It's been two whole weeks.
It's a sign of how sick I've been that I haven't seen the sadist for two whole weeks and only now am I starting to feel a little impatient to see him again.
This virus has sapped me.
I'm starting to go out a bit, but a couple of hours of not very strenuous errands leaves me worn. I suspect my lack of energy would have hampered my performance. And these last few days my mood has been dampened by death in our little community.
He hasn't been pushing me. Of course, he hasn't been well, either. We've been talking, of course, e-mails, songs he sent to ease my grief. To flush out and then ease my grief. He doesn't say much when things outside our relationship are hard for me. A sentence or two. Very matter-of-fact. But somehow he comforts me. Anchors me. Lets me know he is there.
Reminds me that he is there.
I've been distracted these last few days. My mind has been with my community and our shared loss. I think he has known that. He always knows where I am. A word or two will betray me, where no one else would realize that anything was wrong.
Today, this evening, he finally decided that my leave of absence was over. He sent me to review my cocksucking notes. He probably won't be visiting until next Tuesday, but tonight I reviewed my cocksucking notes.
Cocksucking notes? Oh yes. The fiend leaves nothing to chance. Certainly, I have an extraordinary natural talent, but by now you should know that the sadist leaves nothing to chance. He knows what he likes and he makes sure that he gets it. The training he gives is detailed, rigorous, and meticulous. And to be sure I don't forget anything, I was long ago compelled to compile a list of all the things he likes and expects, which I add to as I introduce new favorites.
Oh, he does love the talents of my mouth.
And by next week, he expects to experience them again.
I'd better be as good as he remembers.