Our evening began with some quiet discussion together in our bed. To put it into the best BDSM term I can conceive, we were involved in 'negotiation', although that's not an entirely accurate term, anymore than is the word 'discussion'. We've just passed the one year anniversary of the time when my Serafina was freed from caregiver responsibilities, the time where we were able to concentrate more fully on ourselves and our relationship, the period where we began to identify Serafina's desire to please me as 'slavery' rather than submission.
|Photo by Serafina|
For the record, she's not had an orgasm without first asking my permission at anytime in the last 7 years. Now before anyone who doesn't understand our relationship somehow decides that my Serafina is oppressed by my domination, I'd also like to point out that I'm not even sure how many orgasm's my submissive wife had last night while wearing my cold hard steel shackles, I lost count after 15 . . .
And yes, she asked for every one. Serafina even begged for permission for a few of them in the middle of the session. It's so delightful to have her hovering on the edge, holding back only for the reason that she hasn't yet heard the words - "Yes, you may."
Eventually, she begged for the pleasure to stop, saying she couldn't cum again, that she was devoid of strength. Once again, for the record, I need to tell you my dear reader, that she came twice more even after begging for the pleasure to stop. And yes, she asked my permission to cum again on those last two occasions, although by then she was reduced to a mumbling and slurring her words more than just a little bit. She was drunk on my power, and drunk on the pleasure she'd been 'forced' to endure . . .
The discussion that started it all began with an allusion that the heavy weight of the steel shackles I was placing around her wrists also signified the weight and substance of her submission. Let me tell you, she wore it well!