I relax and write in the warm glowy aftermath of a right proper fucking.
(Lounging in bed next to him preferenced second, of course, to the option of kneeling at his feet.)
We played in the steamy heat of the shower, the bubbles immediately washing away my orgasm each time it is ripped out of me: by his words, by his clutching my throat, by his fingers, by his whole self. Pain and pleasure mixes with his heady dominance and I am filled up by him. Filled to the brim.
In the moment I am released and we are no longer intertwined, I go back to my home.
I go back to my knees.
Something shifts over the years of living life on your knees at every available opportunity. It suddenly becomes natural. As absent of a thought as taking your every breath. If I can kneel, well then I do.
I kneel every evening and await Master’s arrival to approve of my bedtime and tuck me in tight.
I kneel every shower together, when I cleanse him and kneel to wash his feet, running my fingers through his toes in loving service.
I kneel just to chat. To discuss a book we’re both reading. While watching a movie. Removing his shoes.
At every munch or play party the moment we can. There we are in a room full of friends and strangers, me staring at the back of everybody’s legs. Often I’ll grow tired of seeing the floor and give in to the desire to simply close my eyes, rest my head on my husband’s knee, and feel the connection between us. Even in a room full of others.
Kneeling begins the start of most punishments, heart sad at my disappointing him so.
Kneeling begins our play sessions, when the sadist straps a collar on his captured prey.
Kneeling begins his fucking my face without regard for my comfort.
Kneeling begins my place of healing on my very hardest of days.
It’s the end of our scene, often covered in come. The end of our night as we grasp each other tight. It’s where I hope to call home until the end of my days.
So many people don’t understand kneeling; what it is to live your life calling the floor your home. It isn’t disrespect or a sign of being “less than.”
When you’re standing, walking, in motion, it’s so easy to move away from your partner.
Kneeling requires a conscious effort to stop everything else and wait upon the person you’re serving. Kneeling is saying, “I’m here, right now, only to be in service to you.”
In times of kneeling, he is the only thing in life that matters. I’ve paused my time, my body, for him.
And I sure as hell want to do that as often as possible. Because a life lived on your knees is a life well loved.