I don't think I've had such a good night of sleep in a while- that's the first thought that crosses my mind when I wake up this morning. Call it luck or simply good domming, but it always seems like my mind is more at peace right after a very intense session. It appears to be the same for Lynn, although she still seems a bit groggy from what I did to her last night as she wakes up. When she looks at me, it's like she's forgotten our last scene even ended and she's still deep in that headspace. Still my little puppy, even though I didn't make her sleep on the dog bed this time.
"How's my girl doing today?" I ask with a smile that makes my face tingle with a pleasant sensation as my facial muscles warm up.
"I… Good, I think." she mumbles. Her face is still a little red and puffy. "I feel like I just woke up from a hundred year nap."
"Well, no harm done, so long as you don't forget about your students, Sleeping Beauty." I tell her before giving her a quick peck on the lips. Her cheeks flush and she excitedly shudders ever so slightly, which satisfies me to no end.
In general, I tend to be a little more conservative with how I express my affection with her when I want to get that 'aw' factor- she seems way more easily flustered by chaste acts of love than by more sexual ones. I feel a bit childish admitting it, but I find it kind of adorable.
Today's a turtleneck kinda day, I decide as I rummage through my closet. It's technically still Summer but that doesn't mean much to someone who could easily drive up to Canada for lunch and get back home in time for dinner. I'm careful to avoid looking at my reflection in the mirror for too long as I don't want to ruin my good mood by noticing yet more white hairs on my head, which makes trimming my beard a bit of a challenge. Yes, I've been trying to grow it out, but I still need to keep it tidy, God forbid I let myself look too much like my father.
"Look, we match!" I tell Lynn as I show her the clothes I've picked for myself.
She smirks and laughs quietly– probably because she's still naked, save for her collar– but I know she's going to wear a turtleneck sweater too, it's her thing. I'm giddy as I walk downstairs to prepare us some coffee after getting dressed; I always feel a little burst of joy in my heart whenever I manage to make Lynn laugh, and today is no exception. I like making people laugh in general, but Lynn is my favorite. She always is.
On our way to work, she spends most of her time massaging her scars in the passenger seat as she absent-mindedly keeps switching stations on the car radio. We're taking one car today because I don't like her driving on her own on the day after scenes like the one we just did, what with possible concussions and all. For now, it seems her biggest concern is her painful scars indicating that a storm might be coming soon. They do look unusually pink today.
When we get to the school's parking lot, I'm reminded of one of our rules - no PDA at school - and immediately feel a sense of urgency, like something is about to be taken from me, so before she gets out of the car, I grab her by the wrist.
"Wait." I order.
She freezes, then she turns her head to look at me, her hand already on the car door handle.
"Come over here." I say, before I cup her face with both of my hands and start kissing her.
If for a split second, she seems slightly annoyed because she always is in a bit of a hurry when we get to work in the morning, almost immediately I can feel her melting against me. Her skin is feverishly hot and her lips feel like they were made to worship. It's like we're breathing an echo of last night into each other's lungs. When I finally pull away, she seems disappointed to end things so soon but is quickly caught up by her need to always be right on time for everything.
Still, as she reluctantly steps out of the car, she whispers a timid "Thank you" before trotting off to her classroom, which I think just says so much about her. What kind of woman thanks her husband like a flustered schoolgirl for kissing her? Oh, Lynn, Lily, my Evelynn… you love me too much for your own good.
I feel good stepping into my classroom today. This year, I've been blessed with very promising batches of students, my favorite one being a class of Juniors who seem oddly into my whole demeanor (compared to the average class) while not being all that into Math, which is great because it means I get to use their natural appreciation of me to make them realize how interesting STEM are. That, and there's three girls among them who have caught my attention in a… special way.
Felicity is tall, elegant, ginger, but she's dainty enough that she looks a bit younger than she actually is- slightly unfinished. Luna is also tall, but she's more the nerdy, quirky type with the way she dresses- I've caught her "Fortnite-dancing" at her friends, whatever that means. Then there's Maeve: short, sturdy, cute, and whose long black hair caught my eye the second she walked in on our first day together. I get very vivid visions of my cock in her mouth every time I get too close to her. To be honest, I also have sexual fantasies about the other two, but I tend to go a little extra crazy for girls who remind me of Lynn, and Maeve is no exception.
