Busting the Bank

By now you know that He controls my orgasms. He has ever since sliding that gold collar around my throat years ago. No more “pounding the pussy” (as He calls it!) unless I have His permission–or unless it’s Tuesday. I’m not entirely certain, now, how Tuesday became “Like Day”…but it had to do with me stomping my foot and having a giant tantrum about His unwillingness to speak words of caring to me. Mind you–He never has to say “I love you” –how silly would that be of me to expect that? He knows I love Him, and I know He cares deeply for me….but this slut not only likes to hear those words of caring, but needs to know that my Dominant cares about me, to get that message verbally from His mouth to my ears and not have it be implied. It doesn’t have to be every day, every week, even, but now and again, toss me some crumbs, Sir. (Sorry, but I’m still a romantic at heart. I know this isn’t a scenario that works for everyone–but it’s how I’m wired.)

That was the major point of my tantrum, way back when (and okay, occasionally now and again)…that I needed to know that He cared. Had to hear it, not just understand that it was a constant state of being for Him.

As He put it, if He wasn’t happy with me, didn’t care at all, we wouldn’t be together. And we are, so shut up and put up. But …we talked (this Man is so good about talking through the hard stuff). And eventually “Like Day (Tuesday)” was born.

Okay, so back to the topic at hand, my favorite, orgasms.

He and I are both AVID football fans. And I’m allowed to bet with Him. But you know where this is going, right? Not something as inconsequential as money. I could give a rat’s ass about money. Show me the O’s, peeps, show me the O’s. 😘

He has a betting game called Over/Under. You pick a number, which represents your best guess of the total number of points for the game, (scored by both teams and added together)…and then have to decide if the total points will be OVER that number, or UNDER it. I’ve played this game twice this season and have done verrrrrrrrry well.

Very well.

I had 16 orgasms “in the O bank” by Sunday night, thanks to the Patriot’s resounding win over the Bronco’s (Sorry WW!) Some of them were carried over from the prior week’s win, but my number by the end of Sunday’s game was really high–likely the highest number of O’s in the “Bank”, ever. I can use them *anytime* (unless He out of the blue says no, which has happened now and again. Or unless it’s ZNN –which is His special day to torture me. But more on that, later.) and as many as I want at a shot. Since I’d called 42 OVER, and the score total was way, way over 42, and since  I earn 1/2 O for every point scored over my guess, I was *rollin’* in O’s Sunday night. And giggling about it.

And while I was trying to be ….well, you all know I’m not that discreet…but I wasn’t gloating, either… He was plotting. We speak on Wednesday.

“I want that bank.”

His words are deep, slow, ominous. Of course He could just take them away…but He wouldn’t. Wouldn’t just snatch away something I’d earned in good faith. But His mind is so fucking devious.

He let me know there was an impending robbery. Then paused and corrected Himself.

“No, not a robbery.” 

There is a pregnant pause, and my hands are starting to sweat, and I’m feeling that nervous twitch in my belly that He inspires. It’s a good feeling, never failing to make me wet, wanton, horny, and totally His.

“After all, you did earn them, slut. A robbery wouldn’t be fair. I need to think on this a bit. But there may well be a return to the half-O, nilla. I know how you love that.”

I think I gasped. I so do NOT love the half-o, being driven to the peaked edge…and having to stop before falling over and getting that blessed relief. It’s painful, torturous. And while I don’t love the half O, I DO love that He controls the situation, that His Dom-beast is awake and kicking at me. (It is, after all, part of what I love most about being His submissive, being made to do things I don’t want, a way for Him to reach out and “touch” me from afar.)

The call ends shortly after that, and He leaves me hanging, anticipating His devious minds creativeness.

On ZNN, (Zero, Nada, No pussy pounding) He has the option always of torturing me. That’s His special day, as Like day is mine. This way we each get a touch of one another. And He’s been (as He admitted later) lax about doing anything torturous to me. It’s been summer, and we’ve both been busy and yada yada. We’d fallen into a bit of a rut, our last playtime notwithstanding.

Suddenly we’re ramping up a bit, and He’s getting into the swing of things and BOOM. I get a text as I’m heading to work.

“ZNN announces its 7 half O special for nilla the slut! Details to follow!”



OMFG—-SEVEN half fucking o’s? OMG the Man is trying to KILL me, I think. And then I pause. No. Nope, not even close. He’s found a way to rob the bank. Because He knows I’ve not done a half O in months…and there is NO way I could do 7 without falling over the edge into full orgasm (and boy would I be fucked then!)…so he is going to make me rob my own bank to pay off the o’s.

While I was at work I decided that I’d jump onto the aggressive train. Yes! I’ll jump into the conversation first and offer to give him one full O to cover 3 half-o’s. My fall back was to offer one full o for 4 half o’s. Yeah, I know that’s backasswards thinking, but the idea was to make Him laugh at my terrible math skillz. 😀 And then maybe talk Him down to a 1:2 ratio, and not what I feared, a one-for-one rate.


That was the plan…and He didn’t even come close to falling for it. He laughed at my lame attempt to distract Him with nilla-math, and then firmly said, NO.

“It’s a one to one exchange. You can buy all 7 half o’s with 7 full o’s. Or you can do some of the half o’s, and not make such a substantial withdrawal from the bank. C’mon nilla, (His voice turns soft, silky, a hint of cajolery now–a tone I always fall prey to0…it’s so seductive).

You know you can do it! You can give Me two half-O’s and only spend 5 from your bank.”

I’d already used one, so my tally was down to 15. That withdrawal would leave me with ten. Double digit O’s? Yeah, I could do this, I think.

“Okay M,” I hear myself say, feeling a bit faint after I hang up. The evening approaches, and His last words hover in the forefront of my brain…

“Don’t even think about those two half O’s while you watch your program on TV tonight, nilla, Don’t fret a bit over it.”

He plants these damn seeds and how can I not think of it after He uses that sexy voice to paint the idea into my head?  Reluctantly I go to bed, quivering at my fate. And then I get a writing Jones on and write until 1130 and OMG! It’s time and the half O’s must be 5 minutes apart (to give just enough cool down time)…and I have to be done by 11:59:59…

And I am.

I pause during that 5 minute “rest” to shoot off a quick series of texts to Him…some of which were unintelligible. And then I’m back to laying my vibe on my still sensitive clit and coming close without cumming and I’m so fucking close and …

I stop.

And quiver.

Shed a few tears, and send a few more rabid texts, and fall into a very restless sleep. Today my pussy and clit are still throbbing, still needy. Still in denial. It’s keeping me on edge, reminding me of my place (on the bottom, nilla, on the bottom)…and making me hornier than I’ve been in a while.

It really is a horribly wonderful place to be.