Rye had a bit of a rough morning. I had given her a straight-forward task to perform while I was in the shower. Stand on tip-toe while holding my towel at arms’ length, raising it slightly higher toward the ceiling every time she lost her balance. She was doing well, with her arms almost reaching the ceiling as I finished in the shower. As I was finishing myself up – and honestly taking my time – she safe-worded out of the exercise; I later learned that her ankle was giving out and she was at risk of falling over. I climbed out of the shower and asked if the task was more painful than it seemed at first. My question was met with a wall of defenses; redirection, incredulity, anger, and more besides. I was taken off guard and it took me a moment to gather myself.
A lot went through my head at that moment. We switched places and she climbed into the shower while I started to dry off. She was holding herself in her arms and sobbing huge, silent tears into the corner of the shower, busily tearing herself to ribbons for what she thought was a failure. I climbed back into the shower, held her, and explained a few things. I explained that the purpose of the assignment was in the doing it at all and in the not giving up until health and well-being became an issue. I soothed her out of her head and back into the moment, where I was proud that she had engaged in so superfluous and unproductive a task at all. She consented to stop beating herself up for the moment.
So, I went upstairs and laid out her clothes, from the inside out, so to speak. Starting with the Njoy Pure plug, a tube of lube, and the Doxy, and then onto a shirt and skirt, I prepared her appearance for the day. I don’t normally do this because I don’t normally get to do this, but it felt important in that moment that she feel an extra layer of my influence and approval.
I left her to get dressed while I did some cleaning down stairs – until I heard the telltale buzz of the Doxy. I went up; she was beautiful. I tugged on and assaulted her nipples while she came. I forced her throat down around my cock while she came. I beat her ass with a belt while she came. All separate and massive orgasms, by the way.
And then I offered her some Brownie Points. “Do you want some brownie points today?”
“Yes please,” she chirped, enthusiastically.
I pulled her short leash out of the playbox. If I am remembering correctly, this came from one of Rye’s old clutch purses. I attached the tether to the Njoy’s handle, and instructed her to leave the lead for the day.
She did. The whole time we were out at a fancy restaurant to celebrate her birthday. It led to an interesting and hilariously compromising situation, but I’ll leave Rye to share it, as she knows more of the details, and it would be a story whose heart is more in the truth than the embellishment.
Unfortunately, however, she did not get to spend the day in the skirt I had picked out, but that’s mostly because I insisted on cumming on her face before lunch and the skirt got gobbed on. “If it was only one spot, I’d probably leave it, but this is a bit obvious.”
You could fairly ask what the point of any of this is. In all honestly, I’m not sure myself – real life often defies logical presentation. If it were fiction, I would suggest that the story of the plug come before the story of the tears, so that the energy for the former could feed the emotion of the later. I would give the whole thing a small bundle of possible interpretations, all somehow distinct and connected at the same time. I would give it an optimistic but ambiguous conclusion.
Life defies narrative direction, but soars in the telling.