Posts Tagged ‘the things Master says’

Muddy Ideas

October 13th, 2014 3 comments

“You could tie me up and fuck me like this,” I said. In my head, I went, “When did I start making suggestions again?”

Months and months ago, Master said he’d know when I was ready to play like we used to, and I asked how.

He said something like, “You’ll start making suggestions again.”

Apparently, when I’m up for whatever, I give him all sorts of ideas.

He pumped his hips against my ass a couple times, being funny. Then he said, “In your ass!” not being funny.

“You could!” I said, but I’m not feeling well today, so I followed it up with, “though today’s probably not a good idea.”

“No day is a good idea, according to you. So how about I’ll just decide when I want to be grossed out and you’ll just do as you’re told.”

I laughed. And then said, “If you’re gonna play in the mud, you’re gonna get dirty.”

“That’s fucking disgusting. Don’t say that!”

I think that’ll keep him out of my ass for at least a month. You think?

So, Uh…About Aunt Flo…

February 25th, 2014 3 comments

M and me making faces“So, uh…shouldn’t you be bleeding by now?”

“Mayyyybe.” In truth, I don’t know. I stopped keeping track of my period the day my tubes were tied. I mean, I always have an estimated idea of when my next one is due, but since my last child, my period has never really been exact, and I finally just gave up worrying about whether or not I was pregnant because I haven’t gotten pregnant in thirteen years.

I mean, I know it’s been a few weeks. But has it been three or four? I dunno! Every once in a while, my cycle falls around the sixth of the month. Other times, it falls around the fifteenth. Which is it now? I don’t know!

“I feel like you should be bleeding by now.”

“Well…yesterday my back was killing me. Today my boobs hurt. My stomach’s fucked up and I can’t sleep. So maybe soon?”


“Or maybe I’m pregnant,” I said sardonically.

“No babies! No babies! No babies!” he yelled, in his best game show voice.

“Yeah, that’s one abortion I’ll pay for,” I reply.

“You’ll do what I tell you,” he retorts. “So just don’t get pregnant.”

P.S. This is mostly a joke. Yes, I was a little late, but we’re talking days, not weeks, and M and me were mostly just fucking with each other.

P.P.S I started my period later that day. No babies!

Assault and Battery

January 22nd, 2010 Comments off

I'm a t-shirt not owned by Insatiable Desire. Click me to see where to buy me.

So this morning, I’m sitting here hiccuping away and about ready to start bawling because of it.  I don’t know about you guys, but hiccups hurt me.  As in, they bring tears to my eyes.  As in, right now I’m about to start throwing a fit because they won’t stop.  I’ve been hiccuping for an hour.

I suppose I should be grateful I don’t get them very often.

Maybe that’s why they hurt me.


Master walks over to me with the battery charger in one hand and the sea salt grinder in the other.  And He says, “I’m gonna give you a salt and battery.” ba-dum-bum

Categories: Rayne Tags:

On Coffee Makers and Filters

December 6th, 2009 6 comments

4_1196890656_coffeeThe last time we replaced our coffee maker, I decided I’d had enough of white.

White stains! No matter how often you wipe it up or bleach it, when you drink your coffee as strong as we do, white stains.  And in no time flat, that pretty white coffee maker you bought to match your pretty white toaster and your pretty white storage canisters and your pretty white dish-drain and your ugly white and mustard yellow Corelle plates is this gross, dirty, grimy off-white.

Off-white! Gah!

So as we stood in the aisle in WalMart, less than two feet away from a girl I’d written off years ago as someone I’d never see again, I quipped, “I think I’m going to get black this time.”

“Black? Why?” M asked.

“White always gets so dirty.”

“You have to wash black coffee makers, too, ya know.” J said.


“Yeah.  They stain just as bad as white ones.”

“Really? That’s weird.  I figured it wouldn’t show up as much cause it’s… you know… black.”

“Nah.  They stain just as bad.”

“Uh… huh.  Well, I think I’ll give it a shot anyway.”

That wasn’t what ended the conversation.  What ended the conversation was J introducing me to my ex-fuck-buddy’s fiance and then realizing he was my fuck-buddy when they started dating.  And remained my fuck-buddy well into their relationship.  Cause no one ever told me he was seeing anyone.  Not even J.  And the girl is J’s best friend.

