Chitchat

You're always in charge. It's your place. I abide by the rules you set. It's how we do things. It's what makes you happy. It's what keeps me content. Our commerce is set and we easily exchange. Sometimes you initiate. Sometimes I hint at my neediness, and you respond. You take care of me. Without one touch passed between us, we've been intimate dozens of times. We've pleasured each other. We both know that we are just a sentence away from having our needs met at any given time. We are dedicated lovers.

But today is different. Today I am your pet. I am witness to your erotic hunger with a myriad of different women. Different shapes, levels of beauty, kinks, devotion. They are all different. And unbeknownst to them, you take your pleasure from them singly or simultaneously. Creating your own threesomes, foursomes, moresomes. Being behind the curtain with you is very different than I expected.

I thought it would be similar to serving you while you looked at porn or watched videos of nameless actresses. This is nothing like that at all. This is you, my lover, connecting, exploring, and pushing boundaries of other women. You do it with ease. You are relentless. Some are bitchy, some are gorgeous, some are barely interested but cannot help themselves, and some are just filthy. All are your playthings. The one who adores you is not online today. She is at your feet.

I am sitting on the floor beside the bed. My eyes are blindfolded. Your feet hang over the side of the mattress. Being without sight is torture. I want to watch your face and your hands as your transcribe your thoughts. I want to see when something strikes a chord in you. How do you look when your mind starts to go? When do you reach down and firmly rub your palm against yourself? How does it feel to watch you physically give in to your desire?

You have blindfolded me, so I am not privy to whom you are focused upon. I might as well be thousands of miles away as I usually am. I am still in the dark about who has my Daddy's attention. Having me here in your presence is for your added pleasure, alone. That thought excites me and frustrates me at the same time. Maybe it is better off this way. It is not as important for me to know, as it is for me to trust.

Still, I cannot help but to wonder who you are chatting with. My mind wanders to those that I know about. There is the tall woman whom you dated who sent the pictures of herself while at the wedding. She comes to mind because she knows you in ways that I do not. She knows your touch and your kiss. She also knows she can send you pretty pictures of herself and illicit your best effort to see her. Then there is the pitiful one. She is not attractive, yet she has held your attention the longest. Longer than me. I haven't been able to understand why you keep her, except that regardless of her tortured self, she provides some pleasure. In ways, I think she is like the control group in an experiment. And therefore she has value. Then there is the unknown. That one is the real threat. She is the one you keep for yourself. She is the one who matters the most to you.

I realize my mind has drifted and I need to stay present. I want so badly to see them, to see you and to watch the interplay. I want to know, so I can be better. I want to be the best.

But none of those gifts are mine. I am denied.

So, I listen. Every sound is magnified. Every message that buzzes, is like a sharp crack of a crop against my chest. I am growing needy. You sense this and reach down, cup my chin in your hand, and whisper in my ear, "You're the only one that gives me what I need". I soak up your charm like anesthesia before a surgery. I need your reassurance to continue on. Without your attention, this delicate mixture of pleasure and pain can be overturned. We can't afford that.

And then something changes. The buzzing of your phone stops. You stand. I think that it is my turn to pleasure you. I lick my lips and swallow hard, coating the inside of my mouth and throat, getting ready to open for you. But you start to walk away. You walk into the bathroom at the far end of the room.

I panic a bit. What is going on? Oh, perhaps I am overreacting and you just needed to use the bathroom. But, no. My initial instinct was right. Something cruel is taking place. I hear your voice. You are talking low, yet if I strain my body just enough I can make out the words quite clearly thanks to my enhanced sense of hearing. I hear you say, "I miss you too. Go to your room and take off your clothes." I feel the blood rushing to my face. I feel the thoughts whirling in my head that I am so stupid to think that we share something unique.

And then I feel it set in, jealousy.

Open sesame. Those were the magic words. This is that moment. That moment that I start to gasp for air above the waves. The moment that I still foolishly think that I can escape the downward spiral of the wrath of my jealousy. In that moment, I am as pathetic as the pitiful one dripping with false hope. I can never escape the pull of the erotic thrill of such raw emotion and you will never concede. Then I hear, "You're the only one that gives me what I need".