It's Not My Kind of Thing Ch. 03

This story stands alone, but it is also the final part of a trilogy:

It's Not My Kind of Thing and

It's Not My Kind of Thing ch. 2

"I think I love you"

She smirked and shushed me. "You love getting out of your cage is what you love," she answered. "Not that I blame you, I'm very good with my hands. Let's bring this guy to life."

She squirted some lube on my half-hard dick and started working it in. She grabbed the panties she'd discarded as she ordered me to my knees earlier and stuffed them into my mouth. So, even if I dared to try speaking again, I wasn't going to get the chance.

She let me cum, which was unexpected.

Sure, I'd done a good job for her. I always do. I'm devoted. But she hadn't even dangled the possibility of an orgasm, so I was surprised when she not only didn't stop, but didn't even ruin it, giggling as my cock spurted and my hips jerked uncontrollably, wishing for just a bit more contact.

She stroked softly. Gently even. And pumped me out onto my tummy. She traced a finger through the cum and painted her lips. Then she pulled out the panties and leaned over to kiss me. I knew what I was supposed to do and leaned into the kiss. Licking along her lips as I'd been trained to do.

"Good boy," she murmured softly. More to herself than me. Then she pushed me off her lap, swatted my ass and said, "go get cleaned up.

So, end of discussion, I guess.

It slipped out again a few days later. We weren't even in a scene. Not yet. Just cleaning up after dinner. Me in my apron, and nothing else, as required. Her humming that ABBA song to herself and drying each dish as I handed it over.

"I really love you."

She set down the dish she had just finished. "Time for your dessert," she said, moving to a chair and spreading her legs.

I eat her out whenever she says. For as long as she says. I'm not allowed to say no, not that I would. Not without using my safeword. Which I've never done.

So I did what I was supposed to and got on my hands and knees and crawled to her waiting pussy, my mouth filling with drool like a dog waiting on dinner.

She kept me there for about an hour, through several orgasms. She held me by the back of my head, her fingers curling into my hair, stuffing my face into the juncture of her thighs. She's little but fucking strong and never holds back. I could barely breathe, much less talk. Just able to moan into her as she came.

When she was satisfied she said, go get the dildo. When I returned she had me lay face down over her lap and lubed it and my ass up. She caught my dangling cock between her legs and squeezed it while she fucked my ass.

Normally she'd ask questions to tease and taunt me. Do I want to cum? Do I deserve to cum? What will I do to cum? But not today. It was silent except for my grunts and hers as she reamed my ass.

My mind was flat and I couldn't even beg to cum, I was so spaced out. It took me by surprise when she said, "That's a good boy. Cum now." And then I was shocked to find myself actually cumming right as she said it. The cum shot down her legs and some pooled on the floor.

I cleaned her thoroughly with my mouth once the spasms stopped, as I'm supposed to.

"It's your mess, you deal with it," she used to say. But by now, no words are necessary. I know what she wants. What she expects. And it's my joy to give it.

When she was clean, I tried again. "I meant it, you know. I think. I really do. Love you, that is."

"Hush now," she said. "It's the endorphins talking. It's time to put the cage back on."

So I hushed.

"You need a tune up," she told me the next morning, laying the paddle next to me on the bed.

A tune up was her term for punishment that wasn't aimed at reinforcing a lesson or correcting a misbehavior. It was just punishment to help me remember my place.

I got up and pulled the pajama bottoms down, a puddle of flannel and little hearts around my ankles. Lent over the bed, legs straight, hands grasping each other at the small of my back. She had me count them out, fondling my balls in between strikes.

She hit me 15 times. Ass and thighs. The air whistled through the holes in the paddle as she swung it. But it didn't seem as hard as normal. Or I'd just gotten used to it.

At the end of the tune up she softly smoothed lotion into my ass, fingers trailing up and down my backside. She lotioned up my balls too and then said, "you need a shave, let's go to the bathroom."

