Red Buns and Fried Balls

I think our inaugural football game went well. There were nine penalties called and 43 points scored. Every time the Giants scored a field goal, Lion would say he wished he was getting seven swats instead of three. The only good thing is that the other team was just as pathetic at protecting their quarterback.

I started out with the shock collar set at two. I’ve never been zapped by it but it made Lion almost airborne when I zapped him. After a few zaps I turned it down to one. He helpfully told me that the longer I held the button down, the longer the zap lasted. When will he learn not to help? I tried to vary the length of time I zapped him but the last three or four were quick zaps.

I also tried to vary the strength of the swats. Lion pointed out that I gave lighter swats when the Giants scored than when the Falcons scored. I must have done this without thinking about it. I guess it makes sense because I would have been more annoyed when the other team scored. It’s funny it worked out that way.

When the game was over I reminded Lion that he’d spilled food on his shirt at lunch. He wasn’t excused from that. He told me to check the short to see if I could find a stain. That was our old rule. If he could get rid of the stain by the time we got home then he wouldn’t be punished. I even enabled him by carrying a stain remover. Some months ago we agreed that it was the act of getting the stain itself that deserved punishment, regardless of whether it was visible later. Of course, if it’s water or even a light broth that disappears by itself then there will be no punishment. Lion grudgingly conceded that the rule had changed. His butt was in trouble.

It was late when we finally snuggled and I attempted to arouse the sleeping weenie. Well, it wasn’t really sleeping. The game had piqued his interest. Being whomped and zapped was exciting. I decided to give him some oral attention. I got him close to the edge but it didn’t seem like I could get him over the top. Lion says it feels like he’s hitting a wall. He’s convinced he’s broken. I say he’s just got a lot on his mind with his vision troubles. Plus he’s been itchy again. It’s not a good combination for sex.

I’m not giving up on him. Not now. Not ever. I’m fairly stubborn. If I want my weenie to give me an orgasm then, dammit, my weenie will give me an orgasm. Eventually.

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