It is always wise, when dealing with a sadist, to keep him amused.
So yes, I showed him yesterday's piece on my sympathetic orgasms. I will blushingly admit that his praise for the post was over the top, which is why I didn't even ask if I could quote him here. However, I also told him of the comments by two of my devoted readers which betrayed either concern about possible disapproval of my unauthorized orgasms or, perhaps, a secret hope that the appearance of my post would result in a painful punishment for my disobedience and a subsequent description here of my suffering.
My Master offered these words:
You may tell your readers I do not mind your sympathetic orgasms as they are my possessions also, and serve as a pilot light to keep my furnace ever ready.I'm not the only one in this relationship who deals in metaphors.
Meanwhile, speaking of orgasms...
It's been weeks since I've seen my Master.
Weeks since I've served my Master.
And weeks since I've cum.
The sadist hasn't been here since the Tuesday before Thanksgiving.
Since the day before my aunt died.
And I honestly can't remember if I came that week or not.
It's not that he hasn't wanted me. But the time... the season... our schedules... plans were made and plans dissolved.
So how is this relevant?
He doesn't like me to have cum within 48 hours before a visit - or after he announces a visit if I get less than 2 days' notice. And since he kept thinking he was going to be here, he kept not allowing himself the pleasure of one of my orgasms.
Which hasn't stopped him from arousing me.
Or me from arousing myself.
Whenever we are in contact, I am aroused. And an important part of my job as his pet is feeding his libido. If I can't do it with my body parts, I do it with my words. And those words make me crazy.
Instead of the hoped-for meeting tomorrow, we had an almost painful post-dinner IM session of masturbating each other's minds. I was writhing in my chair. Moaning, bent over my belly battered by contractions, my pussy pulsing with desire and fear at the scenario he presented. Eventually, it will become a story. Right then, it was a puddle in my panties.
I didn't ask.
I rarely ask.
But he read my need.
"I know this exchange excited you," he wrote.
"You still may not cum."
"Oh, really? I never expected it, my Master."
"You may tell your fan club that."
"I exult at the chains of orgasm restriction. Thank you, my Master."
And those last words of mine are the truth. Not being allowed to cum... it makes me feel closer to him. It increases my sense of being owned. And when he does allow me to cum, when he pulls out of the strongbox one of those orgasms I freely handed over to him, I accept it as a gift and rejoice in how closely to himself he clutches the chains of my life.
What's the big deal about giving him my orgasms when it is only with his permission that I am even allowed to breathe?
PS - watch this space for more words from my sadistic Master. Coming very soon.