I'm slowly learning the names of the students I'm not interested in sexually- it's a bit harder, but I always make it a point to learn those things by heart, enough that they'll stick. I want to be able to recognize them when they greet me at the supermarket, years after they've graduated. So, I practice them in my free time, trying to find a rhythm to the names, a melody- it helps a lot. Still, my mind drifts back to Maeve. Maeve Mendelssohn, like the composer. It rolls off the tongue so easily, I really hope she'll fall for me this year- I can see myself saying that name in a number of forbidden situations. I hope she's smart, else I'll have a very hard time projecting Lynn onto her. I tend to prefer quick-witted girls in general anyway.
10AM. Grading one class' tests while making another take the same. It's not very complicated by any means, but I'm enjoying hearing the sound of graphite furiously scratching against paper, I find it very relaxing and stimulating at the same time. I wonder if anyone's ever sampled that type of noise to make music. Before I even think about it, I've already pulled up my phone and asked Kate. I could very well just google it, but there's a flavor to getting answers from her that Google will never give me.
"dude it's legit a whole genre" she texts me back 2 minutes later with a link to a personal playlist she's just created, and I can't suppress a smirk because I know for a fact she's in the middle of a lecture right now. Call me shallow, but I'll take flattery wherever I can find it, and that includes getting the feeling I still have my favorite former student on a metaphorical leash. She just can't help craving my attention.
I'm trying not to be judgemental about it, because I have the sneaking suspicion the feeling is mutual. After all, I've never been so consistently attached to a girlfriend- besides Lynn, of course.
Lifting my nose from my phone, I eye my little nerd regiment, and suddenly I'm hit with the realization that while I easily crush on students who remind me of Lynn, the same can't be said about those who remind me of Kate. I formulate the hypothesis that it's probably because with students who remind me of Lynn, I get to project my love of her onto young bodies and therefore combine my two favorite things, whereas Kate is still very much a young woman, so there is little exoticity to find in girls who look like her. Huh.
This would probably be very interesting information to feed a psychiatrist (if I had one) so I decide to save the thought for later. I'll probably float the theory to Lynn on a quiet afternoon if she seems to be in a good enough mood to tolerate this kind of discussion.
I'm trying to have lunch when Lydia Forstater- who seems to think her and my wife's similar names and surnames must automatically make us friends- comes to pester me about this union she's trying to create for Trinity staff. She's lucky I was taught proper table manners as a child, because otherwise I might've had a much harder time repressing the urge to laugh in her face with my mouth full of food.
"...I'll be honest with you, I just don't see the point." I say in a soft voice after politely chewing and swallowing.
Lydia seems hopeful she can convince me, still. Like so many people here, she's under the impression I'm 'just like her', as my habit of performing ambiguity in most situations makes others think I share their opinions and struggles, which so far has never been true.
"Did you know female teachers earn only 82% of what male teachers earn, on average? And those studies don't even factor in race, can you imagine… Anyway, I just know that if we organize, we might be able to address the different wage gaps at Trinity, and isn't that something you think is important?" she pleads like the poor little bleeding heart liberal that she is. It's almost touching.
"...It is a just cause." I kindly concede, smiling at the thought she has no idea my salary is actually four times hers. My smile gets a little smaller when I remember she also has no idea I'm not white like her.
...Honestly, before she even attempts to advocate for women in general, I think she should start with advocating for herself and try learning how to negotiate, because between the two of us, she's clearly not the one who'd be the most apt at leading negotiations during a strike or whatnot.
Because I'm not elaborating on my support for her ideas, it seems Lydia is finally starting to understand I'm not going to help her, so she pivots by changing the subject of the conversation to my meal.
"Salad, huh?" she says innocently. "You trying to lose weight?"
I force a smile. That fucking bitch. And I'm supposed to be shamed as a misogynist when she's the one embodying the exact kind of catty behavior people tend to exclusively attribute to women, clearly with good reason?
"Oh, Lord no!" I say with a light laughter. "Can you imagine the state Lynn would be in if I were to slim down? She'd be heartbroken."
