A Day with my Dom

A Day with my Dom

When daddy walked through the door, he looked so *tired*. My eyes drank in all the details. It's been almost 11 hours since he kissed my forehead goodbye this morning, and I've been missing him so. His jacket had some kind of dust on the sleeves, his garish orange shirt darkened with sweat, and even his "walking about" shoes had mud on them. I noticed he had a ring of black tape on one of his fingers, he must have cut himself again. If I were to ask, he'd just say it wasn't a big deal, and not to worry myself. He'd probably say the same thing if the finger was *gone*. Stubborn! It would be so much easier to take care of him, to be of service, if he would acknowledge that his little aches and pains existed; but his gentle control runs *deep* even within himself. I try to always be observant, and bring relief where he has pushed even his own awareness away from any pain or soreness. He always acts surprised, and becomes so pleased with me, when I rub the tightness from the muscles he's favoring, and his rewards are always worth the vigilance. He looks at me as he kicks off his shoes, a fraction of his exhaustion disappearing, and a half-smile forms on his lips as his eyes travel up and down my body. Even after all these years, even in my oldest pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt 2 sizes too big, he makes me feel his desire with a glance.

"Have you been a good girl today?" He asks, his voice just barely loud enough to be heard over the table fan, commanding my focus and attention. Although this is basically a ritual, now, sometimes he changes some words around, or asks different questions, to see if I'll be caught out. I *had* been good, I'd gotten a game plan in place for some of my employees, did a full yoga session, and went and got our groceries.

"Yes sir, I've been a good girl all day." I responded.

"And has the world been good to my little girl in return?" Genuinely curious every time, and rue be to any part of the world which wasn't. Calling me his little girl always makes my heart skip a beat. I am his, every last bit of me, and everything that's his is cared for, safe, and has purpose in his eyes. Maybe useful, or decorative, or satisfying in some other fashion, but he has no time or energy for anything he sees as frivolous or of low value. To be included among that which is his makes me feel special, wrapped in the cocoon of warmth and contentment that is his love for me.

"Yes sir, everything went well today. I even found us steaks on sale at the store this morning!"

"Hey, that's great! Why don't you start those up, while I wash off my day. I'll join you shortly."

"Would you like me to wash you?" I asked, eager for any excuse to run my hands over every inch of him. My heart fluttered again as he considered, anticipation rising for 3 seconds, 4...5...6... I think he probably saw me squirming, and so made me wait even longer still, before he said, "Not this time love. Go start dinner."

And so I did. But I couldn't stop myself from imagining the process in the other room, the quick sounds of fabric slapping plastic as he undressed directly into the hamper. My mind's eye imagined his near silent walk to the shower, even that done with his head up and posture straight, the thought of his nudity so close by turning me on. I heard water falling to the tub, a pause as he checked the temperature, then the shower turning on. I imagined myself putting shampoo on my hands and running my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp for a while. I imagined the scent of his bar soap hitting my nose as I worked a lather into my hands, and rubbed them down his back, his ass, kneeling to get his thighs and calves. I imagined him turning before I stood, his stiffening cock right at eye level. No touching just yet, he always says shower time is just for the tease. And he's *always* teasing. I stood and stepped close, reaching up to his shoulders and neck, worked my hands down his arms, back up to his chest, his belly, and finally! His cock in my hand, fully hard and ready for the best cleaning ever. I imagine the feel of my nipples dragging against his skin as my hand works him over. I picture his reaction, putting a single finger under my chin and lifting my face for a kiss, while his thigh pushes its way between my legs. I think about grinding into him slowly, matching the movement of my hips with my hand. And...

I feel his hand on my ponytail, holding my head still while he touches my cheek with his from behind, looking down the front of me at where my hand is buried inside my pants. I didn't even hear him finish!

"Enjoying yourself without me?" He growls, as I feel my face flush even redder than it had with the arousal. I quickly pulled my hand from my pants, realizing I had barely started dinner. Oh no.

"Naughty." He pronounces. He moves my head to the sink, my body following automatically as he says, "Wash your hands."

