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Part 59

Words formed inside me, wanting to come out, but I couldn’t let them escape… until they did. I stammered, timidly, “Sir, my lips are yours…” As I said it, I felt his penis grow and pulse against my face—he wanted it as much as I did.

I heard him take a deep, steadying breath and say, “Shh, shh, shh… we’re not done, beautiful. We must finish what we’re doing.”

I was shocked at myself—usually, I would think something like, “Whyyyyy? We both want it; let’s do it… NOW!” or worse, I’d feel rejected. But not that day. Instead, I simply said, “Yes, Sir.”

Perhaps it was because I knew, without any doubt, that he really wanted it; the proof was literally in my face. That deep breath he took told me it took a lot of him to stay composed. Chrissie’s words echoed in my mind: “Gabriel knows what he is doing.”

I looked up at him as he took another long, deep breath and said, “Okay, beautiful, on your feet. We have work to do.”

I was entranced, as if I’d somehow entered another realm of existence, with Gabriel as my guide. I wanted to stay there, in that space, but then it occurred to me, “Maybe what’s coming is even better!”

I rushed to my feet and was met by his kiss on my head and his words, “You’re doing very well. I am so proud of you.”

Gabriel then said, “Pick up your cushion, dust it off, and put it in its place,” pointing to a short wooden shelf cabinet on the floor behind him, not too far from the door. The small cabinet had three shelves—two spaces were empty, and one was taken by another cushion on the middle shelf.

I thought, “That must be Chrissie’s cushion.” I dusted mine off and placed it right below hers.

Her cushion wasn’t too different from mine; hers was light blue and looked like it had been well-used. It wasn’t dirty, but you could tell it was beginning to wear.

Something on top of the cabinet grabbed my attention—a golden-ish statue that looked… intimate. It was a figure, like a Buddha, seated cross-legged with a woman entwined around him, her arms draped over his shoulders, their faces close as if whispering secrets. The whole piece felt intimate, warm and seemed to capture a kind of unity—peaceful yet intense.

The statue reminded me of that day outside the café when I first met Chrissie and was freaking out. Gabriel had held me close and calmed me down just by talking to me.

It was funny; that hadn’t happened too long ago, yet it felt like ages. I felt like I was such a different person back then.

Gabriel then asked me if I was okay, and I replied, “Sir, I am great.” Then something came over me—I don’t know what it was, but I felt the need to ask, “How about you, Sir? How I can satisfy a need or desire for you at this moment?” He looked at me and said, “I just need you to pay close attention, beautiful. We’re almost done. You are doing incredibly well, thank you.” He paused for a second and then added, “Present your forehead to me.” I stepped closer and leaned my head toward him, and he kissed it.

During all that time, I noticed that I was able to effortlessly pay attention to everything he said. Normally, I would be struggling with thoughts of jokes and sarcasm sitting at the tip of my tongue—but not at that moment.

Even my horniness, which was at an all-time high, was taking a backseat. It was very much there, but it wasn’t interrupting; in fact, I think it enhanced things.

Gabriel then instructed me to grab my cushion again and follow him. I picked it up as he led me to the chair in the living room, where he sat while I stood in front of him, waiting like the good girl I was being that day… apparently.

He then instructed me to place my cushion on the floor, and I asked where—now, allow me to be honest here: YES! I was kind of hoping he’d tell me to put the cushion between his legs, but I didn’t feel any disappointment when he replied, “Good girl, that is such a great question to ask. Place your cushion right here, and kneel on it as I showed you earlier,” while pointing at the spot next to his left foot.

Kneeling as he had instructed earlier wasn’t as easy as he made it sound—the details were tricky to get right at first, but I managed the basics. I put my butt on the cushion, feet to each side, and hands neatly placed on my legs.

He then asked how it felt when I took a deep breath. After trying it, I told him it felt as if the air was obstructed; it certainly didn’t feel as clear as it did when he corrected my posture.