"Really?" Lydia asks, genuine. "That's a bit unexpected."
Somehow, this feels more insulting. I can somewhat put up with people who think being fat is a fate worse than death, but for anyone to assume they know better than me what my wife prefers?
"If you need to lose weight, I certainly can give you some great recipes." Lynn softly suggests from behind my back, catching us both by surprise. She must've silently snuck up on us, because I usually identify the clicking of her heels within seconds of her entering a room, or even just approaching it.
When I turn to look at her, she's wearing a smile she only uses to be covertly petty, which differs from her more genuine smiles by the way her cheekbone muscles seem completely frozen. I don't know that most people can tell, though, Lynn's quite good at being 'accidentally' bitchy. Kind of like me, except it usually really is accidental, in my case.
Lydia's face seems to strain from the smile she has to fake in response. Lynn's always been nothing but cordial with her before, so she isn't really allowed to get mad at her and instead is forced to take the jab as the friendly offer Lynn pretends it is. I can't help but be fascinated by this wordless dance we all perform to one another, this game of propriety, decorum, decency, whatever name you like giving it. And while I may have been taught more rules than Lynn was growing up, she's surprised me by being a much better dancer than me on many occasions. I suppose there's class, and then there's class.
"...I'm good, but thanks for proposing." Lydia says before walking off, clearly embarrassed to have been caught trying to insult me right in front of my wife.
Nonchalantly, Lynn sits down next to me and pulls a thermos out of the bag she's carrying. She seems oddly small, pitiable almost.
"You're not eating?" I ask.
"No, I feel a bit sick, I think I'm gonna stick to tea for now, I wouldn't want to throw up the nice food you prepared for me." she says in a hum before unscrewing the thermos and pouring herself a big cup of tea. Even though she usually drinks it unsweetened, this time she's brought sugar packets from the coffee table, presumably so she doesn't get hypoglycemia this afternoon. It makes me want to wrap her in a blanket and make her sleep on the dog bed. My poor, sick little puppy. As she pours the tea, I'm transfixed by the way light hits her hair when she moves. It's so pretty.
"...You know, a union would be nice." she comments between two timid sips.
"Oh, not you too…" I groan. I guess this is to be expected when speaking to a woman, but still, Lynn's smart.
"And just because you're privileged doesn't mean you don't stand to gain from being in one." she insists. "One could use it as leverage to get new Math teachers so you're not so overworked anymore, for example."
I blink.
"...Huh."
"See?"
I scratch the back of my head.
"If they ever make having to disclose how much money you earn a thing, you know my pay would end up getting cut by two or even three, though." I slowly say in Cantonese, not wanting our colleagues to hear that. As colorblind as I try to be, I can't deny they're just too white here to bother learning something more complicated than Spanish. Maybe German, if I'm being generous.
Lynn's eyes twitch very slightly a few times, some of my tones were probably off.
"Wouldn't you like earning less and actually having some free time for us to share or would you rather keep working yourself to the bone just to get paid money you barely even use?" she shoots back, much more fluidly than I just did.
I notice she pronounces the word 'money' slightly differently than I do, I may have accidentally used the Mandarin pronunciation. Maybe that's the language I should've picked for this conversation—Ma taught me well— but then again, if I never practice Cantonese, I'm only going to get worse at it.
"I like money." I justify, with the proper pronunciation this time.
Lynn gives me an affectionate smile, the same you'd give to a kid you're taking care of who's doing very stupid stunts.
"You're hopeless." she sighs, switching back to plain English. "You're lucky I like you so much."
I laugh in a quiet little huff.
"You love me because I'm like this, honey." I tease.
"To my great disbelief." she admits.
I resist the urge to kiss her and instead just squeeze her shoulder before standing up and putting my empty tupperware back into my satchel.
"What's on the menu this afternoon?" I ask her.
"B3, D2, and my nightmare sophomores." she says grimly. Said sophomores have been really shitty to her, and because most of them have never had me as their teacher, I can't even try and scold them for how they treat my wife. It's a bit frustrating.
"Best of luck." I tell her as I blow her a kiss before leaving the break room.
