Wait! Before you sit to read, refill your cuppa, grab a muffin or cookie, and put up your feet. We’ve not chatted in a while, you and I and it’s time for a little nattering, don’tcha think? I’ve been SO busy and I’ve sadly neglected our friendship and it seems that I need a breather, if only for as long as it takes to share our tea/coffee and muffin time.
Phew. Now, doesn’t that feel good? Let me catch you up on things ’round here, and you can tell me how you’re doing.
Oh, and if you’re the one who’s driving up the stats on Octopus Vulgaris I’d love for you to “uncloak” and tell me why you love that story so much!
And OH! If you feel like you’re seeing things floating by, no need to make an appointment with your vision care person! WordPress blogs “snow” during December. It’s a fun little thing they do, and I enjoy it. 😀
Anyway….things with M and I are going well, though I miss his face like crazy. There’d been a chance, you see, for us to have playtime over the Thanksgiving holiday, but I had a TON of work, he got called into work as well…and it just didn’t happen. I was torn between a sorrow for the non-event, and relief.
I said relief.
I’m a submissive, really I am. But we would have both been squeezing the time in. Not that we wouldn’t have been present in the moment if we’d gotten time together, we always are. We get lost in one another–but there can also be that little niggle.
You know the niggle, right? The one that says “responsibility looms”…? Well, if you’re in your 20’s and reading this you’ll just say “oh hell, fuck responsibility, just go, do it, feel it, experience all the things!”
But at my doddering age (kidding!)…and because I have my own business…I have people counting on me to be where and when I’ve promised. And maybe it’s emblematic of my submission, but when I give my word–I keep it.
So there was that at play when He told me he couldn’t make (the one day and time we both had semi-available) it, there was that duality of being sad, because I miss him, and I SO need to be spanked, beaten, fucked to semi-consciousness to drive out all the stress and worry and fretting that plagues us all. I need it, badly. But that responsibility thing, man that just eats at me. Not in a sexah way, either. I had someplace to be the next day and it’s SO hard to not drag ass the day after playtime. I’ve discovered that the buzz and the stupor of being so hard-used leaves me in a “slut hangover”. . . not to mention the pain of sitting, taking a shit, peeing, lifting my arms, and sometimes, smiling.
Damn it’s a good feeling.
*insert HUGE smile here*
But it’s also a very physically draining feeling, and that had to play into the back of both our minds. Yes, he’s as tired and physically challenged after our play time as I am. Except he can still sit comfortably. And likely, take a comfy shit, too. *giggling* But I know his hand and shoulder are tender afterwards. He could not hit me so much, or so hard, but hell, what’s the fun in that–for either of us…right?!
So, we didn’t even manage a meet-up, that’s how flat out we both are. And won’t do it this weekend either. We’re both hopeful that we’ll hook up before Christmas, but who the hell knows. Mom Nature has been very kind to us in New England, and we’ve only seen a teeny series of snowflakes. If it’s precipitated it’s been rain. November-ish rain (cold, hurts-yer-bones raw rain-ugh). But December can turn on a dime and we can get slammed. (Though last winter we didn’t start really snowing until late January—and then it wouldnt’ stop!)
Who knows if we’ll manage a playtime in December (likely not, though.)
I know, you’re wondering about the title up there, right? Here I am nattering on and on about not seeing my Master, and all my conflicted feelings about that. Though we don’t see each other often enough, we still talk daily.
And then there’s Football.
We bet on games together.
But not for money. What’s the value of that in a D/s relationship, right? No no no. If you’ve read here for a long time, you know what we play for…ORGASMS!
Or from his side, half-O’s. Yes, that man would edge me half to death if he could make it happen. And it has happened, a lot this season.
But wait, there’s more! (I always laugh when I say that…can you imagine a nilla infomercial?!)
He’s changed up the rules this year, too, adding a real element of danger. Since I’m pretty good at score prediction, he’s decided to go with Vegas numbers and makes me choose whether the score will be over their prediction, or under. Trust me, this is much harder.
I’ve had a losing record this year, to his joy. But I won BIG two weeks ago, with a net gain of 11 orgasms. (The week I lost big, man that totally sucked. I had to edge for multiple days, multiple times.) I used three of them, and was whistling along with a bank full of 8 orgasms. Trust me, I was ridin’ high.
And then came Denver.
Mind you, this isn’t about win vs loss…it’s ALL about the numbers. And for a long while it looked like I was going to come (hee hee) out on top again. But the fourth quarter of the game was a nightmare, not just because I’m an ardent Pat’s fan, but the numbers, man they just kept piling up. And up. And then I was busted. And then I was WAY busted…until I ended up 11 in the hole.
No pun intended.
He was cheerfully recounting the game when we spoke last night. Now, he was gracious enough to let me buy off the edging (half-o’s) with my bank of 8 orgasms.
But that still left me 3 in the hole.
No pun intended.
(laughs, sips tea, laughs again)
So…yesterday was Tuesday, the one “reprieve day” that I get each week. It’s Like Day (because he doesn’t like to say he likes me, let alone loves me…he’s demonstrative with actions, not words. It’s just his way, don’t worry. I don’t mind it, really. I’d much rather have the actions than words with no value behind them.
But I digress.
(I know, I’m SO wordy today. Good thing I type fast!)
So he starts painting scenarios.
“You know, nilla,” he says, his voice just this side of sly. I know just by the tone that I’m in for it, the rabbit becoming cautious because the wolf is skirting around the edges of the woods.
“You know nilla, if you decided to petition me for your Like Day orgasm to be traded, I might be convinced to cut your debt down by half. You’d still owe me 3….” he pauses for my gasp…
(Reaganomics, much?) (I, having forgotten that his “one” point is my two edgings…dammit!)….
“…but it would take away 3 so you’d be a bit ahead…”
“Uh huh,” I say, my tone very wary.
“Aaah, the slut is learning,” he says, amused. “Of course, you remember, slut, that I can pull a half-O out of the air any time I choose.”
He pauses, listening, I’m sure, to the change in my breathing.
“Because I can,” He finishes.
Oh yes, because he can. It it makes me hot, and wanton, and wet, and needy when he does that, and he knows that …and at the end of that quiet, firm, Dom-voiced “because I can” …?
Wicked, wicked Dom.
But he leaves the choice of using the Like Day O…or trading it in. After all, he reminds me, he could give me a reprieve on Thursday (his day to chose to torment me…or any day he can choose to torment me, he reminds me again)…and put the total of 6 (if I don’t trade in my o) up for grabs on this Sunday’s game. Or He could make me do two a night to clear up the bank and totally torment me (he’s done this in the past. It sucks!)
It depends on the mood of the moment. On wine. On sunshine and temperature. IN other words…it doesn’t matter when or how he decided to do…or not to do…whatever the fuck he pleases.
Coz he’s the boss. He owns the orgasms, the half-orgasms, the torture, the pussy, the ass…
It’s all his.