Push and Reward
Added 2023-11-01 03:59:47 +0000 UTC“You were being sassy,” she says sternly.
I pout a little, try to quiet the fire in my belly. She was right of course but I hate admitting it. She observes me, takes me in. I can feel her eyes on me, assessing me. I try to swallow my oppositional inclinations. I bite my tongue.
“That’s better,” she says after a few moments of silent stand off, when she decides I look like I have less fight in me. Her commentary doesn’t make it easier to be good. I can feel myself prickling against her condescending tone. The urge to push back and rebel swelling in my throat.
It’s confusing. She’s pushing my buttons on purpose, I can feel it. It feels unfair, it makes me feel sweaty and childish.
I buck sometimes. I talk back and I dig my heels. She says she likes my untamed streak, but I wonder. She says she likes that I’m scrappy, that I put my heart into the fight even if I know I’m not gonna win. She likes taking, she likes to feel my resistance, she plays with it.
“Be good for me,” she says firmly. Her brow tenses. It makes me soften when she asks for my submission. My heartbeat slows down, she quiets my inner battle. Nobody wants to disappoint Daddy. She watches my face, my body language shifting, she is still.
She waits for me to melt for her, to show her i’m docile now.
With her hands she reminds me that I’m her favourite toy, good for playing with, good for her enjoyment. Rewarded for being good.
“I’m not done with you yet,” she growls, my thighs dripping wetness, my breath quick and needy, no sign of sass or brattiness to be found.
(Photo is me at Max’s house)
