One small thing

There’s one subtle thing that happens in our little house. I’m not sure that the rest of the house notices it, not even Madame. Our core household is Madame, a roommate and I. We sometimes have more or less, but that’s the core of the household. The roommate is a dear friend and we’ve lived together before. In fact, I lived in her place before I ever officially lived with Madame.

In our schedules, I am typically the last person off to work in the morning. I’m the 9 to 5 person. The others tend to leave earlier. A few months ago, I started noticing that they’d leave their coffee cups wherever they last had them. On the dining room table, on the counter, on the butcher block, wherever. And I started gathering them before I leave the house. Just making sure all the coffee cups were either cleaned or in the dishwasher. No, it’s not a big thing, but it’s my way of serving my house. And yes, the other roommate is a woman – but she has not a kinky bone in her body. So while I may be serving the two women in our house by doing this small task, it is so far removed from any kind of female domination thing, but more a token of my caring for my roommates. It’s a token of friendship, affection and love that I quietly share with them. I don’t know if they notice – and they never need to. I’m happy to see their mugs scattered wherever. And I happily take care of them. I have some good people in my life and I happily take care of them.

It’s the thought…

Not that counts, but it’s the thought that carries us through the day.

I know that I was rude or disobedient to fuck her this morning, but she always says that she likes when I follow through with my threats.

“If you don’t get up now, you’re going to get fucked”

She snoozed in bed. “Last warning… ”

She barely flipped her hair at me.

So, I proceeded to get up off my own drowsy butt, climb over her body and start positioning her body. She, laying on her left side. Her left leg straight, right leg bent, leaving herself open to me. “You’re not even hard!” she tried to combat my advances with this minor taunt.

“But I will be.” And I was. And then I made my hand wet, her pussy wet, my cock wet and slid in. She groaned.

She knew it was inevitable and even if her left hand tried to scratch at me, she wanted it and she could have easily either gotten away or told me to heel.

So I fucked her. I got to a point of where I was really pounding her. And then I started getting too close to cumming, so I slowed down. The bucket, being so jostled, spilled a little over the top of itself, like any bucket does, she felt it, I felt it, neither of us cared. I grabbed her phone and took a couple pictures that she could see how I see things from up there, and I pressed deep into her.

And somewhere, hours from now, when she’s busy at work or dealing with something else in her very hectic life, she’ll think back to this morning. She’ll grin at her own self for lying there and thinking “He’s not going to fuck me.” and then “Oh God, he’s going to fuck me!” and then “Oh good, he’s fucking me!”. She’ll smile. Maybe she’ll look at her phone and see me fucking her. But she’ll smile at the thought of the awesome love we share, our playfulness, our sexiness, the beauty we share between us morning, noon and night. Oh that smile.

If I’m lucky, she’ll send me a text to let me know that she is thinking about it.

(The admin of the site apologizes for the lack of a picture to accompany this post, but finding just the right image to show our position is not possible this morning. Be assured that the admin will be summarily punished later)

I love you too…

She and I have come to a conversational understanding. We were long looking for a way to speak to each other in a D/s manner in vanilla context. We came up with her calling me Johan, the German version of my name. And I call her “Ms. $LASTNAME” (Can’t quite say it here in the blog, but the emphasis is on the “Ms.”). It’s been working wonderfully for us.

In recent times, I’ve come to answer her comments of “I love you” with “I worship you”. Of course, saying “I worship you” in vanilla space is awkward, so recently, mostly around the house, I’ve taken to answering her with “W”. And if someone asks, we can explain away with “I love her twice as much.” (Double ‘you’) But we haven’t had to explain, yet.

So I’ve been saying that to her for a couple months now. And I, as the submissive guy in the relationship, I default to the “W” – because while I know I love her and she knows I love her, the worship is my submissive side able to come out and the worship cannot happen without the underlying love. She’s missed my saying “I love you too” back… and yesterday morning she said “You know, you can say ‘I love you too, sometimes’ ” to me.

Later this morning, we were separating our worlds for our morning errands and she was on her way to leave and said “I love you.”

“I love you too sometimes” was my reply. We both laughed. I love her very much. And not just sometimes. #literalist

The comfort of our kink

There is definitely something to be said for the comfort within a kinky relationship.

I remain confident in several things.

I will come home, turn the heat up, strip and put on my collar. Because that’s what she expects. It’s a bonus that it’s what I enjoy.

I will expect to receive punishment for my failing to put away her clothes this morning. Some of these routine items I am still getting used to. I cannot be perfect and while I strive for it, I’m not able to achieve it all the time. (Really, she sometimes has to nit pick deep to find failures – this makes me smile).

I know that, despite any punishment, despite any treatment, despite the fact that I might even have to spend the night on the floor, she will welcome me back to the bed. She will miss me not being in the bed. She would rather I be in the bed.




Despite the shitty facebook posts from people who have opinions I cannot reconcile…
Despite work being busier than I can reasonably handle…
Despite work deadlines slipping to months delayed (not completely my fault)…
Despite family pressures that hurt me because I feel so entirely helpless and 2100 miles away (that’s the length of the Appalachian Trail, you know!)…
Despite shitty weather…
Despite frustrations with my volunteering efforts…

I can rely on the above positive things in my relationship with my Mistress.

I can expect her to blister my ass and make me suffer tonight. I failed in my regular duties and deserve punishment. I can expect her to love me and hold me if I cry. I can expect that my skin will be tended to should it break. And I can expect the consistency of being the one to take care of the kitchen in the morning despite tonight’s punishments.

I can count on my Mistress to love me, even if she hurts me. I can expect her to hold me when I whimper and cry. I can expect her to hold me to high standards. And I can absolutely count on her to love me, regardless of any of the crap that life has beating on me. I love serving her and loving her. I am happy to be her toy and slave.

And that’s worth so very much. When the rest is falling apart, I have something consistent to fall back on.