Not last Sunday but two ago…I won BIG during our football bet. But. I had a deficit of half-o’s that I had to “pay for” first–a huge amount, sadly. Which cut my allotment from over 15, to 6. I used one that night, down to 5. I used one more…and then ran out of time, ran out of energy.
You know how it gets when you’re super uber busy and the last thing on your mind is sex, right? When you fall into bed and you’re asleep before your head is nestled into your pillow? For an insomniac like me, that’s a sign that I’m totally, completely whipped.
So I’m wallowing in vanilla here, not even enough time to feel self pity. And don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad that I’m this busy. It’s a good thing to have that much work.
But it’s not always easy to make time for this part of my life. And then I feel guilty for neglecting Him and neglecting all you all…anyway…
He and I are talking the other day, sometime before Sunday’s game. We can’t meet because I am on my way to a job and he has a volunteer thing that he does that I’m UBER PROUD of him for doing…and we can’t match up our schedules. And maybe he senses that i’m feeling a bit…pouty? That may be too strong a word coz it’s no one’s fault, after all.
I was definitely glum.
“Oh, by the way, nilla,” he says. His voice is quick, matter-of-fact, not brusque but business-like, as if he’s taking care of some last minute details.
When we’re not in full D/s mode, this is the tone that always makes me sit up a bit straighter, listen a bit closer. It’s just that close to Dom-voice, yanno?
“Your o’s are gone.”
“Ba-ba-ba…” I stutter and stammer.
His voice is implacable.
“Gone for lack of use. They grew stale and evaporated.”
“B…but I still had 4 of them left, Master.”
Dammit, I’m whining.
“Nope. Gone. You start tonight’s game with a clean slate, devoid of O’s to bail your ass out if you lose.”
He doesn’t laugh, but I sense that he is in his glory. Happy. He’s thrown another loop around my wrists, tied me tighter to him, cuffed me into total immobility. All with a few words. Sure, we live 40 miles apart, but it doesn’t seem to matter–he can tie me up, bedazzle me, and turn me on just like that.
Oh, and I lost our bet this week, too, dammit. By two fucking points. Which is 4 half-o’s, you know?
To continue keeping me in thrall, under his foot, he texts me tonight, Like Day, when I always get one free O.
“You can trade in your O for those half o’s, to clear your slate.”
I have to think about this, right?
Well after all, that’s one hell of an offer. Clear the slate? Use one O to take away 4 half o’s? That’s a real deal, one hell of a bargain. I ponder and ponder about this. Sure, I can do that…but I won’t get another O until next week. And he? He can “pull a half-o out of the sky, if I want to…because I can,”as he has told me in the past.
I respond: “kindness wrapped in cruelty…how sadistic!” (He responded “THANK YOUuuuuuu!”
Do I make the trade? Take my chances with the sadist?
Or do I take my pleasure, knowing that he’ll make me pay for it? You know what I know–the Sadist always wins.
Tis a dilemma….