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I tell myself I’m not going to message her for a full hour, just to see how many she’ll send me within that time without a response.
I won’t be cruel though. I won’t open the app, marking them as Read. That would be close to evil if I were to do that to someone with her intrusive, repetitive thoughts and her need to please. It would drive her to insanity trying to figure out why I was reading her messages but not responding. So instead, I just read what I can when the preview of each message pops up on my phone’s lock screen.
I busy myself by folding a load of scrubs, then I go to my truck in my garage and open up the back. I will be seeing her tonight. I’ll keep my promise and behave, just like I told her I would, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be prepared for the possibility of something more. After all, we didn’t clearly define what “behave” meant. So to me, that tells me to do what I’ve done in our messages this whole time, gently pushing, testing her limits, provoking and enticing until she stops me or pushes back. Because I don’t think even she knows what she wants and doesn’t want.
After all my adjustments and preparations have been made, turning my SUV into something so much more than a vehicle to get from one place to another, I fill my time with landscaping I’ve been putting off for a week.
My notifications have been quiet long enough I think she might have finally given up and forced herself to get back to work. So it draws my attention when it dings once again close to the end of the hour I was letting run out, and I open the app to read the rest when the preview cuts off her words.
WillDive4Plants:
Shit. Hopefully you get this pretty quickly: my phone is about to die, but my computer is fully charged. Is there some other site I can talk to you on? I just looked to see if I can still do it on Kik, but it's a mobile app only, Sir.
A screenshot of her phone’s home screen comes through, and my brows furrow, wondering what I’m supposed to be looking at. And then my slight scowl lifts when I see the little pleaser’s explanation.
WillDive4Plants:
?? so you can see I'm not being flaky, Sir. Just irresponsible and used up all my battery reading your messages an embarrassing number of times ???????
Sure enough, the battery icon in the top right corner of her phone has barely a sliver of red left. And all because she couldn’t get enough of me.
Her self-deprecation indicates she wants attention, any attention, even if it’s negative. A masochist’s silent plea, though I don’t believe she truly falls into that role. But I refuse to acknowledge her speaking badly of herself and instead give her what she wants with a gentle reminder, a nudge in the training a prospective sub direction.
RomanticSadistLL:
Google Chat. Here's my email. Don't start forgetting your Sirs now. You're doing so well.
WillDive4Plants:
I'm sorry! Panicking, Sir. I wasn't exaggerating when I said I'm unstable. ?? Not in a psycho way, but like, just a hot mess express, Sir.
RomanticSadistLL:
What is your Gmail, princess?
She’s long past keeping her identity hidden from me, so I’m not surprised when she sends me her personal Gmail address instead of one that’s been created specifically for secrecy.
WillDive4Plants:
Had to type that a stupid number of times to get it right, Sir ?? That’s how badly I’m freaking out.
It’s time to get her back on track. If she’s stays at this heightened level of stress, her creativity will likely go to shit, and then our night won’t go the way I’d like it to. Yes, I’d still get to meet up with her, but I don’t want that first time to be sullied with a punishment for an incomplete task. She needs to be praised for her efforts, and I set the bar just high enough that she’ll have to push herself, enough she’ll really feel accomplished when she completes it. Otherwise, it will feel too easy to her. It won’t give her the motivation she requested so sweetly.
RomanticSadistLL:
How many words are you at now?
Check the Google Chat and send answer there.
I switch to that app, which is still using my anonymous username and not my personal information. She’s openly admitted she’s done everything she can to find out anything about me, and I have no doubt she could do that if given just one more hint about me.
She never looked at me at the café. I doubt she’d be able to recognize I’m the one who pulled her out of the dumpster those weeks ago even if she did peer at me up close, but it’s not impossible. Thankfully though, she seems entirely too respectful of privacy to come to my second workplace and out me like a woman scorned if things were to go south.
