This is NSFW and not intended for anyone under the legal age in whatever country calls it such, or where illegal and they happen to be reading it.
Hi there, my name is Rebecca, and I'd love to tell you a story about my boyfriend John and me. We've been living together for two years in a beautiful split-level condo in Seattle, Washington. Our place has blonde maple floors, light pastel colors on the walls, and plenty of natural light. You'll see photographs of our families, places we've been to, and artwork hanging all around.
We're both in good shape, and we exercise regularly. John has a runner's body, he's 6'1", with brown hair and eyes. He has like one hair on his chest, but with a full head of nice hair, barely any on his face thankfully. He was about 165 and going to the gym a few times a week. His ass is cute. Tiny, but cute. As for me, I have a swimmer's body that runs a little faster than John does in part because of my killer legs and ass.
I'm 5'8" with dirty brown hair and blue eyes. I work in healthcare, and John is a salesperson of some kind of tech. He gets frustrated that I don't remember what he does, but I just don't care. God, how boring!? I'm in this for him, not his job. He always travels, and when the people he works with get together they drink like fish. He's a dick, forgets to call, then like a pussy, apologizes like crazy the whole day after. When he gets back it's great - with some man-drama mixed in - but he takes great care of me. He is a really sensitive, sweet, selfless guy.
Four months ago, John and I were at home, an NPR radio program was playing softly in the background (KEXP probably). The news story was discussing salaries for women rising as more females are doing well in the workforce. I was working on a few things at the dining table before I could shut down the laptop and shower before dinner.
Out of the blue, John chimes in saying, "You wear the pants around here. I'm not surprised when I hear about women doing well at work. Why is this news? I know I'm the sub in this home." He chuckled casually as he sipped a beer and stood up, heading to the kitchen. I was realizing I didn't like seeing him in sweatpants as I watched his ass walk away, but I was a little shocked as his words hit me.
First, he had no clue what being submissive meant. I learned what being submissive meant in high school, my junior and senior years, then later in college. And on a work trip once. It's not for me. It surprised me to hear that term, in that context come out of John's mouth.
I had to ask him, 'Why do you think you are a sub at all? I think we have a good balance, don't you?" I was looking right at him. Direct eye contact. "I don't think you want that sort of thing in our relationship. But if we did have it, you'd learn pretty damn fast, that you are right, I won't be the sub." I was smiling as I was finished my last email.
John, still locked in eye contact with Rebecca, swallows hard, and says, "I didn't mean we don't have a good balance. Some things you are better at than me, and vice versa. And I do feel like we take care of each other." He looked away as he stood up then looked back at me a little smugly, continuing "Last night, the pasta was way better wasn't it? Maybe not perfect, but you liked it, right?"
He started looking a little sad on the pasta-confidence-meter as my response time lengthened. I wasn't going to say anything. It seems like praising a guy for being able to make a decent dinner when he's 30, is like praising a goat for going poo outside. It should be basic-like, you know? It isn't magic or remotely extraordinary, so why praise it beyond saying 'it's a good dinner'? I love how he gets needy though.
"I defer to you on most things, whether its because I think you have a leg up due to experience, or it's something I don't think is critical to me." He leaned against the wall, continuing, "That makes you the boss, for things as far as I'm concerned." He looked like he had a little chub going, but was looking away, finished with, "And that feels good to me."
"So I'm the boss of the girls, huh? You wanna be my girl, John?" I asked, smiling at him, I continued, "If I were actually the boss things might be out of whack from the way we are used to them, like role reversal. For example, I think you would be cute in panties sometimes. But me and probably no other girl would want that all the time."
"Ha, ha. I didn't say I wanted to dress like a girl!" John quickly responded, blushing. "I'd like it if you were more of the boss in bed is all."
"Like what? Like when I'm the big spoon, but want me to pack something? You can tell me anything. I hope you know that." Sometimes, when we started to make out on the couch, or in bed, John sometimes starts to wrap his legs around mine like a teenage girl. Sometimes I'd thrust my crotch into his ass, pretending to fuck 'my girl' softly. It was fun to hear his little 'mews' and moans. I shifted in the dining chair as the topic was making me feel tingly.
"I don't even know if 'sub' is the word for it. Sometimes I have this craving to feel something. I can't explain it. Maybe your sex slave, or helpless to you, or your bodyguard or something." He looked like he had just come back from a long run with a fever his face was so red. "I know you don't need a bodyguard. I don't know where that came from." He said as he turned into the kitchen partially away from me.
"You aren't a tough guy for that kind of job, right?" I asked to test him a little. "Look at me for a second, please" I added smiling to myself. He was still beat red. "Do you have an answer for me, sweetie?"
Slowly he turned to face me. As he turned I saw face and neck were boiled lobster red and finally I saw he had a stiffy going. He was trying to be casual with a hand in the pocket and slouching like a chimp, but it was clear; he really does get off on this.
