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Aftercare

Beneath my body, a soft mattress dips, signaling the arrival of another person.

Exhausted from the intense scene I just finished, I can barely bring myself to crack open my eyes.

It takes every ounce of energy in my spent frame to muster the strength and when I do, I am rewarded with the warm smile of my partner—of my wife .

Her soft fingers swipe through my hair, damp from the mixture of sweat and arousal that has been coursing through my body like a raging river.

Equally as soft, her words envelope me like a warm blanket when she speaks.

“I heard you were magnificent tonight, as always.”

I smile, pleased to hear that Mistress was satisfied with my behavior, as well as with the fact of knowing that my everything—the person I have pledged my life to—is as proud of me as I am in myself.

Together, we cuddle under soft blankets.

She trails her fingers over my body, checking for any lasting redness that needs to have special attention paid to it over the next few hours.

And as much as I love the act of wax play itself—the pouring and smudging of my Mistress’s wax, the fucking and blades that we play with together in carefully crafted scenes, I love this quiet aftermath in the arms of my lover even more.

I drink down a bottle of water, reaching for a second and only stopping at my wife's gentle urging.

“It's not every day I have to ask you to stop drinking water, is it?”

We giggle, cuddling closer as a Hallmark movie plays quietly in the background. I can't remember when the television was switched on, when I was wrapped in a soft, silk robe or when my tummy started to growl, but as the other half of my heart often does, she’s planned ahead, feeding me bits of pepperoni and cheese on crackers by hand before melting into the blankets next to me, pulling me close.

My hands want to roam over her body, but she stops me. “Let me take care of you first, sweetheart.”

“Don't you see? You already do every day,” I reply.

“As you do for me, sweetheart. Now hush up and relax.”

Strong hands work on sore muscles, the last remnants of wax falling from my body. I sob at the loss of its weight, but relish in the feeling of my soulmate's hands on my body. “Thank you.”

My wife's hands cup my breasts, her thumbs brushing against my already hard nipples.

“For what?”

Still sensitive from the onslaught of temperature and sensation, I cry out, pouting when instead of apologizing I'm met with an oddly familiar laugh that sets the hairs on the back of my neck on edge.

“I was going to say everything—for setting up such a beautiful, special scene. For laying here with me now, taking care of me in the way only you can. But if you're going to torture me like that, I'll just take it back.”

She smiles, shaking her head back and forth as if disappointed in me, and that's when I see it.

“Want to know a secret?”

Interest piqued, she eyes me, always curious to know the wild thoughts running through my brain.

“You know I do.”

My own smile widens.

“You have to come closer so I can whisper it into your ear. No one else can hear.”

Skeptically, my wife lowers herself, positioning her face next to my ear.

We're in our bedroom, in our house. If someone else is able to hear our conversation, we've got a bigger problem on our hands than my little, make believe game.

“Go on, sweetheart, tell me this big, important secret.”

I blush, my cheeks going hot at just the thought of telling my wife my deepest, darkest confession.

She means well with her candor, though presently the sarcasm slightly discourages me.

“Tonight, I never felt ashamed of what I wanted. I never felt judged for liking that extra bite of pain or humiliated any more than I wanted to be thanks to the words and actions that were pre-negotiated.”

Realizing I'm being serious, she schools her features, her eyes morphing into two liquid pools of concern. “I'm truly sorry if I ever made you feel ashamed or judged ...”

I cut her off, not allowing her to think I am comparing her to anyone in my past that made me feel less than in any way. Reaching out, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into my body.

Our skin rubs against each other creating a delicious, warm friction as I plunder her mouth with my tongue. “You've only ever made me feel alive. You've only ever made me feel free.”

Hands roam, hers and mine. We bump into one another as we touch, memorizing and mapping one another's bodies. “But of everything we've ever experienced together, do you know what has been my favorite moment of them all?

”

“Tell me,” she pants, seeking even the smallest molecules of air to fill her lungs with as she grabs a fistful of my hair.

I meet her gaze with a fierceness I rarely feel and hold her eyes with matched intensity.

“My favorite moment ever just happened when I realized you have the barest hint of wax stuck behind your left ear.”

My wife, my partner, my Mistress laughs, bringing me joy that radiates through my entire body like the first rays of summer sun after an extra harsh and brutal winter.

“Christ, you're a brat. Remind me to negotiate in impact next time.”

“Yeah,” I snort. “Like that'll ever happen.”

Capturing my wrists in one hand, she pins them above my head. Leaning down into my space, she presses a soft kiss against my lips. “Lucky for both of us, I can be very persuasive.”

Smiling wickedly, I offer her a silent challenge with my eyes that she eagerly accepts.

“Whatever you say, Mistress. Whatever you say.”

She falls on top of me, the full weight of her naked body blanketing me and soothing me enough to send me to a peaceful sleep, dreams of our next perfect scene already beginning to swirl in my mind.