She mentions fucking machines at least once a week. Each time the subject comes up, I chuckle nervously and fumble for words. It’s not as though V doesn’t know how I feel about them – they’re scary as hell – but I’ve yet to express anything beyond a gut reaction.
Then a few days ago, I asked a question.
“Ummm…Ma’am, does the machine have settings to control depth as well as speed?”
“The more expensive ones do.”
She said nothing else for a few moments, just used the moment to gauge my reaction. Flustered, I changed the subject, but she didn’t push for more. Why should she? I’m her collared boy, and she’ll get what she wants. Simply knowing I’m nervous about the idea satisfies her for the time being. (more…)