As soon as that's done, he releases my hair and turns me to face him by the shoulders. His huge strong hands are irresistible, not that I want to, mind, but it's very obvious to me in this moment that I would be more likely to break the shackles we sometimes use on the bed than his grip. Intrusively I notice he's replaced the black tape with a proper bandaid, probably to keep me from worrying or fussing too much...

"Pants and shirt, in my hand, quickly." He says, remaining right where he is, leaving me very little room between him and the countertop. As I rush to obey, I feel restrained and constricted, and he's not even touching me, no ropes have come out. My shirt pops over my head, revealing my comfy sports bra, and gets placed into his upturned hand. I pull my yoga pants off next, my head pressed to his unyielding chest, like a wall, as I bend to pull them past my feet. I'm bare beneath, only slightly surprised to find the rapidly chilling wetness from my masturbation reaching nearly to my knees. Goosebumps ripple into being, and I can't suppress a small shiver.

He prefers his domain to be far chillier than I would like, and so that is what it is. His free hand rubs slowly down my arm, his warmth delicious, but making the rest of me even colder by comparison. I leaned into his touch, his body, to capture some more of that wonderful heat he radiates, when he shifted a bit and slapped my bare behind, once, hard, leaving me with a very different flavor of warmth. He stepped back, "put on the apron if you feel the need, but it doesn't leave the kitchen, understood?"

"Yes sir." I replied, eyes downcast, in the meekest voice I had.

He placed his hand on the side of my neck, fingers reaching all the way around the back, and tilted my head up to face him with his thumb. He kissed me twice, quick pecks to the forehead and the lips. "Love you. Be better this time." He said, and then he was gone.

I put on the apron and busied myself, determined to make this meal extra special for him. I tried to ignore the feeling of being both covered in front and exposed to the sides and back as I worked. I felt his eyes upon me as I was chopping up some sweet potatoes, the steaks searing nicely beside me. I daren't be distracted again, so I poured my focus into the meal, trying, failing, to keep all my attention on the preparation. After a few moments, he walked up behind me, buried his face in my hair and pressed his hand gently right where I'm sure his hand print glowed red on my bottom. "Smells wonderful. You're doing well." He quietly voiced right next to my ear, and his presence vanished again.

I brought our dinner to the living room, remembering to remove the apron, everything placed just so. Even the food on the plates arranged identically, although his portions were larger. A glass of one of our favorite reds to the right, just above the silverware. We ate, he in only his robe, I was still in just my bra, our thighs touching lightly, and shared the minutiae of our days and our thoughts. I even confessed what I was thinking when he caught me earlier, although my cheeks reddened to do so. Meal time is sacred for us, there is nearly no dynamic at all while we eat, the only commandment being absolute honesty, and it applies to us both. It gives us a chance to truly revel in each other's company, with no expectations, punishments, rewards, fear, or favor.

After we finished, he cleared the plates while I caught up on a few work emails. Washing up is one of my least favorite chores, while he seems to find some kind of satisfaction in hand washing and then placing everything just so in the dishwasher. He insists on sharing some of the chores. I still remember that conversation. "You serving me doesn't mean I'm to be treated like an invalid. Besides, if I show you what I expect of myself every day, you'll understand better what I'm expecting of you." When all was done, he said "Come here kitten, you can watch your shows for a while."

I've never completely gotten over my embarrassment at watching trashy reality shows in front of him, he seems to think it's "adorable" though. While kitten is a cute pet name, from him, it's also a command. He wants me to curl up on the couch with him, my head in his lap, so he can absently play with my hair and pet my head; with my shows on, that probably means he wants to read for a while. He splits his reading time pretty equally between d/s guide books/erotica, and huge sci Fi/fantasy epics. I asked him about the d/s and erotica books once, saying he was an absolutely amazing owner and lover, and he responded with something like "and how do you think I got that way? By learning from other's mistakes and including their lessons learned. And picking out some fun bits to try..." Grinning from ear to ear.