He instructed me to stick my butt out, straighten my back, tilt my head slightly, and relax my shoulders. He said that each breath should feel completely unobstructed, and I should feel the air travel all the way down to my belly. I tried it, and it worked! I smiled at my achievement, and he followed that with the ever-welcome “Good girl.” It never failed to make me feel giddy.

It was funny how those two words always cut straight through, settling something warm in my tummy.

As I sat there, Gabriel began speaking, “Red, you’re doing great, and I can tell you’re making an effort to make this as easy as it is. Thank you.”

I chimed in with a simple, “You’re welcome, Sir.” He continued, “I understand that you’ll have questions, and I will answer them, but for now, I just need you to keep doing a great job at listening.

From now on, every time you walk into this space, you are to do what you just did—simply follow the same process. You walk in quietly, grab your cushion, and do your exercise.

Today, you counted to ten, but your goal is to accomplish a five hundred count. When you reach that goal, we will make a few changes, but for now, that is your goal. Do you understand?”

Five hundred?? This was going to take years!

Nevertheless, I replied, “Yes, Sir.”

He continued, “You are now welcome to come here anytime you wish, but you must get permission from me. Whether I am here or not, you are to let me know that your intention is to come here. Even if you just want to come to take a nap or relax, you must notify me. And if I am not here, you are still to do your exercise. Do you understand?”

I felt giddy. The idea of being able to come here anytime felt like a HUGE deal, a step I hadn’t even thought to ask for, but suddenly it meant everything. It was humbling. I said, “Yes, Sir.”

He continued, “If I am here, you will continue to do your exercise until I come and get you. If I am not here, set a timer and do it for a minimum of fifteen minutes, you can use the timer that is next to the shelves. Understood?” I nodded, and he said, “I can’t hear you.” I immediately replied, “Yes, Sir.”

He went on, “Once you are done with your exercise—which you will have done for a MINIMUM OF FIFTEEN MINUTES—inspect the space. If there is something that needs to be cleaned or taken care of, take care of it. Don’t concern yourself with who did or didn’t do it; just take care of it.

For example, there are never to be dirty dishes in the sink, but it happens. If there is a dish, wash it. Similarly, if you use something, wash it and put it back in its place.

If you sleep on the bed, make the bed. If you use a blanket, fold it.

Do you understand?”

It all made sense to me, so I quickly said, “Yes, Sir.”

Then he said, “Next thing, there are to be no heavily charged conversations after sunset. This is not to avoid difficult discussions but to preserve the harmony and peace of this space at night. Positive and calm interactions after sunset ensure we go to bed in a state of peace, not turmoil.

There is only one exception to this rule—if a master safeword is invoked. In that case, all other rules are set aside to address what needs immediate attention. Do you understand?”

I nodded and said, “Yes, Sir.”

He continued, “The things I am telling you are not suggestions; they are expectations and guidelines to be honored.

This is VERY IMPORTANT: there is to be no yelling or arguing in this space. This is my home, and I want you to feel at home as well, but there are rules, and they will be respected.

If Chrissie is here, she will abide by the exact same rules. Regardless of how you feel about each other… you do not have to love one another, but you will respect one another, and most importantly, you will respect me and this space.

I want you and Chrissie to be at peace, always, and I will do everything in my power to preserve your peace. You will give me the same diligence in return.

If you will not, or cannot, live within these guidelines, I will revoke your privilege to be here at all.

At the same time, if these are guidelines that you can’t abide by, that is OKAY—it is not for everyone. Simply tell me right now, and we will go somewhere else.

Can you live with these guidelines?”

Without hesitance, I said, “Yes, Sir.”

He continued, “Obviously, if you come into this space and Chrissie is here, you may walk into nudity of some sort. You should decide if you’re comfortable with that or not. If you are not comfortable, then you should consider only coming here when you know that Chrissie is not here.

While I respect your right to feel uncomfortable, I will not take away Chrissie’s right to be comfortable to accommodate discomfort. Is that understood?”

