She was looking a little nervous.
‘What’s up?” I put the paper down and showed her she had my full attention.
“I’ve been doing some reading.”
I waited. She looked at the ceiling and then summoned some courage.
“About dominants and submissives and I was wondering if maybe…”
This oughta be good…
I jerked my chin up to encourage her to continue.
“Maybe we should outline some things. Like they did in Fifty Shades of Grey; they had a contract of guidelines and safe words and…”
I started to laugh. Her face went red.
“I don’t want a submissive, baby girl.”
She frowned a little and then moistened her lips, “Okay…”
I got to my feet and closed the distance between us, backing her up against the pantry door. I took her face into a palm and rubbed my thumb along her lower lip,
“I want a cock slave. No safe words. Whatever my cock wants; you give me. Whatever I want. Degradation, humiliation, I could order you to fuck someone else while I watch, fuck a girl…”
The color drained from her face.
“You good with that?” I gave her an intense glare.
She swallowed hard.
I started to laugh, “Gotcha.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, “That’s not nice.”
I let out a big belly laugh.
I turned around to go back to the island and she swatted my ass hard with her hand.
“You need a spanking, Mister!” She growled at me.
She was fucking adorable. I grabbed her and threw her over my shoulder and carried her upstairs. She paddled my ass with her palms all the way up, calling me cruel, mean, a jackass.
When I got her onto our bed I kissed her and said, “Don’t try to define us, okay? All I know about our relationship is that we’re on a road together and I’m trying to take us someplace good.”
She nodded and then gave me her mouth.
Tia
Tommy had to go out before we got a chance to talk about anything serious so I had hours to myself. I wondered if it’d get to a point when I could come and go as I pleased. I wanted to talk to him about it but he came home in a pissy mood. So I decided that I needed to think up a game, so he and I could play. Maybe I could fix his mood.
I made a homemade lasagna for dinner (despite finding 3 in the freezer that Sarah had made) and it seemed to help with his mood; he told me it was the best lasagna he’d had in years.
“If I was having a cook off to pick my wife and this was your entry, baby, you’d win hands down.”
“If I didn’t cook well would I be out of the running?” I pouted.
“Not at all; just sayin’ if cooking were a qualifying category, this lasagna would buy you the race.”