ON the ride home tonight, I call Him. We’ve not seen each other in several weeks and I crave even this small contact…and then I remember the last text he’d sent me about the 2 half-o’s on my plate for tonight. This, after the two Friday, the two Thursday. The Man is a beast of late.
“Oh, please tell me, before I go, how much you hate them again,” He says. His tone is cheerful, and he sighs happily as I tell him that I really, really, REALLY hate the half o’s. I swear I can hear him smiling through the phone as I add more detail…
“…the first one sucks, Master. I hate it…but the second one? The second one is TORTURE. All fired up and I have to stop AGAIN!? I swear at you, I thrash on the bed, I just LOATHE the second one, you mean Bastard.”
There is a moment of silence, and then a laugh.
“That’s very erotic, nilla,” he says. “Verrrry erotic. So…if you really hate two half-o’s…how would you feel about a third one? Hmmm?”
There is a moment and more of total silence. I can hear him breathing, awaiting my answer. Either way, I’m fucked, you see? If I say I hate it even MORE, He’ll give me it for sure. I quickly weigh my options, then reply.
“Hello? Hello? Are you there Master? Master?”
“Nice try, nilla,” he laughs.
My brain finally flips to an answer (think of one of those slot machine things…I come up double cherries…)
“It’s fine, Master.”
Sure, like saying it’s fine is gonna assuage Him. But I know for CERTAIN that saying I hate something will make it happen. He’s such a damned sadist that way!
“Fine? You’re fine about a third O? Wouldn’t bother you even a bit?”
Oh, his voice, it purrs. He’s got me, he knows it, and he knows that I know it, too.
“Fine. Yes. It would bother me. But you know…I’m fucked no matter how I answer that, you devious Bastard.”
He laughs. Laughs again.
I wait…heart pounding. I’m equal parts turned on as fuck-all, and nervous as a virgin at a gang-bang.
“You’d really hate a third half-o, wouldn’t you nilla?”
“Yes Master, Sir, and I’d like to remind you that I know this for sure because you already GAVE me 3 last week, Master. Sir.”
“Gave you one hell of an orgasm last week, didn’t it, slut?”
“How many hours is it until bedtime Tuesday, exactly?” I whimper.
He laughs again.
“Okay, fine. Two then. For tonight. Lucky slut.”
Thank all the powers that be, he has to go now, got called away from our call. Safe, for the nonce….but with those two fucking half-o’s still ahead of me.
How many hours until bedtime Tuesday, again?