She curls herself in closer to him. On the floor at his feet, eyes closed, one arm on his leg, the other on the chair but pressed close to him. His body is warm, but the heat she had felt is wearing off.
His hand is warm too, stroking her hair, and she tries to focus on that, but the butt plug has become uncomfortable. Cold, she thinks, I’m just getting cold. Her pussy isn’t throbbing, it feels neglected. Sad and abandoned, she thinks, and tries to smile, because she thinks that’s ridiculous..
But she can’t laugh at herself. It is as if all the pleasure of the last few hours is draining away. She glances up at him, at her beloved Sir. His eyes are closed, his breathing is even and his hand in her hair is still.
“He’s asleep!” she thinks, and a wave of sadness sweeps over her. Sadness and “Asleep, as if I weren’t even here. Like I don’t matter at all. Like I don’t even exist.” Tears well up in her eyes.
“Like he’s just using you…” that’s the meanest thing she can say to herself, and it goes on, “you think you’re all special with this submissive stuff, but you’re just stupid. Letting him hit you is bad enough, but you act like you want him to, like you think he’s really going to love you and take care of you if you let him do stuff like that to you. Stupid. Look at you now.”
She tries to talk back – tries to stop that mean girl part of her – she knows that’s not really true, at least she doesn’t think it is. But in this moment, it feels like she’s trapped in a world without sun and she can’t see a way out. The tears become sobs, little sobs that she tries to choke back. She doesn’t want to wake him up, doesn’t want to have to explain what she’s feeling.
“The bathroom,” she thinks, “if I can get to the bathroom, I can wash my face and stop crying and come back before he knows I’m gone She starts to pull away, very slowly, she knows that he will feel cool air wherever she stops touching him. Slowly, slowly…
She turns, feeling a bit shaky, she crawls over so she can lean on the table as she stands, stretching slowly. Oh, that feels better. Still cold, still shaky, but not so stiff anymore. Better.
She glances back to make sure he’s still asleep – and of course, his eyes are wide open. He smiles, “Where you going, baby?”
“Bathroom,” she says, trying to sound casual.
“Ok,” he nods. “Go ahead and take the plug out and clean it. Then come tell me why you’ve been crying.”
She flushes, swamped with heat now, wanting to disappear. Quicker than thought, one arm covers her breasts. the other arm drops so her hand conceals her pussy.
Eyebrows raised, he says, “Trying to hide from me?” and she can hear laughter in his voice.
Tears welling up again, she fights them back, “No, Sir, I’m sorry,” but she is still covering herself.
“Hands behind your back,” he says, just a bit sharply, “Open your legs, now.”
The habit of obedience is strong, and her body obeys, even while her mind protests. Tears are still rolling down her cheeks as she stands with her shoulders back, legs open, displaying herself as she has so many times.
“Good girl,” he says, and that settles her a bit. “You may go to the bathroom,” he says, “Leave the door open.”
With her back safely to him, she rolls her eyes. Leave the door open, hmpf. Control freak, she thinks, and almost giggles. She doesn’t know why that makes her feel better.
But she leaves the door open, admitting that keeps her from dawdling. Having the plug out is a relief, almost as great as emptying her bladder and blowing her nose. She washes her hands, cleans the plug and washes her hands again. Splashes water on her face. Takes a deep breath, then two. It’s ok, she tells herself, it will be ok.
He watches her come across the room toward him. He can tell she’s feeling better, and wonders what threw her off. As she gets close to him, he says, “Let’s pause a moment. What do you need right now?”
She stops, wringing her hands, dammit, she knew he’d ask her that, she wishes she’d already thought of her answer. Instead, she looks down, looks away, shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
He sighs. “Hands behind your back,” he says.
As she positions herself correctly, she feels her thoughts sliding into place again.
Gently, he asks, “Do you want me to list the options?”
“Yes, please, Sir.” she replies softly.
He ticks them off on his fingers, “You may need to kneel at my feet, to remind yourself of your submission. Or to present yourself, to feel how completely you belong to me. You may need a spanking to ease some sense of guilt. You may need corner time to think about your actions. You may ask for an orgasm to ease your desire. Or you may need to crawl up in my lap to feel safe and loved.”
She hates feeling this stripped down, her needs laid out, and she knows those are things that she needs at different times. She hates having to ask. She wants him to read her mind and just know. But she knows better than to complain.
The pause drags on a minute as she tries to make herself say it, and then he says, “I’m going to the bathroom myself,” standing, “Would you like corner time for a minute?”
“No, no, Sir,” she says quickly, “I need – I need to crawl up in your lap, please.”
He smiles, taps her cheek lightly as he goes by her. “Good girl. Kneel and wait for me.”
So she does, head bowed, wishing he were already back. It seems like a long time before she hears his footsteps and he comes into view. Still clothed, but in his robe now, and the soft, comfortable pants she calls his “Sir pants,” because they open particularly wide in the front.
He settles himself, and opens his arms to her. She raises up enough that she can climb into the chair, cuddling on his lap. He tucks her into him, wrapping her in his arms, opening his robe so she is pressed against his skin and the robe covers both of them. She sighs deeply, content.
They are silent for a bit, comfortable.
Then he says, “What happened?”
She sighs again, her voice soft, “I started saying mean things to myself. I said you don’t love me, that I’m stupid, that being submissive is stupid. I felt so sad. I couldn’t talk myself out of it.”
He nods. “What else?’
“That’s all,” she says, “Just that I was stupid to let you – you know, spank me and stuff. That you were just using me.”
He nods. “I think you felt a touch of sub drop. It’s not surprising. Your submission is really deep and beautiful. You are so hot and so willing, so open to pleasing me and to giving me pleasure.” He holds her breast in one hand as he talks, not touching the nipple, just holding it, “as if it belongs to him she thinks, which it really does…”
Between his words and the touch, she feels so much better. “I like the way you say that. Open to pleasing you and to giving you pleasure. They are different.”
” Yes. Definitely. And,” he continues, “I want you to understand something. You’re not a submissive for me. You don’t do these things because I want you to.”
She frowns a bit, tilts her head to look at him. “What do you mean? You want me to do them.”
“Of course I do!” he says. “But that’s not why you do them. You do them because that’s who you are. You’re expressing your truest self when you bring your submission to me.”
“Oh.” She had not thought about it that way before, and she turned it over in her mind, trying to find a flaw in it. But it rang true, and she laughed. “Oh! I think you’re right.”
He kissed her, gently, then deeper, a kiss that left her gasping.
“In the morning,” he says, “you will need to write lines. 10 times, neatly and mindfully, “I belong to my Sir and he loves me very much.” Say it now.”
She laughs again but repeats, “I belong to my Sir, and he loves me very much.” She starts out saying it lightly, and is surprised to find it’s true. He makes her say it three times, and each time she feels the words wrapping around her heart.
“Now,” he says, “Dinner, and then I’ll give you a warm bath. Warm bath and a light spanking, just to remind you who you are. Up,” he says, tapping her leg. “There’s a package for you on my desk in the study. Bring it to me in the kitchen, please.”
As she heads for the study, she thinks, “and orgasms! Warm bath, light spanking, and can there be orgasms, please, Sir?”