…and I kinda like it. Aaaand…I kinda hate it.
Because I called him on it, you see. He’d said he had something dastardly planned. He got busy, I got busy but I felt, well, you know, deflated over it. Like…doesn’t he care enough about me to at least throw me a torture bone or something?
I was dying of loneliness, yanno?
Okay, not dying but…kinda.
Anyway, I sent him a ration of texts about it…not yelling, not telling him what he was doing wrong (as if!!!) but telling him how I felt. Because we’d promised that, after all. Best to get it out there before it festered in me and I did pull a Viking on him.
And it was respectful. And his reply was akin to it being one of my moods. To which I replied in a logical, non-testy fashion.
Except at the very teentsy end when I might have suggested he was perhaps too old to find D/s appealing any more, and that was okay because he’d been at this shit a LONG LONG time and hey, maybe he didn’t need it anymore at his age.
*pauses for the reader to gasp, guffaw, whatever*
I did that.
(grins somewhat un-apologetically over that)
And trust me, He responded to that PDQ
(pretty damn quick)
and most assuredly informed me that he was NOT to old to do any damn thing and He called the shots and if it was a slow time, so be it. (Basically, sit down, shut up, and deal, slut.)
And we were good, after that little chat, yanno? And we did talk it through and all was well.
And then I lost a football bet. And then I won. And then I lost. And I racked up a negative 9 balance…okay it was negative 16, but I’d won that 8 and wiped out part of it.
And he’s crafted some pretty fucking deviously awful half-o’s for me, getting me hornier than …. whatever…and leaving me throbbing and wanting and…
and yes, hell yes, it’s so much better than being ignored…
but be careful what you ask for, be careful how you tweak your Dominant.
Because they will always win the upper hand. Always.
And you’ll pay with your ass. And tits. And needy, unsatisfied pussy.
(But I win too, kinda, even though I lose, too.)