When one has been denied orgasms for a while–whether through accident or design–it is weird what becomes eroticised. I find myself going wet as I am doing the dishes because it is an act of service for Sir. Going through his ties as I pick out his clothing for the next day is a sensory overload. Folding laundry. Forget cooking for him.

It is interesting that these acts of service become more fulfilling to me because I am doing them for someone else. That it is for Sir is a bonus.

Being on the injured reserve list, denied regular maintenance and orgasms, has been eye-opening.


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