It has been months, seriously, months since I had an orgasm at his hand. Oh, I had orgasms, but all of those were ‘functional’. That’s how I call the orgasms when I feel horny and when it’s not about enjoying my body, but only about getting off. There was a time when I totally enjoyed playing with myself, but that was a time when Master T’s head was still ‘in the game’, when he knew what I was doing upstairs, and showed interest in it. You see, in the past weeks/months he sometimes also knew what I was doing, but showed absolutely no interest, which is why I stopped telling him about it. It just didn’t feel the same to masturbate, so my orgasms started being about getting a need fulfilled and not about enjoying anymore. This is not to say that I didn’t enjoy the orgasms at all… I did in the moment, but when the moment was over it was ‘back to business’ again.
Some weeks ago, I had a talk with Master T and I thought it would help to put me in a different frame of mind, but it didn’t. I realized that as long as his interest was close to zero, nothing will help to make me feel better. We had two more talks after that, and in the last one I told him that I really need him, that I feel like I am not attractive anymore, that I am not the woman for him anymore. I know this sounds dramatic, but the thought just crossed my mind that I don’t excite him anymore. He assured me that I still am the only woman he wants, to which I replied that I am not feeling it. That was two weeks ago, and I left it after that, not wanting to be the whiny wife, and wanting to give him time to think. Time to understand what it was I really was saying.
Fast forward to this past Friday.
It was a Friday evening like so many others. I came home from work. We had dinner, watch an episode of Game of Thrones (which we have started watching again from the first season before we watch the final), and then I moved to the computer to work on Wicked Wednesday and my #SoSS. In the meantime I sipped of my wine, talked to Master T in between and everything was just good. I moved to the couch when I was done and we watched another episode of GoT. How it came about that Master T wanted to make a photo of my breast, I can’t remember, but he stayed on the couch next to me and there came a moment when he rubbed my crotch, complaining that I was wearing too much clothes. God, I so enjoyed those moments, feeling his hands on me, but within fifteen minutes it was back to watching GoT again. We went upstairs roundabout 2am.
Before I went to the bathroom I opened one of my drawers and my eye fell on a bottle of mom’s perfume. I pulled off the cap and smelled it, pictured her in front of me. In the bathroom I was overwhelmed by grief, and cried. By the time I went back to the bedroom I was okay and because of the dim light, I knew Master T couldn’t see my red eyes.
Then he came to bed.
I can’t even remember how it came about, and where normally I see this coming, I was surprised when he rolled over on his side and his hand found my cunt — which was quite wet already. He fingered me, rubbed my clit, made me come, pushed my hand so I could rub myself while he watched me. He finger-fucked me once more, drawing another wet, squirty climax from my body. I rolled over towards him and we kissed. His hand ended up on my hip, half on my bottom and I turned my body so he could reach my ass. He slapped me and it hurt so damn good. He struck me once more. And again. And again, again, again until I moved away. Then, when I was back in position, he did it again. The delicious hurt traveled through my body and I so wanted to just give into it, but once the thought had nestled in my mind that our son might hear us, I couldn’t relax into the pain anymore. I tried, but when I gave up, I rolled on my back again and his hand disappeared between my legs again. Orgasm after orgasm followed and I felt the bed getting wetter below me.
He prompted me to finger myself again, and when my hand moved to my clitoris he pushed several fingers inside me. Another climax, and then his thumb disappeared into my cunt, and a finger entered my other hole. Fuck, that felt so good.
“I’ve missed this so fucking much,” I whispered.
Soon he was fingering my ass while I rubbed my clitoris, and where at first I thought the big orgasm was going to elude me, suddenly it was there, and I begged him to let me come. He did, and I panted and sighed and smiled and closed my eyes and thanked the universe for him, my husband, my owner, my Master T. I turned my head to look at him, and reached over to kiss him. When we stopped kissing he pulled back and looked at me.
“I don’t ever want another woman,” he said, “only you.”
I was quiet for a while, before I said: “You are the only man for me.”
“And what about all those men I want to watch while they fuck you?”
“That’s different,”I said, “I will enjoy them fucking me, but they will never be able to give me what you do.”
We hugged, and he left the room to wash his hands.
“You know what I want,” he said when he got back into bed and his hand rested on my cunt again, “one more orgasm.”
Even though several minutes had passed since my big orgasm, I was still sensitive to the touch, but he got his orgasm. We lay together afterwards, hand in hand, and things just felt… different. I think I fell asleep with a smile on my face.
We woke up on Saturday morning, and our hands instantly found each other. I still had the feeling that something had changed, that we are back, that things can only improve from here, that we’ve had the worst.
I knew he had felt it too when I came downstairs and he said: “It was a good night.”
© Rebel’s Notes