Class composition doesn't change all that much over the years, I've noticed. Because of the way Trinity handles its students and programs, it's not uncommon for students to have many of the same classmates 3 or even 4 years in a row. The administration tends to rearrange classes depending on teacher feedback (we carefully observe class dynamics and the way certain students clash or sometimes encourage one another to be worse), as well as results. Attempts are made to leave no students behind, so by the time we get to Senior year, there usually isn't a single class that can be pointed to as 'the lesser one'.
I'm thinking about this because this year, I'm finally in charge of Leo Thompson, a notorious dunce- at least according to his previous Math teachers. I find myself watching him a bit more closely than I usually do male students, because it seems that for once, he's actually trying to do some work. For the past 10 minutes, he's been discretely chatting with Matthew Collins and nodding as he fumbles with his calculator and writes things down. When I walk up to them, Leo flinches a little, probably worried he's in trouble for not keeping to himself during class, but since it seems like he's making his own calculations and writing down the correct answers, I simply whisper "Carry on." before moving on to other students. I prefer making them solve problems during class rather than just mindlessly reciting my lessons and giving them too much homework, I've noticed it simply just yields better results.
Across the room, Lottie Meyer raises her hand to ask for help. I had her last year, she's not great with Math but she's motivated, which is usually a delightful profile to work with.
"What's up?" I whisper to Lottie as I lean down to look at her notebook. I notice she's drawn a bunch of swirly things in the margins, as well as the fact she's wearing a flowery pink bra- it's showing through her thin white shirt. Cute.
"I think I messed up the root calculation here." she whispers back, and indeed, she has. The poor thing distributed her exponents wrong when she tried to simplify the function. I gently tap on where she made the mistake.
"You didn't foil it, that's why. Do you mind?" I say, nodding towards the whiteboard. She timidly gives me a thumbs up.
"Alright, listen up!" I exclaim as I straighten up with a clap of my hands. All the students suddenly look up from their notebooks.
"It's been a long summer, so some of you may have forgotten the FOIL method, or that it applies to exponents as well. Can anyone tell me what the FOIL method is? Yes, Sloane?"
Sloane is a spunky little nerd with bushy blonde hair, great hips, and a passion for Algebra. I had her in her freshman year.
"It stands for First, Outside, Inside, and Last. It translates (a+b)*(c+d) to ac + ad + bc +bd." she breathlessly recites from memory with her hand still up.
"Great! Does anyone know what that looks like when there's exponents? Timothy?" I suggest. He didn't raise his hand, but I had him last year, I'm pretty sure he got the concept.
"It's… uh… (a+b)² equals… uh… a² plus… 2ab ? plus b² … I think. " the gangly boy mutters as he looks at the ceiling, seemingly trying to picture what the calculation looks like.
I nod and write it on the whiteboard, then I give them a few more examples, including how to multiply exponents. When I turn to look at Lottie, she nods and gives me another thumbs up to signal she got it. Quickly, the sound of pencils scratching on paper returns to the classroom, only to be joined by the usual chatter a few minutes later. I don't mind students being a little noisy, so long as they listen while I explain things to them.
By the time the bell rings, we've gone through all the problems I'd planned for this lesson, and I've offered students the optional homework of solving some of the problems I've prepared for our next class. I'm delighted to see a good chunk of them write them down, including kids who really do need the extra practice. My face feels tingly again when I smile at them.
"Can I have your attention for a sec, Leo?" I ask as he's about to leave the room. He looks worried.
"Am I in trouble?" he asks nervously.
"No, not at all." I say, chuckling softly. "I was just wondering if you were interested in being tutored."
His eyes light up. This clearly isn't the slacker I was told about.
"Really?" he asks. "My parents would be really happy about it…"
Ah, he's one of those kids whose parents sent him to Trinity just in the hopes of having me as a teacher. Just what I needed to feed my ego some more.
I'm gonna be honest, I never give boys that opportunity so early in the year, it's usually something I only do once I've secured enough tutoring sessions with girls I like. But… well, I guess my drive to teach might be slightly stronger than my love for the adolescent female body, and Leo seems like too good an opportunity to turn a sad series of C's and D's into A's and B's, I would be remiss not to take it and help the boy.
