Master told me to make sure to strike the right tone of melancholy in the blog today. Of course, he told me this on the way home from the bar last night when he was quite a bit more than tipsy and a bit maudlin. Neither of us could even remember the last time he had more than a couple beers. It was certainly before we were Master and slave.
I was driving, of course, since my main purpose for being along was so that he could have a sober driver when he went out for a good bye drink (many drinks) with some of his favorite former coworkers. Though he is adamantly against drinking and driving, he is evidently not against extremely bossy passengering (he told me I was going way too slow, didn't I want to ever get home? "Speed up before I hit you!") while drunk, nor against orgasming and driving, since he made me cum twice on the way home, after grabbing the wheel from me. The second time was at least while I was nearly at a stop anyway, and both were on slow, completely deserted roads.
As if that weren't doing it wrong enough, he said he'd beat me when we got home, drinking or not, and if he was "up to it", fuck me also. He also wanted to pee on me, but ended up deciding not to because then he'd have to wait for me to shower.
So anyway, back to our proper melancholy tone, it is quite possibly the last time he's going to see any of those people, and especially for one woman, he's not sure he'll ever work with someone with her dedication and talent again. She had to leave the job for similar reasons- intolerable work environment- and it is very sad to see someone so competent and committed to her work abused in that way. But doing shots together and playing skeeball (a really, really stupid game, as I found out) is the traditional Wisconsin way to "celebrate" this shit.
I was slightly concerned that he'd get drunk and then want to show off "stupid slave tricks" for his friends, to make me do humiliating things in front of them, but he said that would have been bad for his reputation. So, thank goodness for that at least.
And fastforwarding to back home, Master let me have a couple shots "to catch up" as he started looking at stuff on the computer. He made me strip down to just my boots. He fondled me and pinched me for a time, then sent me upstairs to fetch Uma, the paddle. My lips and finger tips were numb and tingly from the gin.
He bent me over the kitchen cabinet and spanked me, hard, for a long time. I asked permission to come. Denied. I asked permission to touch myself. Denied. I asked permission to touch his cock when he let me have a break from spanking. Also denied. Each denial was accompanied by a tremendous slap (or several) to my tits.
I think he's bossier when drunk.
He set me on his knee and let me ride it like a very, very slutty pony rider. I drenched his pants. He shoved me up against the wall by my throat, told me I was just his hole, a very wet, messy hole and made me cum and squirt, again, then told me to bend over and grab the counter. There was a lot more paddling, then he took me upstairs so I could suck his cock and, as it turned out, he was still quite capable of fucking me to a frazzle.
He woke up this morning just as horny as last night, and stuck his hand between my legs to spread them. Then he pushed my head down to his dick. Before sending me off to fetch the kids back from their sleepover, he let me alternate between sucking and fucking, with much face slapping, until I'd totally drenched the sheets.
He told "slave" is too nice a word for me, and my new name is "hole". He proceeded to call me that and nothing else throughout the morning session. I am his hole, for his pleasure. A slippery, wet, tight, slutty hole. Several holes, actually, but "hole" is a good enough name.
On second thought, if this is doing it wrong, I don't want to be right.
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