As in, I found out that day in WalMart.  Seven years later.  O.o

Anyway…  J was wrong.  Black does not stain as bad as white.  I am the worst about forgetting, in the time it takes to walk from the kitchen to M’s office (which is about ten steps, all told) and deposit His mug on His desk, I spilled coffee that needs to be wiped up.  And a year later, my black coffee maker is still… You guessed it! Black! Yay!

And my new black coffee maker came with a washable coffee filter.  All black and gold and pretty.  Unless it breaks, I never have to buy paper filters again! Right? Right.

Except, when we got home from Thanksgiving shopping, Master said, “Oh shoot.  I was going to buy a new coffee filter.”

I canted my head a little and peered at Him through curious slits and asked, “A new filter? Oh.  You mean the carbon cartridge?” Because my stain-free black coffee maker also has a water filter that goes in the back.

“Well, that, too, but I was thinking about getting a new filter.”

My eyes narrowed further.  “Why do we need a new coffee filter?”

“Well, it is getting old.”

“Yes, but it still works.”

“I just think we need a new one.”

“So… Let me get this straight.  You, who have probably made ten pots of coffee in seven years, none of which have been with the new pot, know better than I when we need a new coffee filter?”


Well, okay then.

Those are my coffee stories for the week.  Tell me yours!

Categories: Rayne Tags:

What? Stereotypes are funny!

November 11th, 2009 3 comments

no_burritosThe following is a test of Your Sense of Humor.  The bloggers in your area, in voluntary cooperation with the First Amendment, have developed this system to weed out the overly sensitive.  This is only a test.  Do not adjust your monitor or take offense.  I repeat: This is only a test.

(IOW: If you’re easily offended, don’t read this post! Master really was just joking.  Racism is a shitty, shitty thing that we choose not to participate in.  But stereotypes are fun to make fun of.  Please believe us when we say, we are making fun of the stereotype, and not Mexicans in general.  We love Mexicans.  Mexicans are our friends.) (From Melen: Maybe we’ll even have tacos for dinner.)

So Master has this thing about “The Line”.  “The Line” is sacred.  You do not cross “The Line”.  He can cross “The Line” if He wants, but no one else is allowed to cross “The Line”.  Crossing “The Line” is punishable by death.  Or at least lots of smacking, punching, pinching and chiding.

“The Line”? Yeah, it’s between our pillows.

Last night, I wasn’t even crossing “The Line”.  He was crossing “The Line”.  And while I drew an imaginary line with the four fingers of my left hand, sawing off His arm at the elbow, to show Him that He, in fact, was the one crossing “The Line” He yelled:

“I’m gonna bring out Border Patrol!”

“Wait.  You’re gonna hire Mexicans to keep me on my side of the bed?”

“I’m gonna hire Mexicans! I’m gonna hire Mexicans to patrol this border.  And I’m gonna give ’em live ammo.  And I’m gonna pay them five bucks an hour.  They’re gonna be rich!”

Yeah… I was pretty much speechless.  Or maybe it was the fact that I was turning purple from laughing so hard and couldn’t actually speak.

I crawled over top of Him to find my journal so I could write it down to share with you lovely folks.  And then He said this:

“The world of darkness is seeming very small right now.” while shielding His eyes from the light I’d just flicked on with His hand.

I cracked up again.

“Well! It’s vaguely hand shaped.  And not even a big hand! A hand about the same size as mine!”

I stopped writing at that point.  He just kept going.  And I couldn’t stop laughing.

Nut job.

This was a test of Your Sense of Humor.  If this had been a serious post, the Attention Signal you heard would have been followed by shame-filled apologies.  This concludes the test of Your Sense of Humor.


“Master Philosophy” and Cornering Myself

September 29th, 2009 9 comments

FraidyCatGah.  I eventually apologize to everyone.  Even when I wasn’t wrong.  It’s pathetic.  Cin’s not letting me do it this time.  Thanks, Cin.


I’m clumsy.  And spacey.  And I was born blond.  Common sense? Yeah, it’s not always my forte.

So neither of us was too incredibly surprised when I dumped the entire single-pot bag of coffee into our freshly cleaned coffee maker this morning.  What’s wrong with that, you ask? Our coffee maker doesn’t need an entire single-pot bag of coffee when it’s freshly cleaned.  It only needs, probably, 2/3 – 3/4 of the bag.

True to form, Master felt the need to lecture me as He does every time I make a mistake, spill something, trip or run into something. Read more…