As many of you know, Leigh is a submissive fantasy come true behind a closed bedroom door. That is our arrangement, our dynamic. She knows that her body is mine to do with as I fucking please. This is not to say I do not listen to her. Simply put there are times when real life Dominates both of us. If she needs personal space for focusing on her writing, or simply is exhausted (we do play a lot) she asks me for an evening of just snuggling, which I am more than happy to listen to and 99% of the time will respect. (What can I say? I’m a guy, she’s hot, things pop up….heh)
When that door opens we are equal partners in our marriage. The “Please may I..” stays in the bedroom. I have no problem with this. To be honest I would not want or could fucking handle the responsibilities of a 24/7 D/s dynamic. She is a bright, intelligent, witty, funny, hard-working woman. I’d be a fool to want to corral that. The exchanges we share outside the bedroom as Mr. & Mrs. fuel the exchanges we share behind its closed door as Sir and doll. And vice versa.
Now, I admit that I would like to expand some of the D/s relationship outside the bedroom and, on a few occasions, she has been receptive. Public orgasms are one example. But I know she also bristles at this notion, which I admit makes her all the more worthy of the attempt to slowly integrate D/s into everyday life.
It’s not the kill, it’s the thrill of the chase.
But there is one thing she does do outside the bedroom that does echo D/s. And I love it. Absolutely adore everything about it. To be blunt I enjoy it more than some of the events that transpire behind that closed door.
What is it? What could she possibly do to make me float in mild Topspace?
She manicures my nails.
The first time she did this was beyond words. Dressed in only a silk robe, leather hand and wrist cuffs and her leather ring collar she sat on an ottoman and waited for me at the end of the couch. Upon sitting she looked up into my eyes and asked “May I? in regards to my hand.
Now, before I get into the (at least for me) arousing details of what a Leigh manicure is like (and she does not dress like just described for these), it should be stated that she has a very staked interest in the general condition of my fingernails. No woman wants fingers rife with long nails and hanging edges of sharp dead cuticle probing inside her hooha, let alone thrusting in rapidly enough to cause her to squirt. So yes, she is vested in my digits, be it for safety or purely selfish reasons.
But for me, it’s an D/s indulgence. She knows this, and her eyes will dance with tongue-in-cheek fire at the thought. This is not part of the arrangement.
But then she takes my hand…
Having had some fleeting cosmetology schooling in her teens she knows what she is doing. She starts with the clippers and, finger by finger, addresses each nail. Once trimmed to her satisfaction the large file comes out. Working sideways, on top, even across the just trimmed nails are evened out, smoothed down to a soft burr instead of a flesh tearing edge. Her fingers work over and around each nail, seeing by Braille if you will, feeling for any edges, spurs, rough spots. I love this in that my fingertips are basically being gently massaged, one of life’s unspoken joys.
Now the cuticles and with them the metal nail file, the one with the almost sharp point. Pushing, prying, poking, she gets them under control. Some times there is a little blood if its gone a while or completely feral in its growth. On occasion the clippers get a recall to remove the accumulated dead skin. All the time her fingertips work mine over and over, in essence practicing reflexology.
To do all of this she needs to be seated lower than I am. The aforementioned ottoman is typically her office. And yes, she is aware of the Higher/lower position we are in. Often she will make a comment, then sit there anyway.
Again, I love this. It appeals to the Dominant in me fiercely, plus satiates my efforts to stick our toes in the outside the bedroom end of the pool. And fuck yeah it feels good. Inside and out.
The small talk we share during these often relates to D/s in that we are in the outskirts of that dynamic. The other evening, prior to an amazing spanking session, we had a very sincere, frank conversation about the past two months. I reiterated to her how important it was to me to just “have” her….period. It’s not about the sexual nature of my efforts. It’s much more, and she now knows exactly how I feel and she is agreeable.
We also addressed some of her concerns, thoughts, ideas. All the while the buffer on the opposite side of the large file smoothed my nails over.
By the time she massages each fingertip with well lotioned hands (which alarmingly mimics having a certain appendage being manipulated in the same manner) I’m usually in a very mild state of Topspace. Why, you ask? Because she is not just giving me a most enjoyable manicure, but is allowing our behind closed doors D/s dynamic to manifest itself outside its typical perimeter. An analogy would be a down the shirt glimpse of some amazing cleavage in everyday life. Odds are you have seen or displayed far more to/of your other, but within context. The sight of that which you are not supposed to see at all, especially in public, makes it all the more memorable and arousing.
Hotel sex would be another comparison. Same person, same act, whole new setting.
So yes, I revel in this small appetizer of D/s outside the AYCE buffet that is our bedroom because its just that – off the menu. And its delicious.
And, hopefully, there will be more to eat in the future.