He Returns with a Vengence

After many months of vanilla with M and I…

which isn’t to say that we’ve not talked and texted…but no D/s…

suddenly out of the blue, He’s back.

He sent me a text last night that I need to wear my nipple clamps for 22 minutes a day. At work. (Except for tonight, since it’s a Holiday. Which kind of makes me giggle but then again, I am a sick fuck. ūüėÄ So instead I am wearing them while I write to you all about these epic changes! )

And it’s fine,¬† because I mostly work alone. But still. Then I’m supposed to wear a butt plug on Friday…but I can’t find them! I think I remember him taking them after our last playtime. I just know they aren’t here.¬† So…I can’t do that Friday task. Still waiting to see his solution for that.

My gods. My nipples hurt! I’m pegged now, and I’ve forgotten how much “virginal nipples” ache when clamped. I like it, don’t get me wrong, but man oh man !! OUCH!

Then I find my phone and I have yet another text from the Dom.

“BTW, nilla,¬† no playing with yourself until I get some satisfaction from your torture.”

Waaaait.

Whaaaa?

I’m staring at my phone in shock, horror, and okay, total awe at the awesomeness that is my Master.

Holy hell, I’m hot. I’m bothered. I’m turned on and alive and …where the fuck did this come from? Waaaay outta left field, pervie peeps. I mean, we’ve been in vanilla mode for a looooooong time.

And okay, perhaps, maybe, possibly I’ve stalled a bit on setting up a playtime. I can own up to that. I’m busy and I didn’t really think I was a priority for him. I know he loves to beat me, but he’s busy too, so I figured business dealings took my place. Work fills my needs…and I guessed that his did the same. Maybe even moreso.

So, yeah, go ahead. Sue me for being all “whatever”¬† about playtime.

And hell, the weather up here in the frozen north has NOT been conducive to meet-ups, and the 36 hours we were above freezing were spent working at a fever pitch to get outside things attended to before the temps came crashing down. I don’t think my blow-up Santa Claus will ever be quite the same…he was hard-frozen by the ice storm, then pelted into the ground with 15 inches of snow! I’ve had clients out the ass (see what I did there?!) and more work that I can handle, and and and…

Well he’s changed things up, because…suddenly, planning for a playtime with my Tormentor is becoming a necessity.

Did I mention how absolutely horny I am now?

He has gone from zero to 85 in a heartbeat. I’m not sure *my* heart can keep up. I’m all fuddled and ‘whoa’ and…and did I mention that as I write this,¬† my nipples hurt? Well, they do! And my pussy aches. And I want.

No.

I. WANT.

Suddenly I’m starving for something I haven’t had in so long, almost like wanting fresh-from-the-tree cherries… in January. Like those cherries, I’ve been out of season. I’ve been frozen just like my blow up Santa Claus.

But magically, there’s been a thaw -a Master Thaw – and that’s cracked my ice, cleaved it neatly in two, and the boiling needs have thrust their way up and out. I may never get them put back.

Oh gods, the slut is out. The slut is loose. She …me…I…crave Him. Crave His pain. Crave His sadism, His lust, His desires. I’ll be the recipient of His slapping hands, His biting teeth, His pinching and clamping and smacking. I need it more than mere words can express.

I can’t believe I forgot how much I need this side of Him.

So for now, I’ll be clamped…and horny…and wanton…and looking desperately¬† for time to be with Master, and get the full-on beating I’ve been promised.

I’ve missed my Dom. I’m glad He’s back, glad he’s still that mean, tormenting Bastard that I adore.

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PS I forgot how much these fuckers hurt when you take them off….*moans*…

Dom Laughter

He’s a pretty funny guy, my Master. He’s the master of funny voices, and we’ve been spending the day texting silly things back and forth to one another. Monday is always a late day for Him, and tonight it was late for me as well. I didn’t get to talk to Him very long on His drive home.

But it turns out it was long enough.

We shared tidbits of our days, which I love. That feeling of being connected to His life fills me with happy. He was sharing this story about a coworker, and it left the opening for me to beg for an orgasm tonight.

“Well, when was your last O?” He asks.

“Friday night.” I reply promptly.

“And how many o’s did you have during Friday Night Fuck, little girl?”

“Three, Master.” I did hesitate. I know He knows how many. What *is* He up to?

“And what happened Saturday? I gave you an O and a half on Saturday. What happened there, hmmmm?”

I sigh. He is determined to rub this in.

“I fell asleep, Master. The moment my head hit the pillow…” my voice trails off, as He starts to laugh.

“Ooohhhh, that’s¬†right….you fell¬†asleeeeeep…” He laughs some more. “Silly little slut slept through her orgasms. Tsk.”

“And then You wouldn’t let me have one last night, You made me go to bed and sleep…and You know, Master, those half-o’s aren’t a party for me. They’re hard.”

“REallyyyy?” He sort of drawls.

And I’m not sure quite how it happened, because I’d sworn to myself that I would NEVER tell Him how rough it is. Coz then…you all *know* what would happen then.

We talk about my getting an O. And I say that I really want one.  Coz of missing Saturday, then the possibility of a Sunday O.

“But the half O, nilla. I don’t know which way you would have gone there.”

“I can tell you now, Master. I was going to take the half-o at the end. Because that gave me a 50/50 chance of an O on Sunday. If I took it first there was zero chance. The odds weren’t the best, but it was better to hope that You’d give me the O, than to *KNOW* You wouldn’t.

He is impressed, I think.

“Well, then you may have your O, with the half O if you choose…”

“YES! of course I will take that, Master!!”

“You’re so spoiled” He laughs again. “You spoiled slut. You KNOW you won’t have to wait long for relief, because you always get an O on Tuesday. Smart. Smart slut. Okay, large plug up your ass, clamps on both nipples, chain in your mouth, vibe on your clit. When you’re close to cumming, I want that vibe fucking your pussy hard. And when you’re going to round two, that half O? I want you to be so close to the fucking edge of that cliff before you pull it away…”

“You know, Master,” I say, my brain obviously disengaged at this point, ” I HATE half orgasms. They’re really, really hard. They make me mad. They make me¬†cry,¬†Master, and say really, really bad things about you. I moan and thrash and …”

He starts laughing, joyous, happy laughter.

“nilla!”

“What, Master?”

“nilla! What a wonderful gift. Oh, my gawd, nilla! OH, you’re going to get so many half-o’s. Friday night fuck will be so fucking miserable for you! Oh god!”

And He laughs *that* laugh. The one that lets me know the Sadist is on the phone. And that He’s thrilled, and ready to ramp it up and play.

“Oh, nilla. You know, I thought that pink brush was the stupidest, best gift ever. This? This tops that, little girl.”

I can almost hear Him rubbing His hands together in glee.

“I’m going to keep my ear canted to see if I can hear you moaning, and saying bad things tonight little girl. . . and I can hardly¬†wait until Friday! Goodnight, nilla….and thanks. What a great gift! Christmas in July!”

I hear His hoot of laughter as He hangs up the phone.

It sends a shiver right up my spine (and makes me wet, too, dammit!)