And I nodded through my sobs, relief and gratitude washing over me.
I pushed a little too hard last night. Master is no longer content to let me lead. He’s clipped leash to collar (both literally and figuratively) and is dragging me along behind Him.
I won’t rehash the argument. It doesn’t matter what was said. Even if I had valid points – and I’m not even sure I did anymore – it’s kind of difficult to argue with, “I’m the master. Not you.”
It would be so much easier if I’d remember that from the instant I get upset.
I’m still confused. I have the right and responsibility to go to Him with problems, but I’m required to live by the “Master is always right.” creed. I’m sure there’s a happy medium in there, somewhere, but I tend to jump from one extreme to the next. “Oh. You’re always right, huh? So, you don’t care if I have a problem. You’re not interested in my happiness.”
I did say that to Him. His response?
“You’re right. When you’re being a cunt and ignoring my orders and disobeying my rules, I don’t give a flying fuck about your happiness.”
I kind of blinked at Him for a second. It’s not fair for Him to be logical! That’s just fighting dirty!
He was going to release me. It was a good long time before I could swallow my pride and ask beg Him not to. I often say I don’t even know how to beg. I sure figured it out in a hurry last night.
Long ago in a land not so far away (Three streets over, in fact.), when we had a spat or I was in trouble, one of the first things I would do was lick Him. Anywhere I could reach. Until He told me to stop or fucked me or… something. It calmed Him down and made it easier to converse with Him. Read more…