22. Seven
CHAPTER 22
Every muscle in my body is at its tension limit as I come deep inside my doll’s fist-like pussy. If I were to flex a single fiber any harder, that piece of me would be shredded. And with the last pulse of my orgasm, all of that tension leaves me at once, making me feel faint.
If there wasn’t that sliver of conscious control that remained intact while the rest of me went full-on beast mode, I would collapse to the ground and stay there for the rest of the night. In fact, that still sounds like a great option, except I’ll make sure to cushion my sweet submissive’s landing when we fall.
I let her down my body until her front rests on the padded table once again, and when I ease out of her and take a step back, I can’t help but notice she looks more like a sex doll now than she did while playing the role.
I gather her into my arms, and carry her over to the overstuffed leather chair against the wall we always use for aftercare. Once she’s nestled just right in my lap so that she won’t slip downward or fall over, I undo the cuffs that were stuck between her body and the playtable while I ravaged her, looking over that part of her I’ve always found so delicate and fragile. Her wrists are so petite they look as if they could be snapped between my fingers like a pencil. I’m happy to find them still intact.
I take one of her hands and lift it to my lips, my eyes meeting hers that are stuck at half-mast. If it weren’t for the tiny permasmile on her face, I’d be a little worried. I watch her watching me as I kiss around her wrist, her gaze never leaving my mouth as I gently set that hand down and trade it for the other. I treat it to the same kiss-and-make-it-better as the first, seeing the corners of her lips lift a teensy bit higher when I place her palm against my bearded cheek and lock it there with my own.
I clear my throat that’s suddenly clogged, telling myself to pull it together. Aftercare is an important part of our D/s dynamic. Some submissives don’t want anything to do with it, but my little doll needs it to feel complete, and she soaks up every second of it like it fills something inside her, a bucket of love or worth or happiness that gets used up during daily life and has to be replenished frequently to keep her going. And I’m all too happy to give her free refills at every opportunity.
Tonight though, I want to use this opportunity to set things right outside our dynamic. Yes, it’s manipulative, but when it comes to my wife, it’s the only time her mind is at ease enough to not overthink the things I’m saying. And I need all the help I can get.
I huff out a single, quiet laugh, shaking my head a little, keeping our hands right where they are against my cheek. “I’m trying to think of anything… anything at all to say that could express to you….” I shrug, swallowing hard. “There are no words to articulate the praise you deserve, Twyla.”
Her eyes open fully and blink at my use of her real name. When we’re within the walls of the club, she’s my doll, and I’m Master to her and Seven to everyone else. But I want her to know I’m not just speaking to her as my submissive. I’m talking to my wife, the mother of my child, my soul mate.
“Once I have a chance to process everything in your card and everything you did to prepare for the gift you gave me tonight, and the excellent execution of it”—I grin—“I’m sure I’ll be able to wax poetic about all the ways you deserve the goldest of stars. But…” I shake my head again, saying softly, “Just… thank you.”
I put every ounce of emotion I feel into those two simple words. And the way her eyes tear up, I know she feels it as she nods.
“You’re welcome,” she whispers.
I turn my face to kiss the center of her palm, then let it go to gather her closer to my chest. She presses it over my heart, where she starts to pet my chest hair like she does every chance she gets. Like I’m her personal security blanket or stuffy she uses to soothe herself. And it’s one of my favorite roles in life—being the thing that brings her easy and immediate comfort.
“Things are going to change after tonight, my doll,” I tell her, skimming my palm from her knee, down the outside of her thigh, up her hip and back, then back down again. I do this slowly over and over, knowing her shivers will start soon. Even after the lightest of play, adrenaline is always in abundance within my little sub because of her hair-trigger fear response. And once she starts to come down after that rush, she gets the shakes like she’s just taken an ice bath each and every time. It’s my job to keep her warm and comfort her through it until it passes.
“I want you to know I finally heard what you’ve been trying to tell me for years. Like, truly heard and absorbed your words and the unspoken ones between them.”
