Home > Rayne > So, M does this thing…

So, M does this thing…

August 11th, 2012

We’ll be in the middle of something. Walking through Walmart, riding our bikes 8-10 miles away from the house, handling work emergencies…something that you can’t just drop to have sex, in most cases, because of location, or the situation, or whatever. And he’ll say to me, “I’m not fucking you again until you beg to be beat.” or “I want you to suck my cock some time today.” or some other kinky and/or sexual thing. Just out of the blue, usually mid-conversation and totally off topic.

But here’s the thing. He doesn’t want me to do whatever it is right then. In fact, if I DO try to do it right then, he’ll grin an evil grin, and smugly reply, “Doesn’t count.”

God, that’s annoying.

You see, it’s a test. He’s checking to see if I’m focused on him, as I should be, or if my attention is elsewhere. And the easiest way to glean that information is to give me an order early in the day and see if I remember to follow it later on. 

I rarely ever do. Like, almost never. That’s horrible.

In my defense, I have a terrible memory. I’ve gotten much more organized, in that I write damn near everything down so I don’t forget, and I’ve even started using the reminder app that comes with iPad. There’s just way too much information flying around every day for me to not keep a log somewhere. But when we’re standing next to the bike path, our bikes between our legs, trying to catch our breath so we won’t choke on our water, it’s not really feasible to pull a notebook out my ass and write down an order Master gave seemingly in passing. I have to make a mental note. And with so many demands on my time, it often gets lost in all the other mental notes I make throughout the day.

Along with the fact that Master comes first.

It doesn’t matter what I’m doing. Doesn’t matter where I am. Doesn’t matter who’s around or what’s going on. If someone’s dying in the street, and I’m the only person who can save them, but he wants me to drop everything and run down to the corner store to grab him a juice box, that’s what I’m supposed to do. Luckily, he’s not a douche, so that’s not his style, but if it were, I’d have to follow his orders. That’s just The Way Things Work.

So when he gives me an order, makes a request or even just expresses a desire, no matter how much it seems like he’s just talking, I’m supposed to hear him, remember, and follow through when I’m able, or he’s ready.

A few weeks ago, we were walking the bike path on lunch, and he turned to me while we were discussing whether birds or humans ate all the wild blackberries, and said, “I’m not fucking you again until you beg me to hurt you.”

Naturally, it caught me off guard. That’s the point. And I opened my mouth to beg him to hurt me, and he did that annoying thing he does, so I tucked it away into the pile of mental notes making an extra note not to forget. And then I did. For more than 48 hours.

Confused about why the daily sex romps and beatings had stopped abruptly, I made some smart ass remark about him not wanting to fuck me. He shook his head, chuckled a little, and looked at the floor for a minute, head cocked slightly to the side, in that way some people do when they’re just flabbergasted. Then, so fast I barely had time to react, he got right up close and said, “You’re such a stupid bitch. You don’t fucking listen.”

I blinked at him, more confused than before.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, a little indignantly, as if I had any right to be indignant.

He stared back at me, incredulous. I couldn’t help but laugh. That’s what I do when I know I’m wrong and I have no excuse for myself. I laugh. It’s not funny. I know it’s not funny. I’m not laughing cause it’s funny. I’m laughing cause I’m nervous. It’s one of three main reactions I have to anxiety. Inappropriate laughter, over sharing, and sheer, unchecked panic.

“No, seriously. What are you talking about? I don’t remember.”

He laughed again, and shook his head. Then he looked at me and said, “I’m not telling you. Figure it out.”

Wait, what? No, you can’t do that! I’m pretty sure it says here somewhere in the rules that enrolling me in some sort of test when I didn’t even sign up for the course is not allowed. What do you mean I did sign up for the course? I asked to be a slave and to be trained to please you…Oh wait. Damn it. You sneaky bastard.

So, I shut my mouth and started to think. What else was there to do? I had forgotten an order, and he wasn’t going to help me figure out what it was, so I’d better hope I could rattle something out of the belfry that is my skull, or pay the price. And after a few minutes, I remembered him saying something on the bike path. But he couldn’t really be this irritated over me not begging to be hurt, could he? Oh, please, God, let that be it, because I can’t, for the life of me, remember him telling me to do anything else that I hadn’t already done.

I turned to him, full of hope, and trying to be uber cute to ease his ire, and asked, “Is it when you told me you weren’t going to fuck me unless I begged to be beat?”

He paused, obviously trying to decide whether to throw me a bone or not, and went with, “Maybe.”

Throwing caution to the wind, I blurted out, “BEAT ME, PLEASE!” knowing full well that even if he would take that as begging, which was doubtful, he was going to make me wait, anyway, cause that’s what he does.

“That’s not begging. And besides, now you have to wait till tomorrow to try again.”

Somewhere in the middle of the night, I woke him begging to be hurt, and I got fucked, and things were great. And I made a mental note, as I always do, to never let that happen again. It’s rude, and it’s disrespectful, and it can cause hard feelings or send messages that I don’t mean to send.

Usually, I forget. Even with Master at the forefront of my mind, there’s more to being the slave he wants to own than doing things that directly affect him, though ultimately, everything I do falls in that category because everything I do directly affects him somehow. That’s just how it is when you’re in a relationship, owner/property or otherwise.

This time, I haven’t. So far. He’s tested me twice, since then, and both times, I remembered. Though this last time, I cheated. I didn’t wait long at all.

When we were cuddling before we got out of bed this morning, he said, “I want you to suck my cock and balls some time today.”

I laughed, and said, “Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“Yes, Master.”

I waited as long as it took me to cook, eat and settle my stomach, and then said, “I want to suck your cock.” expecting him to tell me I had to wait longer.

He pushed his laptop away, leaned back and said, “Okay!”

And it was good. Mmm.


Categories: Rayne Tags:
  1. August 12th, 2012 at 01:18 | #1

    Rayne: So, M does this thing…: We’ll be in the middle of something. Walking through Walmart, riding our b… http://t.co/4r71dHt2 #slave

  2. August 20th, 2012 at 09:09 | #2

    I really like this idea, I think I shall put it in my tool box for use when I have a partner again.

  3. August 22nd, 2012 at 20:52 | #3

    @Jean-Luc Gothos It’s a really great tactic to employ. Nothing makes me feel as shitty as realizing my focus is in the wrong place.

Comments are closed.
%d bloggers like this: