September

Now I feel better about saying what I wanted to say when your hips first started moving. Before I asked you those questions it seemed a little too mean, but now I'm enjoying the idea.

"Stay still," I command. Your hips stop moving.

"Don't move," I add, for emphasis. "It's time to sleep some more."

I don't know how long it takes you to doze off, but now that you're completely still and quiet, I fall back to sleep easily.

5

I have barely woken up the next morning when I hear your first sentence of the day.

"My clit hurts."

"Good." My established reply. "How much should it hurt?"

"More." Your established answer.

"What's happening today?" you ask.

"We'll get up, get dressed, eat breakfast, hit the road, get to the next town..."

"That's not what I meant," you say, looking slightly petulant.

"Flip the coin." I say it casually, or at least I try to.

I often feel like if I want to be a good dom, I need to be more casual about these things. As if your obedience is not something that shocks me in entirely positive ways, and drives me wild with desire on a daily basis, even when we're not together. As if your obedience is entirely expected, something to be taken for granted.

Truth is, we only have a few hours to drive today, and there's not even any gig tonight. We got time. I had to remind myself to breath as I waited for you to pick up the coin from the little table beside the bed, which seemed to to happen in very slow motion.

Heads. We'll fuck today. Seeing the coin land that way caused an immediate rush of blood throughout my body, very much including my dick. If it were just that I was deciding to fuck you that would be exciting enough. But knowing we might not fuck the next day or maybe even the day after that made the prospect that much more exciting.

"Now you have to see how much," I instructed. You had seen the rules written down. The default is ten minutes. But every time you get heads again, that number doubles, until you get tails, and it stops.

Heads. Twenty minutes. Heads again. Forty. Heads again. Eighty. Tails.

On so many occasions I fucked you for hours and hours, with no limit. Having a limit seems better somehow. And knowing what the limit is, it seemed even better than having no limit, and going until you had to tell me to stop. You hated that. I did too. It wouldn't need to happen now. We both knew you could take eighty minutes. Especially now.

I start imagining how the eighty minutes will play out. For how long will I go slow. When will I speed up. When will I pound hard. When will I stay still. Knowing it wasn't open-ended seems so much better. Like when making something out of clay, you need to know how much clay you're working with in the first place, plan the size of the pot from the outset, and it will come out much better.

But there were still other aspects to be determined. Should you come today?

"Flip it again."

You remember what this flip is about. "But I don't want to come," you protest, holding the coin between your fingers.

You expressed a desire again. Which always makes me want to ask questions.

"Does your clit hurt?"

"Yes." You look hesitant, like you're not sure where this is going.

"Would it stop hurting if you came?"

You thought about this for a moment. "Probably."

"But you still don't want to come?"

"No." I knew you'd say that again. I just wanted to hear it again.

"But you want to do as you're told?" I ask. "You want to be a very good girl?"

"Yes."

"Then flip the coin and don't argue with me."

You pretend to feel rebuked as you flip the coin on the bed. Tails.

You lie back down on the bed. I get my phone, set the timer for eighty minutes, and put it on the table beside our bed.

"Spread your legs." It's a completely unnecessary thing for me to say, since you've already noticed that I'm lifting myself over you. Since you're already spreading your legs in anticipation anyway. But I just like to say it.