Useful

useful

I woke up wet.

I woke up wet before BB stirred, before he pushed the front of his body against the back of mine. I was wet before he reached under my shirt to squeeze my tits and pinch my nipples, before he bared my ass and pussy for his roaming, groping hands.

Unless I'm being denied for a long period of time (in this case it had only been three days), it usually takes a little more effort for my pussy to enter a soaking state.

This morning, however, it was as easy as waking up.

I reported my wetness to BB. He'd woken up hornier than usual, too. He wrapped my hand around his hard cock and told me to stroke.

He wouldn't finish that way, though. Why would he, when he had a readily available and lubricated hole to use?

"You woke up wet because your pussy knew it needed to be ready for its owner," he said in my ear as he fucked me. "It knew it needed to be useful."

He put his hand around my throat and all I could do was whimper. He was correct. It did seem as though, somehow, my pussy knew.

Afterwards, I found myself in that familiar place. That blissful, happy place that I go to when I know I've served my purpose.

I obviously did not get an orgasm and didn't want one until I was at work later, distracted by the aching need between my thighs. I've been feeing it all day, the pressure against my clit, the desire for release.

I'm not allowed to say that I "need" orgasms. If I say I "need" an orgasm, I'm not getting one. At this point, though, when I'm horny, my brain doesn't automatically jump to having an orgasm, which used to be the default.

The new default is realizing how sticky and achey I am and wondering, desperately, when I can next be useful.

need 😖

Only sliding the tip of my dick inside you when you're ovulating so I can watch you move your hips up and down to desperately fuck yourself on me

When my anxiety leaves me stuck on the couch I know Sir wants me to ask for help. He might decide I need to clean the kitchen, he might decide I need to go to bed, but he doesn't want his property to feel stuck and hopeless and he would rather I ask every time than not be aware of when I'm stuck.

Burden

When I’m depressed and/or dealing with anxiety sometimes I get stuck on this thought that I’m too needy. That I’m wearing @cynicaldom down. That I’m not pulling my weight. That despite everything he tells me to the contrary, that I’m just this big, whiny leach. When I get thinking that way, it feels too needy or clingy to burden him with my feelings on it all. So I just don’t say anything and try to act like I’m fine. Which just makes things worse, of course. 

I’ve been in that kind of a cycle recently. Earlier today with some prying and prodding I confessed these feelings. CD reassured me that he’s fine, and not too burdened by my neediness, that this is my anxiety talking, and so on. 

Shortly after we had that talk I jumped onto some other topic. Apparently, I threw in the fact that I needed to pee, but then kept talking for several more minutes. 

“Go pee.”

“Huh?”

“Earlier you said you have to pee.”

I laugh. I have no memory of saying this. “I don’t think I said that? I don’t have to pee.” 

 “Go pee.”

I’m still sort of laughing, thinking he’s lost his mind as I go into the bathroom and as I sit down I realize I really DO have to pee! A lot. The living room is right next to the bathroom so he can hear me. We both laugh. 

While it was funny, it also made me realize he was paying more attention to me than I was. And it made me feel a little better. If I were burdening him with caring for me, he wouldn’t care for me in ways that I don’t even think about asking for, or that are so unusual like that. It’s just natural for him. 

Because noticing that made me feel better, I thought I would try paying more attention to our interaction for the rest of the night. His phone rings and he answers. After he hangs up he says the person who called asked about going to dinner and he said yes. 

“Okay.”

“You are coming too. Get ready. They are on their way here.”

I was wearing lazy clothes so I get up to go get dressed. It’s chilly so I want a long-sleeved shirt and a sweater. My only clean cardigan is light gray, and my favorite long sleeved shirt is sort of a charcoal color. I come out wearing it. “Does this look weird with the two grays? My pink and purple cardigans are both in the hamper. The only other one I have is black.”

“Yeah, it looks okay. Show me the black one though.”

I go back into the bedroom. “Oh. Actually, my black cardigan isn’t long sleeved so that doesn’t work. I’ll change my shirt.”

“No, the gray one is fine.”

I have some residual anxiety for a second. I think to myself -  Is it really fine? Maybe that pink shirt would be better? It’s too bulky for under a cardigan and it’s not very warm….No. Stop. He said it’s fine, so it’s fine. 

I finish getting ready. The people we are going to dinner with pull in to pick us up. I turn the handle and almost step outside.

“No. Put on your coat. It’s cold.” 

I do as I’m told. 

At the restaurant, the other couple sits on one side, CD and I together. The other side orders first. The waitress turns to me. “Do you guys want an app?”. She keeps looking only at me. I’m waiting for her to glance at CD next, but she doesn’t. Oh god, she’s expecting me to answer for us both. I start to turn towards CD and he answers for us both. “No thank you.” 

It’s rare for me to notice our habits, because they are unconscious actions most of the time. I was trying to remember when I started asking him to approve my outfits. I don’t know if I ever leave the house without asking anymore. And he doesn’t do it carelessly. He always wants to see my options and often has me change. Yet I have no idea when we started that or why it just happened naturally at some point. And I’m certain that the waitress situation has just always been our norm. I feel so uncomfortable when asked to speak for anyone other than myself. 

We’ve never discussed that he would be the one to decide these kinds of things. It just feels uncomfortable for me, while it feels natural to him. When I step back and analyze with a clear mind it’s so obvious that this just works for us. This is just how we both are, just like he tells me. I’m not too needy for him, and he doesn’t feel like I am a burden. He takes care of me in ways that I didn’t ask him to in ways that I never even thought about, because that feels better for him, too. The real burden is my anxiety, and he does his best to help me handle that, too. 

Aww, you poor sweet thing, never had an authority figure treat you quite like you needed, now you're craving such an inappropriate one - a firm, guiding hand, someone to take away your responsibilities when you get overwhelmed with them, someone to tell you "I'll handle this", someone to make you shiver with their mere presence and the way they look at you.

Someone you can kneel down next to, a hand soothingly running through your hair, while they read a book and take a sip of their drink in between, the room filled with gentle quietness and peace, and - despite a long history of issues with authority - when they tell you to get up and fetch them a snack, you're perfectly conditioned to reply "Yes, Sir" and obey, like nothing's more natural to you.