This one was a little trickier, but I decided that if Chrissie was okay with it, I wasn’t going to be out-girlfriended!

I said, “Understood, Sir.”

He then said, “I understand that this is new to you, so if you and Chrissie want to come to some sort of agreement, you two can work it out. But know that I have the last word, and you should understand and accept that I will always rule on the side of nudity.” He laughed, and I followed suit.

After our little laughter—which, honestly, relieved a bit of tension—he went right back into it and said, “Next, we need to talk about your sex safe word. We’re going to be having sex, a lot of it, and I can’t allow you to navigate these waters without making sure you have a way to maintain your comfort and safety.

We’ve already crossed some boundaries where a safe word should’ve been implemented, and I take full responsibility for that oversight. But I can’t allow us to continue any further without you having a way to ensure your comfort and safety. Understand?”

I nodded and said, “I understand, Sir…” I was close to asking what exactly he planned on doing to me that I’d need a safe word, but I was feeling too good to risk getting shushed.

He continued, “Do you know what you would like to have as a safe word? Just like your master safe word, it should be something you wouldn’t normally use during sex.”

I asked him to give me a second to think. With everything that had been going on, I hadn’t thought about it—though I should’ve. He said, “Take your time. While you think, there’s a teapot with water on the stove. Please make me a cup of tea.”

WTF, man! I wanted to think, not do chores! Just kidding—yay! I had a job!

I said, “Yes, Sir. Where do you keep the tea?” and he replied, “There are several tea canisters in the cabinet above the coffee machine. Pick the one you would like for me to have.”

Slowly and gently, I got up and walked toward the kitchen. I walked deliberately, trying to inspect as much of the house as possible without being too obvious—Mom was right; I am a nosey little shit-crumb.

On my way to the kitchen, I tried to glance toward the hallway, but all I could see were four closed wooden doors. I couldn’t make out a thing. I could only assume it was three bedrooms and a bathroom.

The kitchen? Immaculate. No dishes, no used paper towels, not even a stray coffee ground by the coffee machine.

As he said, the teapot was on the stove and full of water, so I turned it on. Above the sink was a cabinet where I could see coffee mugs—I figured I’d use one for the tea… On second thought, I’d better ask. He might have some special, fancy teacup collection, and I’d end up being the hoodrat serving tea in the coffee mugs.

Work with me here—I didn’t know what I was doing. But I did remember his rule about yelling, so I debated whether to call out from the kitchen or go back and ask in person. I decided it was best to avoid being loud. No need to start breaking rules so quickly.

It was funny how I always justified being neglectful or forgetting things by saying, “I can’t pay attention; I have ADHD.” But for some reason, that day I was able to remember and focus—probably because it was related to him. Apparently, I could focus and remember… I just needed the proper incentive.

Anyway, I went over to him and asked, “Sir, should I use a coffee mug for—” He stopped me, saying, “Shh, shh, shh…” and pointed at my cushion on the floor. I said, “No, I just want to ask—” and was met with, “Shh, shh, shh… from your cushion, please.”

Well, shit! I just have a simple question! Sigh… that toy bag better be spectacular.

I knelt on my cushion and said, “Sir, should I use a coffee mug for your tea, or do you have a particular cup you like to use?” He responded, “Use a coffee mug, the black one with the design that looks like a leaf on it. You’re such a good girl, thank you for asking.”

I felt giddy again. I really had to figure out why it felt so good. I said, “Yes, Sir,” and walked back to the kitchen… but I wasn’t done. I craved more “good girl.” Don’t judge me—it felt good!

I went back, knelt on my cushion, and said, “Sir, is it okay if I have tea as well?” He looked at me with a tender smile and said, “You are such a good girl. We are going to have so much fun. Yes, you may have tea, but make sure it doesn’t have caffeine. The decaffeinated teas have a red lid.”