She eased off the cage as I sat with my burning ass on the edge of the tub. The cool porcelain soothed me a bit.

"This works better if you're hard," she said and spit in her hand and started working it up and down my cock. Then she leaned over and took me in her mouth.

I could count on one hand the number of times she's fellated me, and still have change. It just wasn't on the roster of activities. And the last time she did it, she sucked me with the cage on.

I groaned and then moaned, the surprise of it, plus the incredible feeling of her warm, wet mouth startling me. I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to tell her how incredible it felt. How connected I felt. But we'd just had the tune up and I figured she'd tell me if she wanted me to talk. So I just moaned as she worked.

When she judged me sufficiently hard, she quit sucking and grabbed the razor and cream, lathering up my dick and balls and getting to work.

She shaved quickly but carefully, like she always does. I could do it, I've told her I would be happy to do it. But I think she likes it because she always insists. She says it's to make sure I don't try to "sneak one in" while the cage is off. But I think she knows she can trust me. I don't misbehave. Not in that way.

I thanked her after she finished, rinsing me off with the shower head and then softly drying me with the towel, rubbing more lotion in and putting the cage back on.

"Be good," was her answer. Not even a smirk, which was very unlike her.

I was on my knees by the front door when she came in that weekend. Legs spread, arms behind me. Naked. Like I'm supposed to.

"Good boy,' she said reflexively when she saw me. Her eyes twinkled.

"I'd like to say something," I said.

Her eyebrows bunched in that adorable V, lips pursing. She fumbled at the table by the door and grabbed the extra ball gag, getting ready to push it between my teeth.

I looked her in the eye as she approached. I took a deep breath. I'd thought about this. Turning it over in my mind. Trying to figure out how do it right.

"Firetruck"

She gasped. The hand with the gag fell to her side, the gag dangling toward the floor.

"What?" she asked, more baffled than upset.

"Firetruck. You know what."

She got a hold of herself. Let out the air in her lungs and asked if I was ok. Her lip trembled a bit. I'd never used my safeword before. Hadn't even said it out of a scene since she'd finished drilling it into me a year ago.

She nodded slowly.

I didn't really need her permission to speak. Not now. But I wanted it. "I need to talk to you about something."

I got up and led her by the hand to the couch, gently helping her down. Then I sat next to her. Me naked, her dressed. I half turned toward her so I could see her eyes.

I took a deep breath and she nodded for me to continue. "You changed my life. You saved my life," I started.

She nodded.

"You saw a me I didn't even know was there."

She nodded again.

"I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't, I don't know, found me, I guess. The real me. You know?"

She nodded slowly, her eyes on my mouth, her lips quivering again.

"I know you don't think it's your kind of thing,' I continued.

"What?" she asked. But more mouthing the word without actually sounding it out.

"You know what," I said.

She nodded slowly.

"But I think it might be. I think you owe it to find out."

"You think I owe you?" She asked, an eyebrow raised.

I gulped. "No. You owe you."

"You once told me, 'I don't want you to wake up at forty and wish you were someone else'." A tear rolled down my cheek. She reached up a hand to wipe it away, but pulled back half way there. "That was an act of love that I'd never experienced."

She nodded again, struggling to keep her eyes on mine.

"Well I love you. I really love you. I love you completely. I don't love how you use my body. I don't love how you make me good. I don't love how you make me cum. I love You. You. I love you."

"And I just think you need to let yourself hear that. You've been running away from me. And I think you shouldn't. I think you should hear it and accept it and really think about it."

Now there were tears falling down her cheeks too. I hadn't seen her cry since I don't know fucking when. Certainly not since we started all ... this.

"And what do you think will happen, if I really think about it?" she asked, her breath hitching.

"I think, you might find, maybe, that it just is your kind of thing. Our kind of thing. To be in love. Whatever that is."

She nodded slowly. Breathed in and out. Then she said, "I'm not gonna be your tradwife, you know?"

I could help letting a small laugh escape.

"Thank fuck for that."