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Of Intimate Moments, and Laundry

If your girl is feeling down, just help her do the laundry.
The key clinked into the lock, and I was already tired before it even finished turning. I opened the door to my apartment and lugged my workout bag with me. I ached everywhere and I needed a shower, and I was pretty sure I had the start of a black eye, which wasn’t anything particularly new. There was a commotion of noise and chaos storming from one of the back rooms, but for the moment the living room was blessedly empty, and I wasn’t about to go running off to investigate. It didn’t sound like any of the boys were dead or dying, yet, so as far as I was concerned all was well and ‘under control’.

I tossed my keys, along with my wallet and phone, onto their usual spot on the end table beside the couch, and crumpled into my beat up old recliner chair that didn’t actually do any sort of reclining anymore, so it was really just a chair. It tilted slightly to one side. I was handy enough to keep it tacked together, which was why it was actually able to be sat in in the first place, but not handy enough to make it stop tilting. It was comfortable even with the tilt.

The contents of my workout bag needed attending; I had sweaty clothes that needed to go into the wash, and training gear that needed to be taken out and placed out on the screened in patio to air dry before they developed an unpleasant funk. That in addition to the shower I badly needed. But as pressing as those needs were, they would wait for a moment. I’d made the mistake of sitting down, and now I was stuck in that chair for the conceivable future. Or at least the next few minutes.

I was a nurse by profession. My job, while not physically taxing, per se, was mentally draining to be sure. I worked at a long term health care facility. An old folks home. My place of employ wasn’t exactly a top-notch facility. It was understaffed, short supplied, and all the beds were full of residents who were sick and getting sicker all the time. I did the best I could with the environment I was placed in, but it was a difficult place to be in.

That was my day job. Or my night job, as it were, since I largely worked nights. My second job was fighting. I’d trained in Mixed Martial Arts for just shy of three years and was at the cusp of transitioning from an unpaid amateur to a paid professional athlete. People were dumbfounded when they found out I was a nurse and a fighter. It was a strange combination, I’ll admit, but hey, I’m a strange guy sometimes, and anything but ordinary. I was passionate about fighting and training. A huge portion of my energy and time went into my MMA aspirations. It was demanding, hard work, and I approached it very seriously.

If my professional and athletic pursuits didn’t keep me busy enough, then there were the boys. As if on cue, the two youngest, Dylan and Reggie, came rushing out of the back rooms the boys shared.

Reggie, who was ten, came bounding over, all smiles as usual, and wanting a hug. Reggie had his mother’s big dark eyes and her ears, and her lightly tanned skin. He was a hugger like his mother, too. Of my five stepsons (stepsons to be, technically, but it was all but official), he and I were probably the closest.

“Welcome home, Evan,” Reggie said as I gave him the hug he wanted.

I patted his back and smiled down at him tiredly. “Thanks, Reg.”

“You’ve got a black eye again,” he observed.

I gave a soft chuckle. Reggie always pointed out my bruises and bloody lips and black eyes and whatever other bits of damage I came home with. He had a child’s morbid fascination with them. “I know. It’s fine. Where’s your mom?”

“She’s in her room,” Dylan shouted from where he stood watching TV, which was directly in front of it.

“Lower your voice,” I reminded him as I always did.

“Sorry,” Dylan said, only slightly quieter. I shook my head, stuck between amusement and annoyance. Dylan hadn’t known the definition of ‘inside voice’ as long as I’d known him, and never had before then by all accounts. He was the loudest and most boisterous of five loud and boisterous brothers. Quite an accomplishment, that.

“I think momma’s taking a nap,” Reggie offered.

“Gotcha. Where are the other boys?” I asked.

“Will and Paul are out. Luke is in his room,” Reggie reported, then moved back and crossed his arms over his chest in what was his best imitation of a stern and serious adult. “You need to talk to that kid, he kept picking on Dylan and me today and wouldn’t stop! I’m gonna punch him in the mouth!”

“No you’re not,” I said blandly, doing my best not to chuckle and smile just based on his posing alone. Reggie tried so hard sometimes. “Just leave him alone. He’s not messing with you now so it’s over with.”

“But he --” Reggie started to protest.

“But nothing,” I said firmly, holding up a hand to forestall his protest. “I’m sure he was picking on you. Just like I’m sure you or Dylan or both of you did something to needle him or get into his hair in the first place, and I’m also sure when he started picking on you, you two got all in his face about it. So leave it. It’s done with. Understand?”

