A Lesson
I was stoned when I wrote this letter to my wife at a time we were exploring.
The pain is your measure The pain is your challenge The measure is how deep you'll go into it The challenge is how long will you stay there.
This morning, Elena, when I woke and you said you wanted to fuck me at 7 am, and I looked at the clock and it said 6:30, I need to confess that I felt so tired I just wanted to go back to sleep.
I saw myself as the stereotypical wife, prepared to do her duty even when tired and not in the mood. I complained to myself, wasn't it only morning before yesterday that you fucked me? So, this morning, If I were not the hubby, I would not have said yes. So that was a good lesson for me that this isn't just for play and that 'yes' is an important response.
Opening the toy drawer to dig out your phallus, I was so digging the reality of what FLR means: the sacrifice, the digging deeper to serve. But once I dug the contraption out, with all its straps and belts, and the veined, stiff, cock, not overly fat, but long… long enough to reach the places up inside me that hurt, that felt stretched and jostled when it poked up in there… once I held it in my hand, gazing at the reddish tip, sensing in my fingertips what each bump and vein was going to do to me… once that happened, I was no longer tired.
Checking the buckles, making sure I was ready to help you step into it, I was wrapped in an aura of wonder. What is the colour of wonder? Where in the rainbow can I swirl my brush in it? She was going to plant this sacred object into me and subdue me.
In a fog of bliss I helped you step in, cinched up the belts, and held your arm as you lowered yourself into the throne of pillows with the god Priapus thrust up from your lap like some out-sized mushroom.
Where was I? Oh yes. This morning, Elena, when you woke me up to fuck me, it taught me a lesson.