Master being home is like having the oxygen pumped back into the room after days of barely enough. It means everything is right in my world again.
Last night we barely had time for a hug and him to grab some dinner before heading out to see a fireworks display.
That was great, a really nice private show from the fireworks club, and better than the one the city puts on. The kids loved it, and fireworks bring out the kid in everyone, I think.
After their bedtime, we had our own private "fireworks" in the bedroom. He caned me, used pressure points to hurt me and fucked me thoroughly until we both collapsed unconscious. Mmmmm. All is good now.
Sample from the evening:
Punch, punch, punch, punch etc. on the same spot on my thigh.
Him: "Are you sure you feel ok? You don't look ok".
Me: "I'm fine except for this big pain right here" (points to spot where he's been punching me).
Him: "I know what will make you feel better" (spreads my legs and presses excruciatingly into the pressure point on my inner thigh).
Him: "See, that's better now, right slave?"
No, that's not my bed. And I'm not dead. I was getting worked over by two men, and looking pretty out of it at that point. ...
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