Reggie had an awful poker face. I didn’t know the details, nor did I really care; the boys fought so much that I was more surprised on those rare occasions they actually did get along. Clearly I was close enough with my guesswork of how things went down though, because Reggie didn’t even try to argue, instead muttering softly under his breath as he started to sulk.

“What was that?” I asked, arching a brow and giving him the look.

“Yes, Sir,” he mumbled louder.

“Good. Now quit moping.”

“I’m not moping,” Reggie insisted, sulkily.

“Umm, can we have fruit snacks?” Dylan asked, still enraptured by the TV.

“When did you have lunch?” I asked.

“I dunno,” Dylan shrugged.

“Dylan. Look at me and answer my question,” I instructed.

“Huh? Um. I think almost three hours ago,” Dylan was able to provide once he tore his attention away from the TV.

“Fine, you can have fruit snacks,” I nodded.

Yesss,” Dylan hissed, and did a rather theatrical celebratory fist pump.

Dylan was the ham of the family, and that was saying something, because all the boys were hams in one way or another. But Dylan took the cake. He was nine, small and thin and bony. He was the runt of the brothers for sure but I felt sure he’d end up tall like two of his older brothers when he hit puberty. He had a big smile and a crazy mop of long curly hair that he refused to let his mother cut, to the point of actually running from the room whenever she so much as mentioned it.

“No fruit snacks,” their mother said as she emerged from our bedroom. “I’m about to make dinner.”

“Aww,” the boys chorused together, but it was lackluster.

My attention focused on her as it always did when she was near. Jess was my fiancé, my girl, and my love. She also happened to be my owned and collared slave. We had been in a full time power exchange relationship for the better part of two and a half years. It hadn’t taken very long at all into our relationship to identify as Master and slave. It had felt right and natural to us from the beginning.

Jess was short, like me, and had beautiful, rich brown hair that flowed down her shoulders and back. She kept it long because that’s what I preferred, and since we’d met it had grown from hanging just above her shoulder blades to now passing the small of her back. It was thick, lush and soft, and complimented her eyes, two wide, glossy dark pools that I found myself lost in on a regular basis. Her face was oval and appeared younger than she was. She had a small, pert nose that was rounded cutely at the end, and full lips.

My girl was pleasingly, sexily plump. Like most women, she was subconscious about her figure and weight, but I had always thought her beautiful and sexy, womanly and soft with ample, generous curves in all the right places. Her breasts were large and heavy, full, with thick, pierced cherry red nipples and dusky areolas that crinkled when she was excited. Her belly was soft, and had been slowly but steadily shrinking bit by bit as she endeavored to diet and exercise to keep healthy, which I was insistent upon; I didn’t care about her weight, but encouraging her and guiding her toward being as healthy and well as she could be was part of my responsibilities as her Master and owner.

Her hips were rounded and wide, true child bearing hips, and she’d certainly made good use of them in that regard. I loved them, loved to grip and squeeze them when I held her close or guided her as we walked together. Her ass was delicious, round and firm and juicy and always seemed to me to need some groping, pinching, spanking, spreading… whatever my mind and my hands came up with at the time, really.

Jess had naturally lightly tanned skin, and her skin was baby soft and supple, as if she moisturized it constantly to keep it smooth and touchable, but she was just naturally that way. I loved to stroke her, to touch her skin anywhere really, to feel it glide under my fingertips. She had the most touchable skin I’ve ever felt, and I made it a point to touch her regularly, constantly even.

She was dressed plainly today, a pair of black cotton shorts she wore for exercise or to do chores around the house, and a blue V-neck shirt. Both were modest and simple, but flattered her curves, which I enjoyed. She had her hair piled up and tied back atop her head. Her silver slave collar glinted softly around her throat, a simple thin flat band with three circles open in the silver, one at the front of her throat and one on either side.

“Welcome home, Sir,” Jess said as she walked to me and bent to accept my kiss.

“Thank you, girl,” I replied, nodding to her and giving her a weary but pleased smile. With the children running around, we kept the more official ‘Master’ and ‘slave’ to ‘Sir’ and ‘girl’. The kids never seemed to think it odd that we never called each other by name.

“You had a good workout?” She asked me as she walked to the kitchen. She rummaged through one of the cabinets and pulled out a large pot.

“I did,” I nodded, watching her busy herself around the kitchen from my seat.

“You have a black eye again,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I know,” I smirked.

“I’m gonna tell people I beat you again,” my slave called.

Brat. “Always trying to throw people off the truth, huh?”