She tilts her head back to look up at me with confusion in her eyes. “What are you talking about?” she whispers.
I tuck her face into its spot in the crook of my neck and shoulder. The shame I felt earlier is still inside me, and it feels like I can get what I have to say out a little easier if I don’t have to say it to her face. It’s cowardly, sure, but really, I know if I look into her eyes, I’ll only see them fill with misplaced guilt, because my wife is a truly selfless woman who lives and breathes to take care of her family. And I’m making it my job to get her to see she deserves to be the person she is inside and doesn’t need to alter herself to fit alongside anyone else.
“It’s taken me this long to see that you’ve been losing parts of yourself to make everyone else happy. You’ve been cutting off little bits and pieces to make yourself fit inside the spot where you think each one of us needs you. And that stops now.” My voice leaves no room for argument, but I continue to rub along her flesh, and like clockwork, her trembles begin.
“You gave up all parts of your adolescence and young adulthood as you focused solely on working toward your career. It was the one thing you wanted in life, and baby, you did it. But then you gave that up, because your sister needed you. You should feel no regrets about that, and I know you don’t. I’m just saying it happened. You did give up your career, which at that time was the biggest part of you.” My hand stops rubbing up her back long enough to squeeze her in order to emphasize the last word, and then it continues along its circuit.
“When you got here in town, there weren’t any jobs available that would put that brilliant mind of yours to work doing what you loved, but instead of letting it get you down, you took the one position offered to you, even though it was the furthest thing outside your wheelhouse and comfort zone possible. Again, you gave up feeling confident and secure, because it was necessary in order for your sister and you to survive.
“And when you became the mother of my child, and our Luna girl started growing into the strong-willed miniature adult she already is at four years old, you gave up more parts of yourself so that I could be the dad I wanted to be. I wanted to be the hero, the good cop, the one she looks at like I hung the moon and can do no wrong. I wanted a Daddy’s girl, a mini version of my wife, who looks at me with hearts in her eyes too. What I didn’t realize was you can’t give your little one every single thing they want, then expect them to grow up to be a well-rounded adult equipped with the knowledge and strength it takes to survive this world.”
I swallow again, trying to find the right words to say all this so that she won’t feel the need to make me feel better for doing her wrong. Because that’s just who she is as a person and part of the reason I’ve always felt this overwhelming need to protect her at all costs. She’s the type of person who’s an easy target, who stands out like there’s a neon arrow above her head pointing down at her to narcissists and manipulators and people with ulterior motives who prey on innocents like her.
“But you did. You knew all that long before it occurred to me just this evening. Because you have that ridiculously intelligent mind and because you yourself had to do whatever it took to survive. Everything you had to give up, and then everything you went through after you did, that all prepared you to become the parent who is actually doing their job correctly. Even though there’s nothing about you that would earn you the title of ‘bad cop,’ you took on the role anyway, because it’s what our daughter needs in order to take on the world when it comes time for her to. You took on that role, because you saw I didn’t want to. That I wanted to be the fun one, the playful one, the one who makes her nothing but happy and spoils her rotten. You were forced to take on that role, because I refused to. And that’s just not fucking fair.”
I hear her sniffle when I stop the rush of words now pouring out of me, and then I feel the wetness streaming down my chest and abs. But instead of pulling her head back to look into her eyes as she cries, I get out what this was all leading up to, leaving no space for her to try to lighten my load as I shoulder my fuck-up and do what it takes to make it right.
“And like I said a minute ago, it stops now. From now on, our partnership as parents isn’t good cop and bad cop. We are a united front. We have each other’s back. We make decisions together, and that’s that. I mean, come on. It’s the only way the two of us are going to survive Luna. It’ll take the two of us to face just one of her when she really puts her mind to something we don’t want her to do. Hell, she figured out the ‘go ask Daddy when Mommy says no’ trick when she was only two. And when she couldn’t get away with that any longer, she figured out the ‘just wait until Daddy gets home and ask him first’ trick. So… at least I taught her how to have a little patience, I guess.”
