I miss you.
Leaving work now. Be home soon. Rough day, sorry I wasn’t around much to chat like normal.
Your text doesn’t surprise me. Usually, we send messages back and forth throughout the day, but today my phone’s notifications have been quieter than usual. I wasn’t worried; it’s like that some days when you get busy. It always makes my heart break a little. Not because I miss you. I mean, I do. But my heart breaks because I want so badly for your days to go smoothly.
I hear you pull up and park in our driveway. I’m already in the lingerie you like, and for a moment I consider kneeling on the floor by the doorway, offering my body in exchange for your stress. I like it when your frustrations flow from your fingertips through the flash of a masterly-handled flogger. I giggle and taunt you, and every smack paints a beautiful picture on my flesh. Taming my bratty side helps you unwind, helps you feel in control as I sink into submission.
But today, that’s not what you need.
I can see it from the window as your shoulders slump forward. You’re defeated. You’re tired. You’re carrying too much on your shoulders. You roll your neck before getting out from behind the driver’s seat and take a deep breath before coming inside, probably expecting to meet me in full brat mode, as is often the case on days when I miss you.
Instead, I kiss you deeply as the door clicks shut behind you, taking your work bag from you and flinging it on the chair.
“I’ve been waiting patiently, my sweet boy,” I say softly before kissing you again and entwining my fingers in your hair to pull you closer.
You sigh into my kiss, relieved to be meeting the Goddess instead of the brat, and you bury your face in my neck as I hug you tightly. It has been a rough day, but I feel your tense muscles start to relax as I nibble your neck while you cling to me.
I like it when you cling to me. It means you trust me as much as I trust you when the roles are reversed.
“Come to the bedroom,” I whisper in your ear. “I want you to brush my hair.”
You kick off your shoes, and let me lead you down the hall. I sit on the bed and have you stand behind me so you can carefully untangle my curls. We don’t talk much, but you occasionally bend down to kiss my neck and breathe deeply. My perfume smells like mango and vanilla and sugared raspberries. When you’re done, and my wild hair is tamed once more, I turn to face you, taking the brush and setting it on the nightstand.
“I need you,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against mine.
I pull your shirt over your head as I stand and give you another deep kiss. “I know, darling. But not yet. I want you to be a good boy for me first. Put your palms over your head against the wall. And don’t move until I tell you.”
You do as you’re told and I admire the muscles of your back and shoulders, the way your jeans hang from your narrow waist. Fuck, I am so lucky, I think as I pull out a soft suede flogger.
The first few passes land with some hesitancy as I watch your body tense. I’m still new at this. I know your submission is an incredible gift you’re giving me right now, and I want you to enjoy it as much as I do. Your body starts to relax as I get into a rhythm, varying the intensity of the blows across your shoulders.
“More…” you say, in a rasp that sounds more like a groan than your voice.
I pull out my riding crop and give a few swipes through the air so you can hear it hiss behind you. I touch it to your back.
“You know that’s not how we ask for things around here.”
“Please, Goddess,” you spit out, a whine edging your voice. “Please. More. I want to take more from you.”
“That’s better.” I kiss the red marks the flogger has left on your back and reach around to unbutton your pants, pulling them to your ankles. You move to step out and kick them away, but I stop you. I like the bit of restraint.
Your legs wobble as I trail kisses and leave bite marks along the sides of your thighs. I almost worry it’s too much, but you stand tall with your palms still against the wall. I trust you that you’ll use your safe word if you need it. I look up at you, and your eyes are closed, your breaths deep and relaxed. I know how that feels, to melt away in the moment. I softly run the crop down your left thigh and up your right. You let a soft moan escape your lips.
Then we start.
The flogger might be your tool of choice when you’re wielding the spanking device, but the crop is mine. I’m a musician, writing a symphony of whooshing and smacks and cries. I mix it up, using the flogger on your back and the crop on your thighs so you are unsure what’s coming next. We create beautiful music together until you are spent, panting, shaking.
“Three more for me, baby boy. You can do three more, can’t you?”
“Yes, Goddess,” you say, nodding and bracing against the wall.
“Count for me.” I bring down the crop hard.
Smack. Even harder this time. Your face turns to the side and I see you wince.
“One more, my darling. One more for me?”
“Yes. Yes, Goddess.”
The words barely leave your mouth before my crop is hissing through the air again, landing hard.
Your hands drop to your side and I pull you to me, kissing you hard as I support you. You lean your weight against me and hug me tight, like you never want to let go.
“Such a good boy for me. You did so well. Get on the bed. On your stomach.”
You do as you’re told. While you get comfortable with a few pillows under your head, I warm a tiny bit of massage oil in my hands. I gently rub it into your muscles, carefully minding the red marks and bruises on your back and thighs. You sigh, and I feel the remaining tension melt away as I take care of you.
“Fuck that feels so good,” you say in a sigh.
“Good,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “You can drift off if you want to, my darling boy.”
As if you were waiting for permission, you nearly instantly fall asleep. I continue to massage your back as you softly snore. When the oil is completely rubbed into your skin, I curl up beside you. In your sleep, you pull me into your arms, safe and loved as always. There will be plenty of time for more fun tomorrow. Tonight, we dream.
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