“Of course, Sir. Can’t have them thinking I don’t fight back when you go abusing me,” she said.

I chuckled and shook my head. She had a mouth on her, my girl. I’m sure some Dominants would have scolded their submissive severely for some of the things that came out of my slave’s mouth, but I’d always loved her quick wit and sharp tongue too much to make her curb it fully. I just enjoyed joking and bantering with her too much. It was our way.

“I think I’m going to go shower,” I said to myself, aloud.

“Good idea. You stink,” Jess called in a cheerful voice from the kitchen.

“What was that?” I asked with a playful edge to my voice, still smirking with amusement, though she couldn’t see it for how busy she was with getting things out for dinner.

“I said enjoy your shower, Sir!”

“Smart ass masochist,” I muttered softly, even as I smiled fondly. After emptying my workout bag, I went to go take a long, hot shower.

After becoming thoroughly clean and improving the overall state of my smell, I stepped out of the shower feeling like a new me. Or at least, a significantly less tired and sore version of the old me. I towel dried my short cropped, coppery hair and then brushed my teeth. That done, I took a deep breath, and briefly stared at myself in the mirror.

I’d never imagined myself as being particularly handsome. I just never looked like what I imagined ‘handsome’ to be as an adolescent and young adult. Time and maturity and bolstering confidence, as well as more than a few looks and comments from various kind women had finally convinced me that I’m a good looking and attractive guy, somehow. Once my hair had been nearly as curly and unruly as Dylan’s, but now I kept it cut short and close to my head, a simple, efficient haircut that complimented my face. I had a largish nose that was ever so slightly crooked from previously being broken. My brow was pronounced over light gray-green eyes, and my jaw was solid and strong. My lips were full and kissable and for the moment not busted or split. I kept a short, neatly trimmed red beard because without it I tended to have a baby face. My slave once saw me clean shaven and fervently requested I never let my face go naked again.

I had a good physique, fit and athletic and well muscled. I wasn’t big in the shoulders or chest but I was toned and lean and strong. I had a flat, hard stomach and that V cut at my hips that women went crazy for, and thickly muscled, solid legs. A number of colorful tattoos offset my otherwise fair white skin.

I finished toweling off and put on a pair of boxers and some jeans, then made my way into the living room just in time to catch the tail end of Jess breaking up a fight between the boys. She was in full mom mode, threatening them all roundly from the kitchen where she was still trying to finish up dinner.

I ran the kids off so the slave could finish dinner, then rounded them up again to eat it. Then followed an evening of dishes, playing referee to various squabbles, fighting with children and teenagers to go shower and bathe and brush their teeth, and ushering small people off to bed before threatening them with various sorts of exaggerated violence if they didn’t get back into bed.

By the time this was done and we had a chance to breath, something was off with Jess. She’d become tight lipped and quiet over the past hour or so, pensive and withdrawn.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her gently as I sat beside her on the couch.

My slave looked at me with tired eyes. “I’m fine, Sir. Really.”

I didn’t believe her, not at all. I didn’t think she was trying to be intentionally dishonest; we both knew that deliberately lying to me bore some pretty serious consequences. More likely, she didn’t even fully know what was bothering her yet. “I don’t think you’re fine,” I said slowly and as gently as I could, meeting her dark brown eyes. “You aren’t acting like yourself. What’s bothering you?”

Her brow furrowed slightly as she tried to find the words. I could feel them, roiling around inside her, and she was trying to not only figure out exactly what was the problem, but also bring her feelings under some sort of control so she could voice them respectfully.

“I’m just tired,” she said at last. “I’ve been chasing kids all day after working all night last night. Paul is giving me the usual teenage drama again and every time I try to prod him about getting his shit together at the car wash, he just gives me the same old excuses. There’s so much drama going on at work lately that I want to say the hell with all my coworkers, and I’m not even directly involved in any of it. And on top of all of that, we have the wedding coming up in just a few months and I feel like there is way too much left to do, and I don’t even know where to start with it. I’m tired and grumpy and just… I don’t know what to do with myself right now.”

I sat and listened, watching her closely, as one thing led into the next and it all came tumbling out of her in a frustrated rush. “I’m sorry things are so heavy right now,” I said gently.

Immediately I could tell that my words, however kind or well intentioned, weren’t going to help right now. She’d gotten wrapped up too tightly by then. “It’s okay, Master. I’ll live. I still need to get the laundry done so you’ll have clean scrubs and your workout clothes will be ready for tomorrow. Please excuse me.”

