Moments of BDSM

Moments of BDSM. That's definitely a part of my perspective. Sometimes I get so frustrated reading about "sessions," "BDSM club play," "play time." I forget which post it was in or who said it, but I loved a recent comment "... life tinged with BDSM." As the lifestyle submissive in a long time couple where we have family obligations, a companion animal (a previously cat as I reblog this), a teen and her live-in boyfriend, and lots of other things, several hours taken for a scene isn't very realistic. So I wanted to look at the moments of BDSM activity, interactions that can tinge my world.

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"Master, any plans today?" I finish drying off, pull my damp towel into place on its bar, before stepping out on the bathmat that He's just stepped off of.

He brushes his hair, stroke after stroke, and in its wetness, it reaches toward the longer hair that he had when we first met.

The first strike falls and I wobble, moan. I press my hands flat against the bathroom wall as He delivers several more swats with His brush.

"Don't give me that," He laughs.

"No, Master. That felt good, Master," I purr. I let go of the wall and resume getting ready for the day. I guess I go do author work and wait on seeing if I can guess His plans or if He'll tell me.

---

I may hate my mother, but grandparents are good for some things, I think as I wander back into the living room, naked and carrying a dish of ice cream. "Ice cream, Master?"

His fingers are rapidly moving over His keyboard. "There, thanks." He points at an empty spot on His laptop desk.

I set the bowl down and start to move away. I gasp at the unexpected blow across my chest; I hadn't noticed Master picking up His back scratcher. "Thanks, Master," I whimper as the arousal zings through my body again. I arrange my body over the arm of His recliner, my legs spread to help with balancing over 12-packs of soda and everything else collecting on the floor.

The back scratcher falls on back, hard and harder. I'm glad my cunt is above air, not the chair arm, or there'd be an embarrassing wet spot when I get up.

"Give me more than a few minutes warning before you go to bed and we'll have some fun with the beater stick," He says and I shiver; I've finally learned to like that particular toy. "Maybe I'll even get out a clothespin or two."

"Yes, please, Master." I pull my bottom lip between my teeth as some weird collision of wanting to address my Master as "my Queen," arousal, and thinking on how often I've written some slave doing what I just did with my lip and my teeth happens in my addled brain.

He laughs. "Go back to your writing."

"Yes, Master." I notice my legs are still shaking as I drop into my armchair and flip to the OpenOffice file I'm working in.

---

I stand beside the table where Master is playing Warmachine.

Master's left arm snakes out to wrap around my waist. "Why are you frowny?"

"I'm frustrated," I lower my voice, not knowing the guy He's playing against, "Master. Struggling to write."

"I could take you out back and whack your ass."

I grin. "That'd help."

He's back into His game so I don't try to explain what I'm writing; it looks like a teaching game.

Good gamer wife, I think as I wander back to where my computer is set up in a cubbie. His words echo in my brain, keeping time with Marilyn Manson's growled, snarled lyrics. High ponytail, the hair divided into two braids- hopefully it's gets Him into the mind, the mood for something more... and our being awake, being interested come together at the right moment.

---

I stand just inside the bedroom; I take in a deep breath. Master complains I strip out of my clothes too quick so I'm just gonna stand here a moment.

"Good girl." His large hand squeezes the back of my neck without warning.

I nearly fall to the floor at the praise, the phrase making me so ready. I'm glad for the sundress, its only-for-looks straps.

He grabs at my dress at my waist and starts pulling up handfuls of fabric. "You were teasing me and every guy at the store with your hard nipples showing through this dress." One of his hands moves over my chest, sliding over the soft cotton dress.

I groan at the sensation of His hot hand against my nipples, which have gotten even harder.

Then He's back to lifting my dress, my naked skin bared to His touch. He pulls it over my head and tosses it toward the hamper. He shoves me toward the foot of the bed.

Tripping over dog bedding, I find my upper body pressing into the comforter.

His phone makes some sound; I'm not sure what it is.

"Maybe that's Your mom or a job calling back, Master?" I suggest, nonetheless trying to hold onto the moment.

He stuffs a dirty sock of His into my mouth. "Stay," He orders as He goes to check His phone.

---

I slowly come into consciousness, still groggy from last night's play. I shift my hips and cuddle against Him.

One hand comes into my hair and He drags me down the bed.

I open my mouth and breath in as I come close to His cock. Morning wood, such a fun phrase. I groan as His hard cock shoves into my mouth.

I love not having the moment to compose my body before He uses my mouth for a hole.