I didn't have any particular topic in mind when I sat down to write today. I went through my usual routine of finding an image that struck my mood or captured something for me, and I decided I would put the picture up and then free form write for a little while.
So here I am.
I have had some incredibly intense evenings with Syr over the last few weeks. I find myself going back and forth between luxuriating in the subtle exchanges between us, the exchanges that define our 24/7 dynamic and craving deeper, harsher, more intense exchanges.
We lack in the time and privacy to indulge in those more intense exchanges more often than not. Yet, somehow, we find a way and the time to lose ourselves in them.
Last night, I had spent the day running around doing a multitude of things, and in the process of being busy, had managed to forget to complete my daily tasks for the day which included: making the bed and straightening the bedroom and bathroom. Making the bed is a daily chore. The bedroom and bathroom are to be done every Monday.
So there I was, playing on the computer, when Syr called from the train on the way home. I had completely lost track of time. I wanted to be starting dinner when Syr got off work so that it would be ready when She got home. But instead, I was hit with the sudden realization that the bedroom and bathroom were a shambles and the bed was still unmade. Syr expects me to make the bed the moment I am up and out of it (unless there is a real reason for not doing it right away). Suddenly, I was up in a shot, running around like a madwoman, scrambling to get it all done.
I started the chicken thawing while I ran to the bedroom in a mad dash to get everything picked up and the bed made (including changing the sheets). I had just finished in the bathroom and scooped up all the dirty laundry and deposited it into the hamper and landed in the kitchen to begin prepping dinner when Syr walked in the door.
I didn't hear Her come in like I normally do. Instead, I was startled to see Her walking towards me, still in Her leather coat, damp from the evening rain with a look in Her eyes that said She was in a *mood*.
Suddenly, I forgot that I had just barely squeaked my chores in, in time for Her to get home. I forgot that I had been a little bit lazy that afternoon. I forgot that I could have had dinner ready to go when she came in, but instead was just starting it.
Instead, I was simply proud of myself that I had gotten it done; that I hadn't forgotten completely. I was pleased as punch with myself that as far as She was concerned, I had done what was expected of me. That look in Her eyes that said She was in a mood to ravish me felt like my earned reward.
When we were finally shrouded in the darkness and privacy of the night, Syr made it quite clear that She fully intended to have me. In return, I made it quite clear that I was very much hoping She would take me. I was craving something harsh and intense. I wanted to drop for Her, to surrender to Her, to get lost in Her touch and Her voice.
What followed was amazing and perfect in every way. Looking back, it's a rush of moments, snapshots that stand out the most:
~Her hands tangled in my hair as She pulled hard and growled in my ear, calling me Her whore and Her slave.
~Her teeth on my neck and shoulders and biting down on my lip until I cried out.
~Her fingers pulling and stretching and pinching my nipples so hard.
~Her strong hands, spanking me everywhere, and pinning my wrists above my head and out of Her way.
~Her cock driving into me with ruthless abandon as She covered and claimed me with Her body.
~The way She made me wait, and wait, until She was ready to let me cum for her.
~The way it felt as She slapped my cheek, or covered my mouth and nose to control my breath.
~The way She pushed me forward, harder and deeper and faster until the tears came.
All of these, memories to fill me with soft, warm heat; that heat that makes me feel inexorably linked to Her. I feel owned and loved and adored...
And guilty.
Damn it.
I should have confessed that I scrambled around at the very last possible minute to get my chores done yesterday. Getting it done was the *most* important thing. But I made a point of preening over my well done jobs when I knew that I had done the fastest possible rush job on all of it. I let Her praise me for doing well and loved how happy She was with the job I'd done when I knew that it wasn't my best work and I also knew that I had prioritized my own personal playtime over the chores She gave me.
I can't help but feel that I falsely accepted a reward that I didn't deserve.
Would She still have taken and ravished me, had I confessed? Most likely.
So why do I feel as if I took advantage?
Because I didn't confess.
And just how does that make sense? I suppose you'd have to know me very well to understand it, but it's how I operate. I don't misrepresent myself to Her. Ever. And I think that I feel that's what I did.
I'm not agonizing. This isn't an episode of self-flagellation. It's just something I found myself thinking about. And, in all honesty, it's something I felt I needed to confess.
The question is: Was I deserving of the ravishing I received?
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