“Go ahead,” I nodded. I watched her rise to her feet and walk into the bedroom to get the laundry basket, and followed her with my eyes as she went walking past again with the laundry basket held in her arms, making her way to the laundry room.

Her face said it all. She was stuck in that moment, overwhelmed and overworked and lost. She worked hard, there was no doubt about that, both in the house and out. The boys were a handful all by themselves, but adding to that her own busy work schedule, her duties serving me, and her worrying about our upcoming wedding despite my attempts to assure her all would be well, and she’d let the pressure mount on herself until it felt crushing. She was frustrated, and probably a bit scared, and as usual my strong, capable slave didn’t know how to admit that she needed assurance and help.

I had one of those moments of clarity I occasionally am lucky enough to experience. It was partly my fault, too. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’d been neglecting her, but it was closer than I was comfortable with. I’d been as busy as she was of late and intensely focused on my job and my training, throwing myself into both areas until my time fell into cycles of work, train, recover, and repeat. Communication was as open between us as it ever was, and I still spent as much of my free time as possible with my lovely slave. But there had doubtlessly been small things here and there, little hints and signs and signals that I should have picked up on telling me that my girl needed that little bit extra, that nudge, that firm touch that assured her I was watching her and knew she was having a rough time and I was there to make it better.

And just like that, I knew what needed to be done for her. I made a mental note to be more vigilant and attentive, and rose to pursue my solution.

I walked casually to where Jess was inside the tiny, cramped laundry room. She was putting clothes in the front load washer, bent forward to stuff a pair of jeans in. Her bent forward posture raised her ass up, giving a view of the ripe, rounded curves that made my eyes flicker with attentive appreciation. My lips curled in a small, sly smile.

She looked up as I approached, a casual glance with her focus on her work more than anything else. Then she must have caught something, an expression on my face or a particular glimmer in my eyes. Her eyes went a bit wider. She was a doe in my headlights and she knew it. “Sir?” she said softly.

I pressed her gently but firmly back, stepped into the laundry room with her, and pushed the sliding door shut behind me. There was barely enough room for both the two of us to shift or move. My slave opened her mouth to make a surprised protest, doubtlessly thinking of the kids just newly put to bed.

I silenced her with my kiss. Reaching up into her hair, my fingers gripped a handful of her silken, dark locks. I pulled her head back by her hair at a sharp angle, leaving her neck craned and vulnerable. She let out a wordless whimper, her protests dying on her lips. I felt the tremble of them through our kiss as my girl instinctively responded as I’d trained her to, that one tug to her hair near undoing her.

I kissed her deep and hard, passionately, possessively. I let her feel it all, pouring myself and all that I am into the kiss. Master, owner, protector, possessor. She freely yielded to it and we were both seared by the intensity, her mouth pliant and welcoming immediately. My tongue worked into her mouth, exploring, slipping about and running over her responsive tongue. The kiss lingered, heavy and hot, and by the time I pulled back we were both panting with the desperate need that single kiss unfurled in both of us.

With firm, demanding hands I spun her around until she faced away from me, and pressed her forward to lean across the dryer unit. She braced against it with her hands. My eyes roamed over her, my voluptuous, soft, womanly slave girl, her ass jutting out invitingly, already rubbing against my groin and I knew she could feel how hard I was.

“Master, no,” she whined softly, even as she complacently leaned forward at my hands directing and raised her ass even higher. “We can’t… the boys… ”

“Are in bed, and we most certainly can,” I growled harsh and low into her ear. I pressed against her from behind and my hand snaked out around her front to wrap tightly around her throat. She gasped deeply, and gulped air as I made breathing harder for her. I felt her begin to shudder and quiver against me as I pressed against her. “You can, and you will, because I say so. Do you understand me, slave?”

As I spoke, I choked my slave girl, my grip tight around her throat, my palm pressing to the cool silver of her collar. As always, the effect was intense and instant, and Jess immediately surrendered, fully submissive to my controlling grasp. My free hand reached down, yanking down her cotton shorts and the purple lace boyshort panties that were riding deliciously between the full meaty cheeks of her ass, leaving her exposed.

The slave girl shuddered and bit down on a moan as my fingers glided up the length of her sex, feeling the wet heat of her slippery smooth folds and inner flesh, already soaked and dripping. I smiled wickedly to myself, quite pleased with my slave’s immediate responsiveness.

