Good Boy
You arrive exactly on time.
You're here...for me. To do whatever pleases me. Whatever brings me the comfort or release or satisfaction that I need. It's different each time. Your instructions are printed out and ready for you on the kitchen counter.
First, all your clothes come off. I always want you naked.
I have everything you need to make us a simple dinner. The recipe is there for you to follow. I sit and sip wine, feet up, reading a book, while you cook. We are both quiet. Soft music plays in the background.
Per my directions, right there in the recipe, you periodically come over to me, rub my shoulders and run your fingers through my hair. Then you resume cooking, glancing back at me with a smile.
- Combine all ingredients in a large bowl.
- Mix well until vegetables are well coated with oil and seasoning
- Go rub Ruby's shoulders and run your fingers through her hair
- Place vegetables in a 11" x 14" baking pan
Dinner is minimal but tasty and nourishing. It will sustain us into the evening. While we eat, you occasionally get up and rub my shoulders and neck. That's in the recipe as well.
- Bake in 400 degree oven for 25 minutes
- Drizzle balsamic reduction over vegetables and serve
- While you eat, occasionally get up and rub Ruby's shoulders, and run your fingers through her hair
- Offer her more wine when her glass is low
Mmmm. I'm being fed a meal that I didn't have to prepare. I'm being attended to and pampered. I'm smiling.
Comforted? Check.
Dishes are abandoned. Who cares about dishes when my needs are being met? Not me! We move to the play room because I'm ready to play.
You are on the massage table. I have you tightly restrained. I start off with a flogger, warming you up. Though I occasionally hit your back, your ass is what I am most interested in, naturally.
I methodically work through my collection of floggers, paddles, and straps, finally ending with my crop. I don't rush you, because my intention this night is to release some of my stress. It's been a tough week. We have done this dance before and it's one we both love.
After a while, your ass is covered with marks you will be proud to show me the remnants of three days hence, and my forehead shines with sweat. I pull on a harness with a medium sized dildo, climb on top of you and fuck you with little ceremony.
You are face down on the table, unable to move. I lay my body down over yours and push into your ass, knowing your cheeks are still sore. The sheer physicality of beating and fucking you is a workout for me, and offers me the release I seek. Your moans become louder and louder. I stop just shy of your release, intentionally. You whimper. After a bit, I resume fucking you, and again stop just before your orgasm. This is a delicate line to walk but I've gotten quite good at it.
The fourth time I stop, you let out a kind of growl, which surprises and delights me. I pull out, take off the harness and release your bonds. I tell you to get off the table. Your cock stands at attention as you slide to the floor. I grab it and you groan. I smile.
Release? Check. For me, at least.
I slip onto the massage table, turning on the heated pad underneath. I feel my body sink into the warmth. You massage my back, with a slow, confident touch that works out the knots in my shoulders and nearly puts me to sleep.
You ask me to turn over and I do so languorously. My smile is a natural part of my face, now, instead of a reaction to your ministrations. Your hands continue to caress me, only occasionally touching areas that arouse.
That was in the instructions as well. After I turn over, your touch must constantly have these two qualities: teasing and gentle.
You really are quite adept at following instructions. I take care to use specificity when I write instructions for your visits. I know that whatever details I describe will come to life. You are willing to do whatever pleases me. It's a heady feeling, that level of control.
Your fingers circle my nipples and tease my clit ever so gently. Perfect. Leaves me reaching for more. Exactly where I love to be. Finally, two fingers are inside me, pleasing my G-spot with strokes that feel just right, and you are kissing me, holding me while I tremble, and tears slide down my cheeks.
The intimacy of it all is temporarily overwhelming, and you immediately get that. Your arms encircle me and your lips against my ear, whisper, "I'm right here, babe. For as long as you need me to be."
Laying there on that massage table, I am feeling grateful. That I have a man who will cater to my needs the way that you do. That you know exactly what I need when I get emotional - holding, tenderness, acceptance. And that you follow my instructions to the fucking letter, setting aside your own needs, for mine.
Satisfaction? Check. Mine, at least.
We crawl into bed together and you spoon me. No, you will not be allowed to come tonight, but you will not complain. You know better. Your full cock finds a natural home between my thighs, and I nestle back against you. Sleep finds me quickly. You work hard not to fidget, your heavy balls a reminder of your need.
The next morning you wake with a hard and dripping cock. But you dress, clean the dishes, and take the linens off the massage table to put them in the laundry. You return to the bedroom to find me still dozing. You run your fingers through my hair for a bit and kiss me goodbye. As you leave, I murmur my appreciation with two simple words.
Good boy.