And off I went back to the kitchen… but wait—I had room for one more “good girl.” I returned to my cushion and said, “Sir, do you want your tea decaf as well?” He looked at me, grabbed my chin, and squeezed my cheeks together, pursing my lips as he said, “You’re so beautiful. Surprise me.” He paused for a second and finished, “Good girl.”

That was an orgasmic cherry on my “good girl” sundae!

Okay, back to the kitchen—surely the water would be hot enough by now.

I kept circling in my head about what my sex safe word should be. I thought about stupid little words, but none of them fit as well as I wanted. I considered stupid things like “Sharkeisha” and silly little internet trends that were once “cool.” And I definitely didn’t want to use another Golden Girls reference—I was cooler than that now.

I was shocked at how a little pressure made my mind go blank. Usually, I didn’t have a hard time finding words—even making up my own—but this time, I was at a loss.

Suddenly, it hit me: “DENALI.” Denali was the name of a band I enjoyed a lot at that time in my life. The girl had this haunting voice that I loved, so Denali it was!

I just couldn’t imagine a situation where I’d scream “DENALI” during sinful sex—unless the band themselves walked in on me getting stuff done to my lips or something like that. Though it would be weird if my first reaction was to acknowledge the band instead of covering up. It would be hilarious… but weird, nonetheless.

Speaking of, when are we going to get to that part, exactly? Inquisitive minds—and lips—want to know.

Anyway, I opened the cabinet and was greeted by these fancy tea canisters. They weren’t your average, run-of-the-mill tin cans—these looked like something you’d find hidden in a mysterious shop tucked away on a busy street somewhere. Each one was round and smooth, some with wood-like swirls, others in dark, earthy tones. The tops were even dressed up with colorful fabric, tied neatly with tiny cords, as if each one had its own little hat.

I opened, looked, and smelled each one of them. First, I picked mine—a fruity, tangy-smelling one that was obviously decaf.

For Gabriel, on the other hand, I chose a tea with a rich smell I couldn’t quite identify or describe. It seemed sophisticated, and since he liked cigars, I thought he might enjoy it.

Between me and you, I picked one with caffeine. You know, maybe it would hurry things along a little… I had urges!

Making the tea itself was a challenge! I was used to teabags, but no—not my Sir. He had loose leaf tea in each of those fancy canisters. Sneakily, I pulled out my phone to Google how that even worked—I had never done it before.

Thankfully, it was simple enough. I found the infusers, which I didn’t even know existed, but it got done.

I know you’re asking yourself, “How long was she in that damn kitchen?” Not that long, maybe 15 minutes. Any more questions, nosey ass?

Anyway, I walked back to the living room holding both cups, trying not to spill any tea on the floor. When I got to Gabriel, he said, “Red, bring one cup at a time. First, bring mine, ask me where I would like you to put it, and then go back for yours.”

I said, “Okay, next time.”

He replied, “Bring one cup at a time, Red. There is no rush—take your time.”

I thought it was a rhetorical question when I asked, “You want me to go back to the kitchen and come back?” Apparently, not rhetorical enough. He calmly and gently said, “Yes, beautiful. Go back to the kitchen and bring one cup at a time.”

I said, “Yes, Sir,” and walked back to the kitchen.

It felt like my own little version of the walk of shame. I felt mildly chastised—maybe like I had disappointed him for not being thoughtful enough. He wasn’t mean or anything, but I guess I felt like I should’ve known(?).

I went back to the living room with only his cup and said, “Sir, where would you like me to put your tea?”

He replied, “You may put it on the coffee table. Thank you for asking. And then ask me if I need anything else before you go get your tea.”

I gently placed the cup on the coffee table—I didn’t want to do it too hastily and risk banging the table with the cup—and asked, “Sir, before I go get my tea, may I get you anything else?”

His response was sweet. He said, “No, thank you, beautiful. Your presence is all I crave at the moment. Thank you for asking.”

And just like that, I was giddy again. I pranced my smiling ass back to the kitchen to get my tea.

to be continued...