“I will fuck you how I want, where I want, and when I want,” I continued as I undid my pants and pulled my fat, heavy length of cock free. “And you will fucking love it. You will obey and you will comply, you will let me have my way with you and give in to anything I want, because you want it, you need it, to be used and controlled by me, to be my little plaything. That is your purpose. Do you understand, cunt?”

“Y-yes, Sir,” she whimpered, her voice quavering as my words made her come undone.

I took my cock in hand and pressed between her thighs. It wasn’t the best angle but I didn’t care. I lined up with the sticky hot sheath of her cunt and rammed forward, roughly spearing into her vulnerable pussy from behind and spreading her wet pink flesh wide open around the thick girth of my cock.

“Oh fuck, oh God, yesss!” Jess hissed, barely keeping herself from outright screaming. Her words were garbled by my hand still choking her. She pushed back into me, thrusting her jiggling ass toward me to receive every inch of my swollen cock.

The fucking wasn’t pretty. It was primal, simple and hard. I used my wife-to-be brutally, driving my cock to the root at a frenzied, rutting pace right from the start. She panted and gasped, sputtering, her hips working to welcomingly take my cock in deeper and deeper still. My free hand gripped her curving hip and I pounded into her, my hips slapping her round upturned ass again and again as I pushed her down onto the washer in front of her.

It didn’t take long at all before she was gasping, her back arching as she breathed out through my constricting hand, “M-Master, Master please, please may I cum?”

“Yes, slave. Cum. Cum right fucking now you dirty, hungry little whore,” I growled deeply into her ear before I bit down on her earlobe.

The press of my teeth and the sharp pinch of pain, combined with my words launched her over the edge. Her cunt gripped down on my pistoning cock, squeezing my fat shaft rhythmically as I continued to shove and drive my length deep into her belly. Jess started to scream; the release after being so very tightly wound was just too much. I continued to choke her, knowing it would make her orgasm that much more intense. I reached up with my free hand and covered her mouth to muffle her keening screams, and continued to abuse her fluttering slit as girlcum dribbled and splashed from her stuffed cunt.

It wasn’t a long fuck; neither of us needed it to be. I pounded my slave’s eagerly acceding cunt through the first orgasm and into a second, my cock gripped in the warmth of her body as she spasmed and shook violently in front of me. As I felt my orgasm approaching, my balls growing tight as my cock twitched and jerked inside her, I leaned in and rumbled into her ear, “I… fucking… own you.”

My words undid her all over again. Her screams were muffled by my hand. I pressed my two middle fingers into her open, screaming mouth, and she quickly closed it around them to suck wantonly at the digits. I bit down on my own gravelly snarl as I came, thrusting deep and hard, my cock driving into her flooded core. My cum spurted thick and hot into her, splashing into the milking tunnel of my dear slave’s hungry little pussy, filling her with my seed and making her cum even harder than before.

Jess collapsed against the dryer, panting and breathing raggedly as I held her upright while her shaking legs recovered. “Thank you, Master,” she breathed at last, and the last vestiges of her tension left her body.

My slave twisted just enough to look over her shoulder at me, her heart and soul bare and exposed and raw in the deep, dark pools of her eyes. I lived for that look. “Thank you so much. I… really needed that. I didn’t even realize how badly.”

I wrapped her up in my strong arms, crushing her to me, still slid up inside the beautiful warmth of her body. “I’m always here for you, my slave. I know sometimes life gets in the way, but my hand, and my will, and my love is never far from you. I love you, and I own you, every last bit of you. You belong to me. That’s our foundation. The rest of the details will fall into place as they will.”

Gingerly, Jess slowly pulled away, letting my shaft slip free from her slick cunt with a wet slide that made us both shiver. She turned in my arms to bury her face into the crook of my neck, nuzzling into my warm shoulder and neck, into her ‘safe place’, as she called it. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of me, and let it out, and I could feel her relaxing in my grasp even further.

“Yes, Master. I know that. Thank you for reminding me. It’s hard, sometimes. It’s so much, and I get… overwhelmed. Thank you for being strong for me, my Sir. I love you. Always and Forever.”

I smiled down at her warmly, filled with pride and love, as we shared the most intimate moment I think any two people ever experienced in a cramped little laundry room. “And I love you, little slave. Always and Forever. And a day.”

***

True story. I’d say scouts honor, but then that would be less truthful. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. And the not-so-innocent, too. Comments, critiques, and general reader-writer communication of all sorts is welcome.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © All content of this story is copyright 2016 by Returning_Writer_Guy and is my intellectual property. This story is not to be redistributed under any circumstances without my express written permission.

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