid for today’s ‘envelope pushing’, right?”
I swallowed before I spoke, and despite the sweater I was wearing, I shivered. There He is, there’s that tone that strikes like a quick slap. And what is my response after a brief moment to catch my breath?
Yes. I giggled.
I’m sure it was nerves.
He went on to tell me that the cane will have a starring role in our next playtime, to remind me that there is always a price to be paid for being a naughty slut, and this next time, my tits and thighs will pay.
“Those back of your legs are quite sensitive, aren’t they, nilla?”
He draws out my name “nil-pause-la”. More shivers ensue.
I love drawing out His Beast, but it does make me nervous too. I’ll admit that I was pretty turned on — fear does that to me. And I’m pretty sure my legs are going to regret the price that was overdrawn by my texting fingers. I am not a huge fan of the cane. That stingy hurt is…hard to manage? There is that initial *slap* (and He’ll do a quick series of snap snap snap so I can’t quite catch my breath or grab a rhythm) and then the pain just spreads out like an echo….it reverberates from skin to muscle and back out. Hard to describe. If you’ve not felt it, then you should try it. You know, for science’s sake. :D
I teased Him that “You’ll forget, Master.”
Quietly He reminded me that He keeps a mental file of this sort of thing– (He does, too. He never forgets when I owe Him for being a naughty slut. Ever.) –because payback always had to be paid. His way. With pain.
He says that last word almost lovingly, then repeats it.
“My pain, nilla.”
A wealth of meaning in those few words. His pain. His duration, and His intensity. Damn but now I’m turned on, and feeling more than a wee bit of trepidation. He loves doing that to me, too, turning me on and making me….well “fearful” is too strong a word. “Nervous” is a bit too mild. But somewhere between the two, definitely!
It may be a while before we get to meet–and I’ll have to deal with this longing and trepidation until we do. Which puts me, (I think), exactly where He wants me.