There is two sides of our lives but sides doesn’t best describe how it is as sides implies you are looking at one, or the other. It is not like that and yet I cannot find a good analogy.
Much of the time we are an “ordinary” couple with a low level of service, nothing more than an attentive boyfriend shows to his new lover. He holds the door for me, runs my feet when I present them, makes me coffee when I ask, all the things I have come to think of as routine, ordinary, day to day. I know others would see them and think them special, and yet some would see them and think I have cast adrift my independence by not opening the door for myself, still have arms after all.
At the other extreme he is bound, tied at my direction or by my hand, often blindfolded, always at my mercy. He has nothing to do then other than be my boy. Seeing him stood waiting for me with ankle and wrist cuffs in place makes my heart quicken, catches my breath. I am filled with a rush of desire.
Most of the time we live in the pink mixed overlap of the white ordinary day to day life and the red heat of a scene. In that pink the act of opening the door for me never gets old for him & for me acts as a reminder to him of who I am & what place I have in this union. Often questions are posed in such a way as to necessitate that he call me Miss, again a reminder of who I am.
We live in a place where I think nothing of reaching for his crotch while he is making dinner just so that I can hear the protesting noises he makes & feel the rush of knowing he won’t stop me.
So many things have happened this year already. As I mentioned already we no longer have the buzz of not seeing each other at times.
Somewhere in there I forgot exactly what this thing that we do actually is. I forgot the feeling I get from it. I forgot the joy I have in knowing I control his orgasm, especially over a prolonged period of time. I forgot how exciting it is to elicit that look on his face, that dip of one of his hips as the feeling of submissiveness rips through his body & he has difficulty standing up.
As instructed he cooked dinner naked but instead of an apron he had a cream ribbon tied around his cock and HANDS OFF! written on his lower abdomen.
He has been messing with himself. He has given me a variety of excuses why it has happened, all of which are bullshit. Most recently I walked into his office & found him furtive & watching porn.
Back to the dinner…
Being naked I was free to mess with him. No clothes, no grown up practical reasons to stop me. I wasn’t in the mood to be stopped. So I messed with him, over and over. All the way to the edge and stop, again and again. I ruined his orgasm, I left him wanting, needing more. He is so very mine when he bounces with the need to orgasm. It is in that moment that he is all mine, when all he wants in the world is my attention.
I hate my toenails for a variety of reasons, the main one being they are attached to the toes that I am not overly fond of. I like straight toes. I like his straight toes. I like to mind him, to care for him. When I mind him he feels submissive because I am taking care of him. Not in a “Mammy/boy” way. Just that he feels special when I show my love for him. When he feels special he feels submissive and therefore is more attentive to me. But I don’t take care of him so that he will feel submissive, it’s just a bonus side effect.
On Sunday I asked him to show me his feet. He took off his socks and presented his feet. I told him his toenails needed to be cut. He looked up with that puppy “my favourite thing” look on his face and said “Will you cut my nails Miss?”
Now don’t get the wrong idea, I didn’t end up on my knees cutting his toenails. He put his feet in my lap and I cut the nails on the ends of his beautifully straight toes.
We are living together. We have been for 2 months now. Before this when we saw each other it was finite. I spent much of our time together knowing it was going to end, knowing when it was going to end, trying to fit in as much as possible into the time we had. I always had a sense of living on borrowed time and it took away from my enjoyment of now. If we had 3 days I wanted 4, if we had an evening I wanted the whole night. Nothing was ever enough.
Now we are apart when we are working and 1 – 2 nights a week when one of us is out without the other. We share a bed at least 6 nights out of 7. I am no longer living on borrowed time.
Instead I am dealing with the every day practicalities. Laundry has to be done, it can’t be left until he has gone home. Grocery shopping is essential, no longer a case of stock up on food before he arrives and do the same again after he leaves.
There is no longer the nervous anticipation of his arrival but on the flip side there is also no longer the edgy wondering whether he will arrive at all. Instead there is the peace of knowing he will be there when I get home.
I am hot for him all the time. He makes my heart quicken. The touch of his skin sends sparks through me. I want to inhale him, to take him into my body and make him part of me. I own him sexually and there are sexual undertones to so much of what we do. Our sex and sexuality is pervasive in our lives.
The day to day practicalities of living together will take time to iron out but in the interim we are doing just fine.