Summoned

We're working our way back.

Slowly working our way back towards where we were before the weekend we went away. Before the weekend when the beast bared his fangs, dripping with saliva, devoid of conscience.

Today, for the first time since that trip, he said the magic words.

Good girl.

But let's back up.

Saturday afternoon, the truth dawned.
A very telling truth.
Because consider this.
We were in such a place that we
each
could assume the other had decided to walk away.

A very sad state of affairs.

But there we were, on Saturday, realizing that he thought I had stopped communicating while I had thought he had stopped communicating.

I screwed up.
I really did screw up.

1. his statement when we began - that if I violated a certain rule (a very understandable rule with which I have no argument whatsoever) he would end it without another word - applied to one particular issue. One particular case. One particular topic. Very clearly defined. There was no reason for me to think it applied to anything else.

2. mostly because he is so busy and has so many responsibilities, it has happened before that he has gone more than a day without writing. In which case, when it has gone on so long that I'm worried something has happened to him or Yahoo has turned on him again or I unwittingly said something really wrong, I WRITE HIM and say Daddy? Is everything OK? Which is a perfectly reasonable thing for one person to say to another when they are in an intimate relationship. Even when it's a D/s relationship, and one that's as intense as ours obviously is.

But the various responses we had to our night away set this up.
And we each were hurting.
Badly.

He...

To understand how much I hurt him... making him think I had left... realizing how much I mean to him... not only did I feel terrible at having hurt him that way, but to know I could hurt him that way... to know I met that much to him.

I'm not used to meaning that much to someone.
It's hard for me to absorb.

Back to the weekend.

Saturday afternoon, we sorted it out.
I wrote my post.
And then wrote a long apology.
Which I couldn't send till the next morning.
Because he didn't want to hear any more from me that night.

The next morning, there was a one word message from around 1:30 am, asking why he should devote any more time to me.

Damn, I thought.
I thought we were going to be OK.
But I know what happens to him in the middle of the night.
I know what can happen as he lies awake in his bed.

I sent off my apology, and then tried to formulate an answer to his question. Obviously not an easy assignment. It's hard not to sound false when you're writing. Then a message came. Saying to stop trying to answer last night's message. He'd give me a chance to apologize in person. And to get him off.

I was to meet him at 11 am in a parking lot in his town.
Shorts and t-shirt.
No bra.

Which gave me just enough time to shower, dress, feed the cats, and snarf down enough breakfast to allow me to take my usual morning handful of medications. Luckily, as I'm finally losing some of my winter weight, I was able to fit into some very short shorts and a sweet little black short-sleeved sweater with a low neck that I had bought for his pleasure because it buttons all the way down the front. No bra as ordered. Also no panties. And a cute pair of Dansko heels.

He really likes tops that can be unbuttoned all the way down.
And he really likes me in heels.

I arrived early.
I waited in the parking lot of a sort-of fast food restaurant.
The parking lot was almost deserted,
as was the lot of the entire mall.
It didn't feel it ever had a lot of cars.

At 11, he pulled up alongside me and motioned me into his car. As I approached, I slowed down to make sure he saw how little of my body was covered with cloth.

I got in.
Not a word.
He drove towards the mall stores and then back around to the garbage dumpsters.

He left the car running.
We'd need the air conditioning.

He opened his fly and pulled out his cock.

With my hand,
with my mouth,
I did what I do so well.
What he trained me to do.
How to please him
HIM.
Not just any man.
HIM.

We all have our preferences.

And I blubbered, sobbing wildly.
I don't know if I've ever cried like that before.
Because I felt
so
fucking
bad!

We'd both messed up,
we both made faulty assumptions,
we were both so damn vulnerable
because we both care too much
that we each were open to the idea that
we'd obviously
been rejected
by the other.

Make sense?

Well, yes, I guess, if you are at all vulnerable and at some level can't believe that the one who claims to care really does.

So oh my God I cried and sobbed and was at least mildly hysterical as I sucked and jerked and really, it was the best thing that could have happened because there is NO WAY that anyone could have doubted my sincerity.

No way.

And he did cum.
In a reasonable amount of time.

This wasn't like one of his visits where the idea is to extend his pleasure for as long as his cock and his schedule will allow. This was an event with a goal. And the faster we achieved it, the better.

Actually, two goals.

Get him off.
And prove my sincerity.

He still sounded angry when he drove me back around the parking lot and delivered me at my car. But the process had begun. Cautiously, we started working our way back. And unlikely as it may seem, I could sense a difference in tone from the week before in the emailed instructions he sent that night.

And today?

Ah, today.
Tonight.
A little bit of the Daddy I had said I was missing.
Something interesting from his work day.
And a request for help in finding a long-lost song

I appreciated the incident from work.

And I found the song!
Found the song
and a great music video.

He'd been looking for the song for years.
And I found it.
He was very pleased.
He said he was pleased.

And then

in a separate message

this:

...

 

...  Good girl

I am a very happy pet.
And I think we'll be OK.


PS - To avoid any similar misunderstandings, he instructed me NEVER to stop writing. It didn't matter if he took an hour, a day, a week, or a year to reply. I was NOT to stop writing. No confusion there. And very reassuring.