I curled up under a blanket, in just the position he liked, and turned on the TV, one of my hands stroking his bare thigh ever so lightly, while he combed my hair back with his fingertips, a near hypnotic, slow and consistent petting. As I was starting the second episode, bored with the recap and lulled by his soothing touch, I noticed him stiffening beneath my head. I tried to push down a small flash of jealousy - how dare someone else's writing arouse him! I pushed myself up to look at his face, and he glanced at me, eyebrows raised in a question, as if he didn't know very well what had happened. When I said nothing, he calmly cupped my cheek, gave me a little smile, and went right back to his reading! Well... well. Let's see how long he can keep *that* little game going, as I remind him how well I've learned all the things he's shown me. I tried to make eye contact as I tied my hair back up, but he stubbornly didn't look up at all. I caught him peeking as I knelt in front of him, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Game on then.

I traced my fingers lightly from the tops of his feet up to the tops of his thighs, dragging it out a bit by going back to his knees, up his inner thigh, barely brushing his balls before heading down again. I opened his robe, again tracing fingers from his chest to his waist, brushing the base of his dick. Up to his chest again and down his sides this time, then running all along his length and giving a quick squeeze to his now-hard cock before tracing down his legs once more. I put my head on his leg, close, so he could feel the warmth of my breath, and wrapped my fingers around him, using just enough pressure to slide over his skin as I stroked. I angled him down, just a bit, closer to my face and pulling against his natural hard position. I started giving little licks, on the underside, starting at the beginning of the slight discoloration, and ending right at the tip. I was rewarded with a little squirm, but he was still refusing to give up. Knowing I was eventually going to win now, I continued on - putting just his head in my mouth, while continuing my slow strokes. I alternated between strong suction, and running my tongue in a circle around him, never changing the position of my lips at all. Another small break in his composure, as he pressed his hips towards my lips. His eyes still technically on the book, but during my regular looks up at him, they looked awfully unfocused now, and he hasn't flipped a page in quite some time. But if his body is wanting more, of course I must serve him...

I moved my left hand to his base, palm flat over his pubes, and I took more of him into my mouth. I squeezed him between my thumb and palm, as I sucked and moved my lips slowly back to the bottom of his head. Released the squeeze and suction as I slowly pushed him to the back of my mouth once more, and this time I cupped his balls and pressed on his taint in a line from his hole to his balls with a two fingered come hither motion at the same pace. My free hand made its way back between my legs again, my middle finger sliding inside with ease. I used to be surprised at how much it turned me on to pleasure him, in any way. It was only a few more repetitions before he groaned for me, his book falling to the ground, completely forgotten. Ha! I've won!

He stared at me for a while, completely transfixed, before running his hand from my shoulder, up my neck, and to the side of my face, moving with me as I worked. "My little kitten has decided it's playtime huh?" He said, as he gently pushed me back so he could stand. "Hands." deep, commanding "put your palms together." He gripped the first 2 fingers of both of my hands in his left, and I may as well have been handcuffed. He paused for a moment, head tilted to the side "Your finger's all wet... does my fucktoy need to be used?" I nodded my head, looking up at him. "Please" I pleaded "yes, please."

"Then you will be. From this moment, your body is mine and mine alone, it moves only at my command. I gift you your tongue, let it hang out if you're ready for more. Do you understand?" As his words hit me, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders, a weight I wasn't even aware was there. I felt light, as if I had lost 15 pounds, from everywhere, all at once. "Mm-hmm" I managed, feeling so small knelt before him. "Pay attention little one," he said, cupping my chin again. "This is important. Tongue out for more, understand?" He's so good to me, I would do anything for him. "Yes, sir." a proper reply this time, he likes that. "Good girl," he said, through his beautiful smile, "now open your mouth." I did so immediately, following his command quickly so he would be pleased with me. He looked down on me, my mouth open for him, his hand slowly stroking his cock.

He was just standing there though, teasing me again. So close, but so far away, knowing I wasn't to move. I had to close my mouth to swallow for a moment, hoping he wouldn't be mad. I couldn't take this much more, the anticipation was unbearable. Had I done something wrong? What was he waiting for? And then it hit me - less than 5 seconds and I had forgotten his instruction. I felt a flush of embarrassment as I stuck out my tongue. "Good girl." He said again, finally touching the head of his cock to my tongue. "Lift your bra and pinch your nipples" he continued, as he released my hands, and took hold of my ponytail. "No sucking. Relax. Accept."

