TPE. It sounds kinda cute doesn’t it. Tee pee ee. Like a tipi.
That’s what I feel like when Wonderboy tells me that I have to eat before I go to bed. Or that I can’t net around anymore, it’s too late. Or when he orders me to go to the gym right away. Or when he wants to see the pictures I take of my lunch every day so that he can check that I’m eating as he’s ordered. I feel that it’s as cute as telling me I’m an angel or beautiful or his. As cute as if he’d kiss and caress me gently in front of everyone.
He has made other rules as well. If I buy clothes, I have to give up two for every one I buy. I can’t buy candy at all. I have to ask permission for a lot of things, and I might not get them. I can only drink alcohol once a week, doesn’t matter if I only take a glass.
The difference is that now he actually stands by is rules. He sees that I obey them. I told him that it was the most important thing to me about being his. The follow trough. He’s done an excellent job. Actually he’s done such a job that he’s starting to go over our designated agreement. I got a bit spiky a minute ago, when he asked if I was staying or going, and he came to me at once.
Are you talking back to me? he asked.
I just mimicked being really angry, although I wasn’t really. And then he hit me on my butt, and it wasn’t a gentle smack.
You better not talk back to me unless you want to be spanked.
Sigh. The love and devotion he gives me.
I actually went to the gym on Sunday (on the day of rest!) and came back truly and completely happy. It was amazing. I came home swimming in a haze of happiness which had probably been enhanced by the endorphines of the workout routine he made for me. I just stood there in the doorway and smiled lazily, happily. He came to hug me and I pointed to my face, the lazy smile.
This is a happy face, I told him. This is what you do to me, when you command me.
This makes me happy. I feel so… content. So completely content.
He then proceded to spank me with a cute little suede flogger he bought for us. It’s purple. He said he didn’t want to have sex and would only give me a spanking. But I felt it change, when he began spanking me harder. So hard I could barely cope with the pain. I tried to wiggle. I yelled and I asked him to be more gentle. And for a time he was. And then he wasn’t again.
When he told me to get up on all fours, I could hear it in his voice. The sexual tension. He made me do it with his voice. It made me wet.
He fucked me from behind hard as ever smacking my butt all the while. He held me by the hair so that I was uncomfortably torn to him. And I was bucking my hips against his, driving his cock harder and harder inside me until I came. And after that. Well, after that the fucking really started to hurt. And it made him even more hot. I drooled all over the bed just unable and not caring about how I looked or if my mouth was open. The noises I made were animal, terrible, shameful voices of total intellectual breakdown.
When he swept me up against his chest after the fact and kept me there, caressing me as I convulsed and maybe cried a little, there was only one thing missing. My collar. I felt so owned in such a hugely different way. And it had mostly nothing to do with the sex and almost everything to do with everything else.
This is where we’re at now. I’ve never felt as alive.