I’ve never wanted to be Chris’s primary. We started after James and I did.. and let’s face it, James is still firmly rooted in my heart’s primary spot. But I like being special to Chris.
He does a good job of it, for the most part. Even with a primary and another relationship of almost 11 years, there are many things in his busy world that are just mine.. and I’m honored for that. I have my own set of sheets for when I stay over that he was going to throw out… until I said how much I loved the feel of them. I have my own tooth brush in his cabinet (it’s a light saber 🙂 he bought it for me). I have my own side; I always hold his right hand. I have my own play collar and cuffs just for he and I..
And then there’s my special paddle. And my belt. Gulp.
Let me backtrack.
I was meeting Chris after a teaching session last night for an evening date. Earlier in the day, he had posted that his girlfriend sent him flowers.. and it oddly made me jealous. Not that he got flowers. But that I’m a poor little creature and can’t surprise him with things like that. I walked into the end of his lesson a wee bit off-kilter, sat in the back, and watched.
There are very few things sexier than take-charge Chris, at least for me. I love watching him do his thing with this perfect balance of knowledge and levity (and just the right amount of too many bad jokes). As I watched him teach, I let my mind wander down a very bad rabbit hole…
Just because he and I aren’t fucking doesn’t mean I don’t think about him in a sexual way. By the time the lesson was over I had manage to play out about ten naughty professor fantasies in my mind. In one I sucked him under the desk as he taught. In another I was bolder, unzipping his pants and having him grab my hair and face-fuck me while he continued to teach, without missing a beat.
My mind really should not be left unsupervised for long periods of time.
I crept up to the front of the classroom and sat in the big, fancy teaching chair while Chris talked to the last of the stragglers, allowing myself to get a closer look at him in what I call his ‘adulting’ clothes. White dress shirt, dress slacks, shined black shoes… and then I saw the belt. The belt that was a bit too informal to go with the outfit but still worked.
He had been wearing my belt all day while he was teaching, no doubt thinking about its multiple uses at least once during the day. He had thought of me.
My poor panties were drenched by the time we got to his place. Dinner had been sweet. We caught up on the week’s events, I got mistaken as his wife (hey.. at least I wasn’t his daughter) and we teased each other mercilessly over sushi.. as it should be. I love, love LOVE when Chris gives me domestic duities. I love performing for him; love being useful. He ordered me to make the bed and make him tea. I did so with a smile on my face.
I fuck up on a regular basis with Chris.. but my Sir is forgiving. I pay for my fuck ups in spankings. Hand. Belt. Paddle. Nothing is off limits when I wear my play collar and cuffs. I sunk to my knees in front of him, naked except for said collar and cuffs, and let myself have a masochistic moment.
My love/hate relationship with pain has continued to develope as time has gone on.. and last night I needed a good beating. I’m in the process of moving, again, stressed about my current roommate, and my San Francisco apartment, and money, and leases, and a dog with skin issues, and, and, and… So many ands. And I needed them to stop, if only for a few moments. On top of my ten fuck-up spankings, I asked if I could please have a short beating to make my brain stop. And my kind Sir said yes.
I genuinely feel bad when I fuck up. Chris and I have a daily ritual that is very precious to me. There is some form of contact every day in the form of a task. Our default if I don’t hear from him is a photo of me outside, but lately he has been more creative with his requests. Explain this or that. Tell me a story. Send me a photo of you doing -blank-. Send me a photo of you with a big smile. I love this ritual.. I just sometimes let the day get out from under me. And then I get spankings. Ten for each missed day. Plus spankings for sassing (which I frequently accumulate throughout the night when in service to Chris. I don’t know why my brat comes out so often with him). My fuck up spankings proved to be wonderful warm up for the beating ahead.
Leather is my true love. I am a complete and utter leather slut. I love the feel, the smell, the touch of leather on my skin. I even love the sound as it hits my naked ass and back. A flogging from Chris is a special treat I often crave. The man turns it into an art. He dances, moving beautifully to the beat of whatever music is playing, hitting his partner with a rhythmic -thud- that quickly lulls you into sub space. I enjoy watching him flog almost as much as I enjoy being flogged… but I needed the leather. And he realized that even before I did.
He put me up against his wall with the gas fireplace (glass covered and protected) burning just below me, so that I was cast in its light as he worked. Chris’s black leather floggers are perfectly worn, perfectly thuddy, and even thrown at their hardest and stingiest I welcome them. I nearly came when I saw him pull them out of the little bag he keeps them in; old friends I hadn’t realized I was missing until that moment.
The dancer went to work, switching up patterns and techniques as he went at my back, thighs, and ass. Occasionally I squeaked and screamed, but mostly, I moaned. He covered my face in the leather at one point, letting me breathe in the scent I loved before he softly caressed me with the tails all over my body. I knew if he looked close later he would find the falls damp where they hit me between my thighs.
He did something new with these old friends. He began to throw them in a way that the leather wrapped and caressed my breasts and sides. I thought it would be unpleasant as he made my breasts bounce in the firelight, first one and then the other, but in reality it was the opposite. It felt as if I was being embraced by the leather, surrounded by it in a new way I hadn’t thought possible. I was high as a kite when he finally ordered me to close my eyes and pulled out the single tail.
I HATE single tails. Despise them. I can’t handle sting at all and they are the definition of just that. I red out hard and fast when someone pulls out a bull whip.. except for Chris. Like James with canes, Chris is the only one I allow to use a single tail on me. The only one I trust to properly play with me in that way. Because. It HURTS. I don’t like it. It’s not the pain I know how to process. In fact. I hate it. Despise it.
But I love him. I serve him when he puts my play collar on me. And I want to make him proud.
And so I took the little bites he peppered my skin with, going oh-so-gently compared to how he goes with partners that love the sting. He pushed, making me scream and cry, but never too much that I would yellow or red. He knows my body well.
There was a moment when he hit a particularly sweet spot and I screeched. Before my body had a chance to relax he was on me, surrounding me. I hadn’t realized I needed contact in that moment but he had. He held me until the tears stopped.. and then the touch changed. It was less one of comfort and more one of raw sexual need.. something I hadn’t felt from him in a long time. Every growl, every nuzzle, every caress, shot through me, arousing me to the point where my knees almost caved.
Gah. Fuck. I had forgotten he could do that so easily.
Moral improved, the beating continued. He worked me with the single tail until right when I would have yellowed, my eyes closed through all of it. Eyes still closed, he pulled me back from the wall I was braced on, using the handle of one or two of the toys to guide me backwards against his body while I groped the air for some sense of direction.
And then we were falling into one of his leather chairs, me on top of him like a blanket. I always think of Chris as small until he manages to surround me like he did last night.. and I remember why I kneel at his feet. He held me there, our bodies interlocking, as both our heartbeats slowly returned to normal.
“Now you may open your eyes. Slowly. Don’t rush it.”
I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay in this cocoon of surprise and bliss. But. I did. I was rewarded with a smile from my Sir and extra snuggles before being given marching orders to put my clothes back on.
You don’t have to be a primary to feel like you matter. Chris shows me that time and time again in our play and in our interactions with him. When we play he makes me feel.. precious, yet strong at the same time. And wanted. So very wanted.
There are times when I desperately miss jumping his bones. But. At least there is leather.
Yours with a few less brain squirrels,