Weekday Evening

It is a typical day. The laundry is done. The dishes are done. Everyone is fed and comfortable–we do have the most spoiled pets. Me included.

I have followed his rules for self-pleasure. Today, the rule is that I cannot use my right hand. I can cum at will, if I can. As always, I must thank him for the use of his parts after every session. Technology certainly has made tops more accessible.

Now it is almost time for him to be home. I sit on the sofa, knitting and listening for the distinctive bark of his car alarm being set. Hearing that means that I have a few seconds to put down what I’m doing, and greet him at the door.

His key hits the lock, and the fumble-clack of the tumblers falling into place sounds loud in our quiet house. I open the closet door and grab a wooden hangar.

He is inside. He sets his briefcase down, and smiles at me.

“Welcome home, Sir,” I say.

“It is good to be home, Honey, ” he says, then turns to allow me to remove his long, dark, wool coat. I pay attention as I hang the coat in the closet. Every moment is a chance to please him. Pleasing him pleases me.

I walk back to him. I kneel at his feet as I loosen the laces on his shoes. He waits as I wrestle with the knots and eyelets, finally getting his shoes off.

I stand. He is home, for a least a little while. This is my time to dote, and tell about my day, and cuddle on the sofa before his other obligations pull him away. I hope he’ll mark me before he leaves.


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