ting.
“I like this scenario,” she said.
“It gets better.” I inched a hand inside her robe and cupped her breast. “While I’m kissing you, I start to caress you like this.”
“I’m torn between telling you to get to your point or to simply relax and let myself feel.”
“Just relax and feel. I’ll get to my point.” I ran a thumb over her nipple. “Eventually.”
“Mmm.” She closed her eyes and I took the coffee mug from her and placed it on the end table next to where we were sitting.
“Let’s say we’re standing together and I’m kissing and caressing you, and I lean over and whisper in your ear, ‘Touch my cock, baby. Stroke me and make me feel good.’” I took her free hand and placed it on my growing erection.
“I’m sure vanilla people say stuff like that all the time.”
I didn’t reply. “So you’re stroking me and I’m telling you how good you feel and how I love having your hands on my body. And then I look at you and say, ‘Get on your knees and suck me off.’”
She kept stroking me.
“Suck it,” I commanded. “Fucking do it now, Abby.”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted. She moved to undo my pants, but I stopped her. “There. Right there. In that second before you moved, how did you feel?”
“My heart started racing and I grew aroused.” She narrowed her eyes. “So I get off when you get bossy. That still doesn’t mean I want to be submissive all the time.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“My dominance turns you on. It doesn’t matter if you’re wearing my collar at the time or not. And it turns you on because you’re a sexual submissive. It’s the way you’re wired. It’s not something you can turn off and on.”
“I get that partially.” She’d moved so her back was to the couch. “I guess I just thought if we did it over the weekend, the need wouldn’t be there during the week.”
“The need will always be there because submitting will always be what turns you on.”
“So what do we do with that?”
“What do you want to do with it? We’ve already established neither one of us wants you in my collar all the time.”
She was quiet for several minutes, silently thinking, I supposed. I reminded myself how relatively new she was to the lifestyle. I could give her my opinions and advice, but the truth was, she needed to come to her own conclusions.
“I think there’s a lot of truth to what you’re saying,” she finally said. “Looking back over our weekday times, it’s always been more intense for me when you’ve been more dominant.”
I recalled vividly how strongly she’d react whenever I took control during sex. I supposed knowing how she’d respond had always been a given to me. Then again, I’d been a dom a lot longer than she’d been a sub.
“I would wholeheartedly agree with that,” I said.
“But you never said anything.”
“It’s something you had to figure out for yourself. And,” I added, slipping my hand back inside her robe. “I showed you with action, which I think is always better than words.”
She playfully swatted my hand away. “Wait a minute, I can’t think with you doing that.”
I moved my hand and silently hoped she didn’t need much longer to think. The way the robe was hanging from her shoulders . . . just a mere touch and it’d slip off completely.
“What if you exerted a little bit more control in the bedroom on weekdays? I think that would work.” She tightened the robe around her body. “It would only be in the bedroom, so it’s not like it is when I wear your collar.”
“I could definitely get behind that idea. And since you wouldn’t be collared, you wouldn’t call me ‘Master.’ That’s only for when you wear my collar.”
“Can I call you ‘Sir’?”
“If you’d like. But I don’t want to set up a lot of rules for our weekdays.”
Her body shifted so she was facing me more and excitement danced in her eyes. “Can we start now? Like this week?”
“I don’t see why not. In fact.” I stood up. “You’re going to suck my cock, Abby. But first, take the robe off.”
Chapter Ten
Abby
When he collared me that Monday, he gave me a writing assignment to complete in the afternoon. So for part of the day, I sat in our sunroom, surrounded by mountains and writing about ways to incorporate sexual submission into our everyday lives.
“Of course,” he’d said with that wicked gleam in his eye as he gave me the assignment, “that means you first have to decide on your definition of sexual submission.”
I’d spoken with submissives in our local group who thought writing assignments were punishments, but they’d never felt like that to me. I’d always felt that sometimes it was easier to think on paper.
When I picked my pen and journal up, it was as if the floodgates of my mind opened and allowed me to put into words what speaking and thinking alone couldn’t do. Nathaniel, of course, noticed this right away. As a result, whenever there was a subject he saw I needed to come to terms with, he’d have me write about it.
He also knew that writing sometimes felt easier to me then to talking to him. When I put my thoughts in my journal, I knew he had the right to read what I’d written. But he’d assured me that nothing I ever wrote would be used against me, so his eventual reading of what I wrote didn’t worry me. I knew we would end up discussing it. But sometimes it was easier to start that conversation in writing.
He walked into the sunroom that Monday as I was finishing up.
“How’s it going?” he asked, handing me a cup of hot chocolate.
“Thank you, Master.” I took the mug and had a sip. He’d been making me the best hot chocolate since we’d gotten to Switzerland . “Mmm, this is so good. I’m almost finished with my writing.”
He nodded and took a seat opposite me. “Will it bother you if I sit in here?”
“Probably not, Master. As long as you’re quiet. Though if you’d like to distract me or if you want me to distract you, I won’t complain.”
“No distractions for now,” he said with a soft grin. “I want you to finish.”
I gave a mock sigh. “If you insist.”
For the next thirty minutes, we sat in comfortable silence. I wrote and he read something on his tablet. When I finished with my assignment, I gathered my journal, placed it on his lap, and knelt on the floor at his feet.
“Finished?” he asked.
“Yes, Master.”
“Did you find the exercise useful?”
When he asked me such a question, I was to answer honestly. If I hadn’t found the writing useful, I was free to tell him so. At such times, only my dishonesty would be a disappointment to him. My answer today was a truthful, “Yes, it was very useful.”
He took the journal and placed it on the end table. “I’ll read over this later. For now, tell me one thing you learned while writing.” He knew that after I’d written about a subject, it was usually easier for me to articulate my feelings to him.
“As I wrote, I came to realize that sexual submission takes on many forms. And it can be played out and incorporated in a lot of ways. Whether one is a collared submissive or not.”
“Sounds strikingly similar to a statement I made not so many nights ago.”
“Yes, Master, but like you also said, it’s a conclusion I had to come to myself.”
He stroked my cheek. “And have you?”
We had been together, living a dual relationship for over six months. In that time, we’d come together numerous times as both dominant and submissive and just as Nathaniel and Abby. I loved both parts of our lives, but looking back, the intimate moments I’d