Anyone looking at my relationship with him would assume it is as it appears. We are playful, argumentative, and loving. That appearance only paints part of the picture, but is the one we choose to present to the world. There is no need for any to know the intricacies of our relationship. It would be as if I were to broadcast a play by play of my last gynecological exam. It is no one’s business but ours.
Some may misunderstand this reticence to be the result of shame on our part, especially mine, but nothing could be further from the truth. There is no shame in how he makes me feel nor the love he has for me, regardless of the way he shows it. It isn’t our fault that small minds cannot comprehend what consenting adults choose to do in the solitude of their bedroom. Or whichever room we do it in. Consent and choice mean everything to us.
The words I would use to describe us would cause many to recoil in horror.
I am his.
He owns my body.
I bend to his will and command.
All these words sound as if I am a prisoner with no ability to flee from my captor; however the truth is that I am the one with the key to my release. A simple “no” and the shackles fall away, allowing me to end whatever play we’re involved in. I trust him to respect my words and he trusts me to use them judiciously.
I have never said no to him.
The call comes when I arrive home from a long day of decision making and responsibility, so much riding on my every whim and choice.
“Wear white silk. On your knees and on the bed. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
Here is choice number one. I could easily tell him I am busy or not in the mood. He knows that I won’t. It is a call I have received so many times in the past, only the details have changed. Red lace. Plaid school girl. In the shower. On the kitchen table. Whichever command he gives, I will obey with great glee and pleasure, my heart racing in anticipation of proving I am everything he craves, every fantasy come to life. It is what he wants and so immediately becomes what I want, no questions asked or argument given.
Now to choice number two. Not for a moment should you assume I have no say in what occurs between us and I am just a puppet. I know exactly which buttons of his to push to get the reaction I desire. I take great pains in my preparations to create an entire scene for him to walk into. Simply kneeling in white is so pedestrian and he knows it. Part of the excitement for him is in seeing how I respond to his unspoken commands, which I do with painstaking detail. The hair is pulled into two low pigtails and all makeup removed except for mascara to make my eyes appear wider, more innocent, and the bubblegum pink lip gloss that is as wet and glistening as my lower lips at the thought of him.
When he arrives I am as commanded, hands fiddling with feigned nervousness at the hem of my short camisole, tiny pink panties with purple hearts peeking out from underneath. I bite my lip and bat my eyelashes, begging for approval from the only one it matters.
“Did I do well for you? Are you pleased with me?”
“Have you been a good girl?” His eyes grow appreciative as he takes in every extra nuance, a hint of a smirk playing around the edges of his full lips.
Here is choice number three.
I very slowly shake my head. “You told me to wear all white, but I didn’t.” I slowly raise the hem to reveal the girlish panties to his full view. “Are you angry?”
“You are a willful girl, Bekah. I see I must repeat your lesson. First, how about a proper greeting?”
He raises a hand to play with the ends of my pigtails, appreciation glowing in his heated glance. He leans forward and slowly runs his tongue over the seam of my lips before kissing them softly, a gentle caress that belies the power and aggression simmering just under the surface of his skin. A hand glides to the back of my neck, mimicking the touch any lover could bestow upon their partner, but I know better and am rewarded a moment later when that hand tightens and shoves me face down onto the bed.
“These are not what I requested, little girl.” A harsh breath whispers in my ear. “They need to disappear at once.”
I almost cum instantly at the sound of tearing cotton and the snap of elastic.
"Put your arms behind your back."
I obey without hesitation and shudder as my wrists are bound by the tattered material, digging slightly into my skin. I feel his fingers as they lovingly trace across my bottom while I arch my back and spread my legs further to give him access to the pussy that weeps only for him.
"Now, now, Bekah. There is no reward before the punishment. How will you ever learn?"
No sooner are the words spoken then a harsh crack is heard and felt upon my displayed ass, quickly followed by another on the opposite cheek. I shout out in a mix of agony and ecstasy, knowing I cannot last long before I crack and beg him to let me finish, but hanging on as long as possible to taunt him as well. The firm hand rubs the tingles deep into my skin before following with a series of blows, occasionally one slipping lower to land upon my wet and needy cunt. I am out of my mind when I finally crack.
“Please! Oh god, please! I’ll be good, baby! I’ll be so good!”
No more words are spoken as I can hear the metallic click of a zipper being lowered then the push of a hard intrusion at my entrance. There is no time to brace myself as he grabs my bound wrists and thrusts hard and fast, my face pressing deep into the mattress as he fucks the rebellion out of me. The orgasm when it comes can be felt through every cell in my body and I scream out his name, the only name that can ever cross my lips with such reverence. I am complete.
He gently releases my hands and collapses on me, weighing me down in the most delicious way, kissing my neck in his own worshipful manner.
“I love you, Bekah. You have always been mine.”
“And I love you. Always.”