That earns a giggle from my doll, whose shivers have finally subsided and tears seem to have stopped. I knew if I could just get to this part, the part where she’d realize she wants to split the burden of growing a future contributing member of society, that her need to keep my fragile male ego intact would give way to make a little room for her own happiness.
“But luckily, we’ve got a really great kid. Like… she’s so fucking cool. And smart. And the imagination on that girl....” My voice is wistful, because I can’t believe I helped make such an extraordinary little human. “And thanks to you taking on that role of disciplinarian as soon as you saw I wasn’t going to step in and do it, it’s more upkeep than starting with a hellchild who’s never heard the word no.” I chuckle, hugging my wife closer but finally letting go of the headlock I’ve had her in against my neck. She fully relaxes against me and tilts her head back to look up into my eyes.
“So, my lovely Twyla, my darling wife, my good little doll, and—your latest addition—my mindless, slutty fuck toy…” She blushes immediately, and I sigh in contentment. “I’m so glad I didn’t fuck that out of you. Mm. What was I saying? Oh yeah. Repeat after me.” I wait for her nod, and when I get it, I say in a threatening tone, “You just wait until Daddy gets home.”
Her lips fold in so she can clamp them with her teeth, but her eyes give it away that she’s trying not to laugh. I lift a brow in mock offense.
“What? You don’t think I could punish Luna if she did something bad?”
She giggles softly. “Oh, I’m sure you could come up with something creative as a disciplinary action if need be. You’re very good at that.”
Ego stroked, I ask her, “Then why are you trying not to laugh?”
She grins. “Because you think Luna would ever take ‘just wait until Daddy gets home’ as a threat.”
I burst out laughing, a belly laugh that’s cathartic and makes most of the shame I felt at dinner dial back to a level that’s no longer overstimulating. When I get it all out, I sigh. “Yeeeah, you’re probably right. It’s definitely something we’d have to work on. But until then, I want you to practice. I know there are things that will happen while I’m at work, and you’ll need to take action right then. But when she’s really being a turd, instead of getting overwhelmed from trying to take it all on yourself, I demand that you wait. You wait and let Daddy step in. Got it?”
She bites her bottom lip, her eyebrow lifting. “I just clenched.”
Both my brows shoot up. “Oh yeah? Was it the command at the end or the ‘Daddy’?”
She smiles sweetly, then snuggles into her nook, her hand starting up its petting of my furry chest once again. “It was the part where I’m going to get to be the kind of mom I’ve always dreamed of being.”
I swallow thickly, fighting off the tinge of guilt her words dig up. I can’t change the past, but I can spend the rest of our childrearing years doing it the right way.
I chuckle after a moment of just holding her close, and she looks up at me. “What is it?”
I smile wickedly. “Ever looked into the ’50s household lifestyle?”
She shakes her head.
“Wife’s a homemaker, takes care of the kids, cooks, cleans—the stereotype.”
She snorts. “So what I do anyway when I’m not at the store?”
I poke her ribs, and she jumps. “Right. But they mastered the art of ‘just wait until your father gets home,’” I tease, and then get to what I was really talking about. “And if it’s a 24/7 dynamic with kinky fuckery added to the mix, think of all the possibilities.”
She does. She spends a moment thinking about what just those few little breadcrumbs could lead to, and then she nods. “If it’s anything like what I’m imagining, then I’d definitely be interested. Those cute housewife dresses… frilly aprons… those feather dusters that do nothing but toss the dust into the air for you to breathe or land somewhere else. A fairytale version of Madmen… without all the drugs and cheating.”
I wrap my arms tightly around her and—not giving a flying fuck that the Seven part of me wouldn’t be caught dead doing such a thing—I shimmy us giddily a la Cam from Modern Family. “Daddy’s goin’ shopping!”
The End