"Yeah, I'd gladly tutor you whenever you need it. I think you have a solid logical mind, you're just a bit confused about the terminology and methods sometimes, aren't you?" I suggest. He frantically nods.
"Yeah, it was much easier once Matt explained things to me." he says. "Did Miss Ellis tell you-"
"Miss Ellis can be a bit impatient, sometimes. We have a whole year ahead of us!" I say with a big smile that's more genuine than I expected it to be as I hand him my schedule for next week. I point to the afternoon blocks I've saved for tutoring.
"I don't have anything on Thursdays." Leo says, placing the tip of his finger on the empty 3pm block.
"Aaand… noted. See you tomorrow for class!" I say enthusiastically, writing down his name in the swirl of a pen.
I'm humming as I walk into my office after my last period ends. There's a certain irony to students thinking my work ends when the bell rings. If anything, I have at least triple the homework they do. Well, at least I'm paid for it.
Lesson plans, notes, future tests, I'm reviewing everything. It's the beginning of the year so I don't have any teacher-parent meeting scheduled yet, thank god, but I'm not immune to impromptu calls and requests.
As I'm busy grading tests, my phone buzzes. I expect it to be Kate, but instead it's a text from Lynn summarily stating "Going home early (taking a bus), don't look for me at school."
I frown. She must've had a really hard time with her last students. I wish she'd gone to me for comfort, but if she went home alone, it's probably for a good reason, so I'm deciding not to rush things and to just finish the work I've set myself on completing this afternoon.
I think back to lunch. Cantonese. I learned that for her. Or, well. I learned that to be an ass to her mother, a plan I haven't actually enacted yet. But I could, if I wanted to. Suddenly, I'm struck by how old Lynn's mother is. What is it, 91, 92? That woman's unkillable. But she could die any day, now, if I'm being honest. She could die without knowing I've understood every single shitty thing she's told Lynn in front of me, assuming I only knew Mandarin– Taiwanese Mandarin, as she likes to point out, as if she couldn't understand my accent. She could die without me having insulted her in the native tongue she's so proud of. Oh, no, we can't have that.
I decide to text Kate about it, I think she would appreciate the pettiness of it.
"that's hilarious but what if she dies from a heart attack when you pull that stunt" she replies.
"I'm prepared to deal with the consequences." I tell her.
In response, she sends me AI pictures of wild hogs devouring what appears to be a very bloody cadaver, and I chuckle when I remember our little private joke.
I think about Lynn's mother again, about death, and then I think about my own mother. She's in her late 70's now, and she's not at Death's door by any means, but it's just so easy to get hurt at that age. I wonder how she could recover from a fall. I wonder how I would feel about her death. Death. Dad. How would I feel about Dad dying? He seems more likely to die first. I don't know how to feel about that. Death. Ma. Death. Dad. Death. I don't know how to feel. Death. Ma. Death. Death. Death. Lynn. Death. Alone.
That's where I decide to stop.
I eye my phone. It's getting late now, I should go home. So, calmly but quickly, I gather my things, salute the dog figurines Kate gifted me over the years as a high school student, lock my office, and I get into my car.
After I close the door behind me and hang my coat and my satchel, I find Lynn drinking red wine in the kitchen. Immediately, I try to contain the reflexive anger budding inside me and keep quiet. I don't like getting mad, even less so when it's Lynn.
When she notices me staring, she pouts and goes "What?", as if her father didn't die of pancreatic cancer. I almost tell her to not bullshit me since we're all sick people battling our addictions here, but as I open my mouth, I realize she'll probably take offense at the insinuation her alcoholic tendencies have anything to do with my near-pathological sexual obsession for teenage girls. While I enjoy being cocky, I don't feel like pushing my luck today.
"No more than one glass." I say instead, holding back any comments I might have regarding workday drinking.
Lynn frowns, then sighs as she lets her face relax.
"...Okay. Thank you." she says. She seems to realize this is me making an effort for her, even though we both know I should be scolding her right now. Well, marriage is all about compromise.
"What happened?" I ask.
Lynn shrugs.
"Nothing. The usual." she grumbles.