And then he entered my mouth, not too deep, not too fast, pushing into my tongue. As he sped up he also started going deeper, my head fixed in place by his grip, my nipples becoming oh so sensitive from my repeated pinches. It wasn't very long before he pulled out, using his almost dripping penis to wipe at the spit that had leaked along the bottom of my mouth and chin. "I want to feel you swallow around me now." he said, and this time I remembered to stick my tongue out.

He didn't move at all, just provided gentle pressure on the back of my head until he was part way in, and then even that disappeared. I stopped moving of course, looked up at him, my mouth full of his cock. I know he loves that image, and it makes me so happy to be able to see his pleasure. "Deeper." he said, and so I pushed against him until I gagged, he felt rough against the back of my throat, we usually use a bit of lube to start. I jerked back reflexively, and as quickly as I could I took him in again, slower this time, as I got used to the sensations again. Alas, the second try wasn't to be either, and this time he held my head away from him until I showed him my tongue again. On the third try, success! I felt triumphant as his very short pubes touched my lip, and was rewarded with an "oooof, amazing!" as I literally tried to swallow him. I pulled back until just his head was still inside, and then took him again, the swallowing part coming just a little easier this time. Another moan from him, at the same time I realized I had been squeezing my nipples with all the strength I had for quite some time now.

"My turn" he announced, taking up my ponytail once more. He proceeded to directly control my movement through several shallow thrusts, then a few deeper ones, and ended with pushing all of himself into me. Sometimes I was able to swallow, sometimes not, but he didn't seem to mind either way. He waited for my tongue to come out after each cycle, but although I know how patient he can be, I tried very hard to be ready again as quickly as I could. His moans, mutters of "so good" and "amazing" and even a few times something that sounded suspiciously like a whimper, made me feel so proud, but that paled in comparison to the satisfaction I felt when he said, "I can't, I can't, I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna come down your throat." And skipping the cycle completely he pushed himself all the way in; I think my first swallow was when he started cumming - I swallowed again, and then again, startled at being able to. When he was finished and had pulled himself out, he collapsed to the couch. "I thought my knees were going to buckle for a second there, you succubus." He said, a smile on his lips and in his eyes.

"Come sit up here and give me snuggles and some kisses. I need to rest a little, but I'm not nearly done with you yet." I've told him before how much I like making out with him, and being enfolded in his cuddly embrace. His kisses make me melt inside, and having his arms wrapped around me is the very height of comfort, even when our position means it's not actually super comfortable.

After quite some time of that, I noticed his eyes seemed to be getting heavy. I recalled how he looked when he got home, and knowing he absolutely wouldn't call off the rest of the night outside extremely dire circumstances, I offered to make him coffee. "I was just thinking along those lines hun... You beat me to it. Thank you." Night time coffees aren't exactly a rarity for us, although he's the type that can drink an entire pot right before bed and seem unaffected, while I am... Not. So after it was done, I sat between his legs on the couch, my back to his chest, while he quietly spoke about how much he was enjoying me this evening.

When the cup was empty, he said "top me up once more, then put 2 cups of water on the nightstand. One of them should be the big one with the bendy straw. Go into our toybox, the only thing I want you wearing is your leather cuffs and collar when I come in. Get the red ropes and lay them on the bed with you, and wait for me." He accepted his fresh cup gratefully, his eyes drifting off to nowhere afterward. As I filled our waters from the jug in the fridge, I imagined he must be expecting a long session. Placing them on the bedside table, I turned to the toybox, removing my bra on the way. I put on the cuffs, then removed the pretty choker he had bought me so many years ago now, replacing it with the wide leather band of my collar. Most of the time he likes to make a little ceremony of putting it on me, he must purely be after it's direct use tonight. The red ropes are the shorter lengths, I thought, my mind spinning through a multitude of fantasies as I arranged the perfect bundles beside me.