Maybe i’m not

“Maybe i’m not even submissive,” i say with a sigh.

He glances up from his dinner, “You’ve been reading other people’s blogs again, haven’t you?”

i giggle, he knows me so well.  “Maybe.  Ok, yes.”

He nods.  “Come here.”

i hesitate – i haven’t finished eating either.  “Bring me your plate,” he says, noticing the hesitation.

i’m tempted to take a bite first, but think better of it.  Reluctantly, i carry my plate to him.

“Down,” he says, “I want you on your knees, first position.”

Still feeling a bit grumpy, i kneel, back straight, palms turned up and open, knees slightly spread.  He glances down, “I want to see your tits.  Just unbutton your shirt.”  He is still eating, and i feel a nudge of resentment, but i unbutton my shirt.

“Open your mouth,” he says, “And close your eyes.”

This is always hard for me to do.  Even though i trust him.  i close my eyes as tight as i can so i won’t forget and peek.  i open my mouth.

Ah, a spoonful of mashed potatoes.  Lovely.  His hand strokes my hair back from my face.

“Now,” he says, smiling, “Stay right there while I finish eating and then I’ll feed you.  I’m going to eat first, and you can tell me exactly what you read that makes you think you’re not submissive.  Go ahead.”

i have to laugh, “Ok, Sir, you’ve made your point.  i guess i really am submissive.  But i think maybe i’m not a good enough submissive.”

“Christian blogs,” he says.  “You’ve been reading Christian blogs again.  Next thing I know, you’ll be wanting to be a house slave and devote yourself to cooking and cleaning.  And do penance for every illicit, kinky sex act you’ve enjoyed.   Am I right?”

i hang my head, feeling a bit foolish.  “Maybe, something like that.”

i wait while he takes another bite, chews and swallows.  My heart is pounding, although i’m not sure why.  Dismayed as he takes another bite, i wonder if he’s actually going to finish eating before we do anything else.  i focus on settling my spirit to accept this delay, kneeling patiently.

i try to settle my mind too, all the “is he mad at me, maybe i shouldn’t have said anything, maybe he really would like me better if i were different” anxiety is bouncing around in my head like the ball in a pinball machine.

Almost absentmindedly, without looking at me, he reaches down and strokes my left breast, grasps the nipple firmly and rolls it between finger and thumb til it’s hard.  Then, still without looking, he does the same with the other.

i am aroused, squirming a bit, aware of the wetness between my thighs, feeling my pussy clench.  i am humiliated that he can do this to me without paying attention, without even looking at me, and perversely, this turns me on even more.  i feel that pull low in my belly, and want him.  Want his hands on me, my mouth on him, want him to do whatever he pleases with me.

i am, i think, my heart sinking a bit, a wanton slut, not the virtuous woman of the Bible.

He finishes his meal in silence, leaving me to stew in my own juices, literally and figuratively, since he reaches over to toy with my breasts from time to time.  At last, he pushes his chair back from the table, turns it so he’s facing me.

“That was a terrific dinner,” he says, which is not what i was expecting.  “Did you cook it?” he asks.

“No, no Sir,” i say, “i – it was carry-out.”

“So you didn’t grow the vegetables or slaughter the meat yourself either, I guess?”

i smile, “No, Sir, i didn’t.

“And do you think it would have tasted better if you had?”

That makes me laugh, shaking my head, “No Sir, i really don’t.”

“So.” He leans back in his chair, looks at me with curiosity.   “Are you telling me there are other people who do those things as well or better than you could?”  i can only nod, as he goes on.

“And would you have enjoyed doing them?  Would it have made you feel good to have worked on the farm and then spent hours in the kitchen?”

“No, no, it wouldn’t have, Sir.”

“What did you do today?”

“Um, i saw three clients and worked on that grant proposal.”

“What else?”

“Well, i blogged and i straightened the house so Sandy could come in and clean and i talked to your daughter on the phone about her decision about colleges, and i met a friend for coffee, and that’s all.”

“And fixed me an egg with my coffee for breakfast, and picked up dinner and served it to me.  Right?”

“Well, yes, Sir, of course.”

“And in a little bit, i’m going to finish feeding you, and then i’m going to spank you.  Not a punishment spanking, but a reminder spanking, a reminder of who you are.  Comparing yourself to other people  isn’t helpful and isn’t acceptable.  Everyone has to develop their own skills, and you can’t compare.  Is that clear?”

“Yes.  Yes, Sir, it really is.”

“And what I want from you is for you to be who you are – to the max.  Every day, your goal is to hone your own skills, to bring your talents into the world, to develop them fully, not just for me but for the balance in the universe.  Do you doubt that?  Question that?”

“No, Sir.”  Tears well up behind my eyes, his words touch me so deeply.  “Thank you, Sir.”

“Good.  Good girl.  Now, open your mouth.”

i do, expecting him to put another bite in my mouth.  Instead it is his thumb, he lays it on my tongue, and instinctively i close my mouth and begin to gently suck.  My eyes close, content, i make love to his thumb, lost in the pleasure of serving him.

 

 

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Trust

i have shared this before in a variety of places, but just want to leave it here today.  i always have to watch it twice, once because i’m mesmerized by the bodies, and then again so I can let the words register.

Hope you enjoy it.

(If you can’t see it here, go to Youtube and search for Cirque du Soleil, trust)

I share this in vanilla venues too, but i always think of it as particularly representative of the trust that happens in a D/s relationship.  The in-the-moment awareness of their own body, and the other person’s, is so beautifully clear, and that’s the way D/s has often been for me.

So here we go, into a new week.  i start some vacation time on Friday, and i’m super excited about that, but there are days to go first – dishes and laundry to do – and things to enjoy…