Last night, we crawled into bed. We’d had a lazy, enjoyable evening watching a movie on the couch and drinking wine. Mr. D had an early morning ahead, pulling an extra shift at work, so I was a little surprised when I turned out the light and he growled, “Suck my dick.”

It was a simple three-word command, but it did a familiar thing to my insides. I felt a pleasurable pressure build up beneath my rib cage, a welling up of anticipation.

I moved quickly to do as I was told, wrapping my right hand around the base of his balls, taking the tip of his cock between my lips, and slowly sliding my mouth to its base. Circling my tongue and sucking, I reveled in the almost imperceptible movements of his body as he responded to me.

Stop sucking.

Lick it from the top to the bottom…all the way to my balls.

And back up.

I followed his instructions. Happily.

It’s my turn.

He directed me to straddle him, my cunt in his face, his dick in mine. He told me not to touch it, as he began licking me and sucking me. Reaching his hand between my breasts, he grabbed hold of himself and began to stroke his cock, as if to say, “I can have what I want, and you can have what I give you.” It was torture to watch him touch himself. I pressed my face against his thigh, my hair falling over the show like a curtain, my breath surely warming his skin as it faltered and broke in time to his attentions.

You need to work on sucking it this way. You’re not very good at it.

The denial was hard, but the criticism stung. He was right, though. I struggle with blow jobs at this angle. His cock curves toward me, and I find it difficult to turn my head and keep my teeth from grating him. It feels awkward and clumsy. Plus, it’s almost unbearably difficult to concentrate when he’s got my clit between his lips, his tongue roving and penetrating.

I tell him, “I know.”

I’m not sure about the details of the transition, but we moved on to fucking at some point. And as I lay there beside him, suctioned into his body like it was molded to fit mine, I considered how we change and grow and learn to please each other.

Even after 12 years, there are things to improve and finesse. But there are also those things that come naturally and feel like home.

We are finding our way back to D/s. But we are rightfully tentative and are using care as we wade back into the waters. The current has taken us under before, and we have both been battered against the rocks a few times. We have, however, learned a few things through the process. While I do not exactly know what our version of D/s will look like, I do not question the existence of my desire to explore and maintain this part of our relationship. I am reminded of this when he dons his role as Dominant. The inflection in his voice is subtle when he moves from being my husband to Daddy. But something in my clicks, almost audibly, when I hear it. I breathe in sharply in response. My eyes widen, as my perspective shifts and I slip into my role as submissive and I am overcome by one thought:

I want to please him. 

His hand snakes around the back of my neck, up through my hair, and his fingers clench in a fist, pulling my head back.His other hand wraps around one of my wrists, pinning it to the bed. I don’t dare move the other, as it rests in a similar position beside my head.

It is hard not to smile when he does this. The seriousness is palpable. When the lights are on, as they were last night, I can see his pupils overtaking his irises. His eyes darken as they focus in on me. It is primal: his control of me and my (at that moment) unquestioning willingness to submit to him. My body explodes beneath him when he does this: my head yanked back, immobile, I soak the sheets in answer to his silent declaration —

You are mine. This is mine.

And the words that he speaks when my body reacts in the way he expects are like drugs to an addict.

Good girl.

It is mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical…euphoria.


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