Yeah, that is the word. Feisty... Lately when he randomly reaches out and hurts me, I have this almost irresistible urge to hit back. I literally was doing a crazy jumping up and down, squirming convulsion while I was snarling and roaring at him this morning. Feisty... I just want to hit him back.
I told him that I was feeling strangely energetic, full of piss and vinegar, and that I have been having these irrational impulses to attack him. He blinked and mentioned a time months or even years back when I totally took him out with a sharp punch to the solar plexus. He commented how it had hurt and how he did not want that to happen again.
And thinking that because the words were all laid out on the table, the issue had somehow miraculously been taken care of we went blithely on with our day. I cleaned the kitchen, (even scrubbing the floor on my hands and knees wearing nothing but a sexy black bra and frilly black panties. What, it was hot and heck I didn't want to get the knees of anything dirty... pfffttt... the fact that it was completely calculated to attract attention had nothing to do with it.) And it worked... totally got a stellar fuck session. Then I cooked him his breakfast and then we went to the store.
We had a great morning... and because it is one of those miraculous rare blue sky days, I actually got out and dug up some more of the encroaching green stuff. And finally Master got all up in my grill... and made me dig through the whole huge compost pile looking for black berry roots because... "THEY DON'T GO IN THERE"... So I was doing that... and mumbling... and pissing and moaning under my breath that there was no way to keep all the fucking black berry roots out. He grabbed me, spun me around to face him and I...
I PUNCHED HIM RIGHT IN THE STOMACH... hard.
Shit... shit... shit... at least it wasn't in the solar plexus, but he was not amused at all. I instantly had my arm twisted up behind my back. His voice in my ear was a low growl. "You did that on purpose."
I was babbling that no, no it wasn't on purpose. It just sort of happened. "Sorry, sorry, sorry."
He let me go. I did get all the blackberry roots I could out of the compost. I got my ground cover roses planted. I helped prune back about a truck load of blackberries, ivy and other random green things while he mowed. Pork loin and foil wrapped Yukon gold taters are slowly cooking on the grill. Vegies are marinating to throw on at the last minute. And I am sort of fearfully waiting to see if he remembers, and if he does... what is going to happen to me.
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