I walk up to her and undo her too-tight hair bun - she must've adjusted it this afternoon and forgotten about it. Her long hair cascades down her back in a glorious, shiny torrent of obsidian, although I notice a few white hairs breaking the pattern here and there. Lucky me, I think they're very pretty too.
"Gorgeous." I mutter as I run my fingers through her mane.
She seems to enjoy the feeling, as she usually does, so I just mindlessly brush her hair like that for a few minutes, until the urge to grab finally forms and I pull hard.
"Ah!" she yelps from what must be a mix of surprise and arousal. I know she likes getting her hair pulled. Thank God she put down her glass, else it would've probably shattered in her hands.
"You still don't wanna eat, do you?" I ask her as I pull hard enough for her to be able to look me in the eyes as I tower over her from her back.
"No." she answers in the tiniest breath.
"Then go upstairs. Get on the bed." I order.
She manages to nod in spite of the traction I'm exerting on her head, so I release my grip and let her go.
As I re-cork the wine bottle and get myself a glass of water, I try to ignore the feelings I've accumulated along the day to instead focus on what I should do with Lynn. My first thought is that she needs discipline, and my second is that she needs comfort, and a break from violence. This isn't the time to punch my anger and anxieties away. Last night, she played one of my games, so I might as well indulge her with one of hers today.
She's already in position when I open the door. With her feet hovering over the dark wooden floor, her back on the bed and her arms laid down along her torso with her palms facing towards the ceiling, she reminds me of her dresses when she lays them down to figure out which one she should pick for an event. Tonight, my one and only choice is Lynn.
"Limp." I say, and if she wasn't already, now she is.
When I pick up one of her arms by the wrist, her hand dangles with no resistance, like she's a rag doll. Good. Slowly, methodically, I undress her while she does her best not to resist nor ease any of my movements in spite of the temptation the occasional snag of clothing on her joints might give her.
She is, for all intents and purposes, a doll. My doll.
As each protective layer is removed from her, I uncover more and more cuts and bruises from last night. She manages not to jump when I accidently brush a little too hard against a really nasty bruise, but I can tell from the way the tendons on her knee reflexively contract for a fraction of a second that it must've hurt like a bitch. Seeing her naked like this, baring her battle scars like they're mere decorations, it tugs at my heartstrings a certain way, so I go to grab my phone and take a picture so I can remember how this looked later. Breathtaking.
After I'm done admiring her body, I pull her towards me a little with a tube of lube in hand and begin pushing lube into her cunt. It's not done in any way to arouse her- it's methodical, mechanical, to the point. I'm lubing up my sex doll so I can fuck it. It must however be a relief for her that I chose not to fuck her ass today. I guess I'm feeling soft.
This whole time, she hasn't made a peep, not even a sharp inhale, nothing. Her eyes are open, staring emptily into the air, even though she's most likely terribly tempted to look at me. She mustn't.
While I often do this sort of thing almost completely dressed, I feel like shedding a few layers today, even though I love seeing the contrast between her bare skin and my thick clothes. Something about her being extra vulnerable while I'm in control. I don't mind being a bit more vulnerable right now. I swiftly remove my sweater, my shirt and my undershirt but decide to keep my jeans on. I like how they feel on my skin, and I know Lynn likes them too. But enough about her.
"Been pent up all day long…" I mutter as I line up my cock with the shiny wet hole of my precious doll. "Some of my students… such fucking teases, God."
Then, as I finally push into her, I let out a quiet "Fuuuck-" in a long exhale. She's so tight, so wet. The perfect fucktoy.
"This one sophomore, I kept thinking about her tits, trying not to be too obvious while ogling her… They looked so round, so perky. I can promise her a bright future." I ramble with my eyes closed as I start thrusting into the Lynn-shaped thing I've got lying on my bed. It feels good. Uncomplicated.
"Another girl, I kept fixating on her goddamn hair. That shit gets me so hard, I had to keep it under control the entire time, but now I can let it out, now I can fuck my fleshlight, huh?" I grunt, and as I do, I lean forward and start pressing my body against Lynn.
Even though she'd managed to keep perfectly still this whole time, almost immediately upon feeling my stomach weigh on her body, her cunt uncontrollably squeezes around my cock. God, this feels good. I can't believe this is how her body betrays her. Taken by this exhilarating feeling, I decide to grab her by the hair and pull. Once again, she can't help squeezing me with her eager cunt. How adorable.
