Bonded. Part 2. [M/F] [M45/F28] [MDom/Fsub] [Slow Burn]

(*note: still a slow burn. slowest of simmers. i’m making a stew over here. and a it’s a short-ish chapter. enjoy!)*

A few days had gone by, and I was honestly starting to think that the man on the train had been a delirious daydream of mine after an exhausting day. And today was rounding up to be a similarly draining one, countless last minute requests that kept me on my desk far beyond the time I was being paid for. Unable to say no, and with a relentless need to always prove my worth, I wrapped everything up around 6 pm, a few hours later than my usual end of the workday.

Walking out of the office building into the twilight, it was nice to breathe in the air that was on the cusp of fall, chillier and less stifling than the usual humid swirl one had to endure. Thankfully, the wind wasn’t too rambunctious, but I still adjusted the flare of my dress, making sure I won’t accidentally flash anyone and walked over to the subway.

Bonded. Part 1. [M/F] [M45/F28] [MDom/Fsub] [Slow Burn]

Sometimes existence felt like it was split into neat little quadrants on the clock. Everything I did in a day could fit there, a predictable pattern of all things known in my little world. Gym, commute, work, commute, home, maybe a night out with friends, but most likely a half finished poem by the bedside and then sleep. I’m not saying I regretted the way my day could be mapped with a blindfold on, I’m just saying these waters had been undisturbed for too long.

The restlessness could be tasted off of the air around me, if someone was to pay attention that is. And most didn’t.

Until that one day.

It was a full train, bursting almost, everyone shoving each other to create room for their elbows and bags. I had been pushed by the incoming swarm of busy bodies, all the way to the middle of the train, near the seated folks clutching tightly to their seats. Another shove, and a bump of the train itself, and I stumbled a little against a knee and quickly mumbled a practiced, instinctual “Sorry!” without really looking at the person to whom the denim clad knee belonged.Silence.

*Odd*.