Journey Into Submission

a bdsm love journal

Care

The four easy ways Tucker could tell I was really sick this weekend:

I wasn’t wearing socks when he came over Friday evening.

I didn’t wear sexy underwear or a bra the whole weekend.

There is still a large, untouched piece of chocolate pie in my refrigerator.

And, my kitchen was a mess.

It was only this morning when I made it downstairs before he did and started making pancakes and cleaning the kitchen that he thought I might be getting better. Never ones to let something as mundane as a head cold get in the way of fucking, we’d been having sex almost as much as usual. I especially loved the “I’m barely awake but I’m really hard and horny so let’s get this over with and go back to sleep” fucking Saturday morning. When I complained that coming made my head hurt (sinuses and pressure and all that) Tucker let me go easy on myself, but that didn’t stop him from doing what he wanted to do.

He brought me soup, juice, and crackers Saturday evening because I was too worn out to even think about cooking or going anywhere. While we were eating he made a joke about taking care of me and how such a thing might not be allowed by certain hard-line M/s lifestyle folks.

“I wouldn’t be allowed to get sick,” I countered teasingly.

“No, it would just mean you weren’t really a slave,” he said.

“Right. It would be proof that I’m not a ‘twoo’ slave,” I laughed, thinking of the ridiculousness that flares occasionally on Fetlife about what a “true slave” is and what she does.

“Well, I for one am glad I get to take care of you,” he said.

“Why is that, Sir?” I asked.

“I like taking care of my toys. If one of them gets broken I don’t get to play with it,” he explained.

“Of course! That makes perfect sense. I like that you can take care of me, too. Otherwise I’d probably have to go find a sister slave to fill in for me and make sure you were taken care of,” I said.

Later (back in bed for more fucking and a quick nap) I expressed my sincere appreciation for all Tucker had done for me.

“I like taking care of you,” he whispered as I held my palm against his cheek. “It’s the way it’s supposed to be. How long has it been since you’ve had someone take care of you like this? Mother’s don’t count, it’s their job.”

I didn’t answer. I just closed my eyes against the easy tears I felt and pouted out my lips a little.

“That long, huh?” he asked. I shrugged and curled more tightly into him. No one, save perhaps my husband on rare occasion when we were married, has ever brought me soup and juice and tucked me into bed. Tucker does so many things, so naturally, that it always surprises him when he finds out he is a unique gift in my life, but I never fail to notice it.

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2 Comments

  1. Gray Lily, nice post, good for Tucker.
    Love3 and warm hugs,
    Paul.

  2. “How long has it been since you’ve had someone take care of you like this?”

    Immediate tears on the back of my throat. I can’t remember when anyone took care of me like that. I became so used to taking care of myself while taking care of someone else that now I don’t even ask.

    Someday? I don’t know. For now I rejoice over the word or two that somehow makes me feel looked after. And indulge in jealousy…

    (Really, I am so happy for you. Everyone needs someone she can rely on to take care of her, knowing she will be happy to return the favor.)

    o.g

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