Dinner [Mf, 30s] [cnc] [psych]

I carefully place his plate on the table and take the sit to his right. It’s Wednesday and that means spaghetti, but carefully tailored to his preferences—meatballs from scratch, easy on the Worcestershire, fresh garlic. He bought me a pasta roller and cutter last year, and it’s a time consuming task, but I agreed with him that it’s far better than what I previously purchased in a box.
He says grace. I unfold my linen napkin and wait for him to take a bite.
“Why isn’t the Parmesan shaved?” he asks.
“I’m sorry, I forgot to buy a block,” I say.
He chews thoughtfully.
“Did you make a list, Kate?”
“I did, yes. I was in a hurry at the store, and I just overlooked—“
“Fine,” he says and he waves his hand dismissively.
“I’m sorry.”
“The pasta is not bad,” he says, “and you can scoot under the table and make my dinner better.”
I look at the plate in front of me, then back to him.
“Now, Kate. You can eat later.”
I push back my chair and lower myself to the floor. He opens his legs and I settle in between them, unbuttoning his belt and button.
“Slowly,” he says.
I take him into my mouth. I listen to the clinking of his fork and knife.
“I know what will improve our marriage, sweetheart,” he says, “It occurred to me today. Before you, I might spend an hour, sometimes longer, looking at pornography. Touching myself.”
“Mmpf.” My chin is soaked and my knees begin to ache.
“And I don’t do that anymore, as you know. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
I keep a slow pace.
“But I need more attention, more love, more of your time. From now on, I will let you do this—good, Kate, all the way down now—for a couple hours each day.”
I gag and push down again.
“When I’m eating. When I’m reading. Before I fall asleep.”
My jaw. My knees. My throat.
“Are you tired already?” he asks.
I nod, not daring to take my mouth away.
“Lower, then,” he says, “When you’re too tired to do it properly, go lower. No, keep going. Get your tongue in there, Kate.
And look, now I don’t mind eating your mediocre dinner, darling.”

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Away Pt. 2 [Mf] [cnc] [gaslighting] [slow]

“Have you washed up for dinner, Kate?”
“No, not yet,” I say, looking toward the dining room. Nina has set the table in the formal room, the only lights coming from the massive fireplace and the candelabra set out on the table. I see the hunters’ boards, the silver platers and china and linen napkins.
“Come along, then,” he says.
He leads me down the hallways, past the library and the door to the conservatory, where I like to sit sometimes during the days when it’s warm enough to be tolerable. Sago palms and olive trees and bougainvillea creeping up the glass and trellises.
He turns on the tap and waits for the water to heat up. I stare at my reflexion in the mirror. My hair falls around my face, loose pieces from the tidy knot I’d made this morning. Wide eyes, two red splotches against pale skin. He pulls my fingers under the water and pumps the soap onto them.
“What’s the most important thing you can do when I’m not with you, Kate?” he asks.
“I tried to read a little. It was dark, though. I was opening the draperies–”
“The most important thing you can do is just wait. Wait for me. Think about me. Be patient and focused.”
He scrubs my hands until they’re red and rinses them. He pulls the towel from its little ring and dries my fingers, searching my face.
“Are you hearing me, Kate?”
I nod. “Yes, Daniel,” I whisper.
In the dining room I take my seat to his right, dwarfed by the table, at least 20 feet long, and antique chairs, rich mahogany scroll work. Nina serves steaming dishes. A roast, crispy potatoes and brussel sprouts, a salad with herbs that gleams with olive oil. She fills my plate. Listz floats into the room from unseen speakers. I sip my wine, a good vintage, but I can’t name it. He raises his eyebrows.
“Not too much,” he says.
I nod and take another sip. I have found, over months, that what comes next is easier if I can finish my glass. He never allows more. Finish the glass, eat as little as you can. His hand raises and swings before I can brace myself. The glass flies, soaking the Oriental carpet. My eye swells and I bring my hands up, stifling a sob.
He says nothing, but I see his jaw clench, watch his fists soften as he takes up his fork again. I swallow and he brings little bites to my mouth. I chew, tasting nothing, and Nina cleans up the carpet.
He brings his hand between my legs, pushing up my cotton dress. Fingers against plain panties. He smiles, and it’s terrible.
“Of course,” he says, feeling my wetness. “Of course.”

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Away Part 1

**Hey, hey. Before you read: Here be dragons. Trigger warnings: abduction, dubious (like, super dubious) consent, gaslighting. Not a whole lotta actual sex in Part 1, but I promise it’ll have a pay off.**

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Evolution of Sleep [M/f 30s] [cnc] [light age play] [Ds] [denial]

She falls asleep with her hands loosely bound to the top of the bed frame. Her little wrists are held in leather straps, but she has enough slack to hold her stuffed panda close to her bare chest, the one he gave her as a gift from the last time he was out of town.

It wasn’t always this way. She’s been with Jeremy for months now, and for months she fell asleep untethered, often with her little body pressed tight against his big one, for his warmth and for the comfort of him. When she’d wake, she’d tiptoe into the bathroom to pee and wash her face and brush her teeth before he woke, and she’d jump back into the bed to wake him gently, kissing him and whispering into his ear and nuzzling against his rough face.

Most nights he sent her to bed by 9pm, knowing that she needed the sleep, and loving the delight of going to bed later and sometimes waking her with his cock against her pussy, which was consistently wet for him. She rarely came. She begged and pleaded but his preference was her neediness. Wet. Wanting. He edged her often, fingers running around her clit but barely touching it. A finger in her ass and his voice in her ear, reminding her that she was his little girl, a treasured piece of property.

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Categorized as Erotica