“Come with me down to the basement to help me move laundry.” A seemingly common statement for most people. Not for me.
When we got to the basement, we responsibly moved the laundry (because why make two trips). Sir pushed me down on the washer and pulled down my pants and underwear.
“Count.” I made it to nine before my voice cracked. And ten shot me straight into bawling. My cold, dry bare skin stung so bad. After a few quick massages he started again. Another three swats and tears were flowing. It hurt. But as he finished the second round of ten I felt this calming sensation. Not any kind of turned on feeling, but this sense of purpose and satisfaction.
“Go upstairs.” The walk up the stairs hurt, but I kept moving to avoid any ‘encouragement’. He pushed me down onto my knees next to the bed. “Your lips are soft, you will now suck me off. If your lips tighten up then I will have to soften them up again.” They must have stayed soft for awhile, because he let me go to town. Eventually he yanked my hair until I leaned back. He pulled me up to my feet and forced me down on the bed.
“Five more, you can do five more right?” I cried through five more before he slammed into me. He wrapped his hand around my hair. My moans and tears must be sexier than I give them credit for. The tears were still running down my face as I cleaned him off.
Before he let me get dressed he rubbed lotion on my poor red ass. He gave me a chocolate truffle, told me I was a good little slut and sent me downstairs. We cuddled up with the kids (him on the couch, me on the floor) and he petted my hair until he had to go back to work.
I’m not sure I have ever felt so useful. So loved that he would use me.
Now off to do dishes and avoid sitting for a few hours days.