"Oh, that's a good toy. That's a good fucking fleshlight, right there." I groan as I rut into her, slamming my hips against her thighs like she really is made of silicone. When I start kissing her, she manages to keep her muscles loose, even in her face, and I really get the feeling I'm violating the mouth of a lifeless doll. It feels amazing. Lynn may have been the one to introduce me to this way of having sex as one of her favorites, but it's grown a lot on me too and I think I feel a similar amount of excitement for that specific act now. I love that she's just a hole for me to fuck, that she expects nothing in return, just the knowledge she's been used like a fucking toy who's not even capable of getting orgasms anymore.
I keep rambling, both to her and to myself, but slowly my own orgasm builds up and instead of trying to hold it back like I'm quite used to, I decide to just indulge myself and fill her up the moment I feel like I've had enough, which happens in a rather satisfyingly timely manner. Once the deed is done, I let myself fall onto her and crush her with my weight as we both slowly sink deeper into the mattress. My mind feels empty, like it's been cleaned with bleach.
Now that I've caught my breath, I realize I haven't heard Lynn breathe much, so I turn my head to whisper in her ear "I'm done, you can move again, Babe", and immediately she lets out a loud exhale and lets her lungs significantly expand her rib cage as she takes another breath. I assume it must be hard to keep your breathing light and quiet during sex like this. I nibble at her ear and start kissing it.
"Good girl…" I mutter. "You were a very good doll…"
I feel Lynn smile against my cheek.
"Really?" she asks, knowing very well I don't lie about those things. But I'm fine letting her fish for compliments, she's earned it.
"Yeah. I love using you like a toy. My cute little fleshlight…" I praise her. Immediately, I notice her shivering and getting goosebumps. I laugh. It takes so little to make her lose her composure.
I remember the first time she told me about her "fuckdoll" fetish, she seemed so ashamed of it, so self-conscious about possibly coming off as selfish, even though it's one of the most selfless ways a submissive could get their Master off during sex, at least in my opinion. Just because Lynn's getting exactly what she wants doesn't mean she isn't prioritizing my pleasure above all else. I admire that, not just her dedication to her role as a submissive, but also just how well it fits her to begin with.
"You were born for this," I tell her, "you were born to be my little puppy."
Giggling, she wraps her arms around me and hugs me as she kisses my neck and rubs her nose against my clavicle. Good god, that woman is in love. How fortunate is it that she's my wife?
"Thank you for everything, I feel much better now." she says softly. It contrasts so heavily with how dry and quick she can be when we're at work, it'd make me laugh at the two-facedness of it all if I didn't know both she and the woman hugging me right now are legitimate versions of Lynn.
"...You know, I think I might shave you, next time I use you like a toy." I inform her. She frowns at me, so I elaborate: "Fleshlights don't have pubic hair."
"Some of them do." Lynn protests with a pout.
I smirk.
"Mine don't." I say, and I tap on the eternity collar around her neck. Almost immediately, she tenses up.
"I apologize for talking back." she whispers with genuine reverence and shame before burying her face in my neck again. I chuckle.
"You know, fleshlights don't have clits either, and when did we get yours removed? Almost 10 years ago, now, hasn't it been?" I remark, and I can feel her shudder against my body again.
"My God… Yeah, it'll be 10 years in about a month." she mutters, visibly shocked at that realization. She hasn't experienced an orgasm in over a decade. After pivoting on the bed so I'm right next to her and not crushing her with my full weight anymore, I start petting her hair.
"10 years since you showed more dedication in a day than most submissives ever will in their entire lives. 10 years since you really committed to being my personal little fuck toy. How does it feel?" I tease her.
Lynn takes a sharp breath.
"Like the worst decision of my life." she says. I laugh.
"True. What else?"
"...Good. It feels good." she finally completes, and she tilts her head up so she can kiss me.
"Well, it feels good for me too." I mutter against her lips, incapable of not teasing her over this. "So that must mean it was the right thing to do."
Dedicated as she is, Lynn simply nods and, only a few minutes later, she falls asleep next to me with a big serene smile on her face.
