Being sick sucks. Sucks ball...and not the good kind of clean, smooth, yummy balls...but dirty, stinky balls. Wait, what were we talking about again? Oh yeah, being sick sucks
My family was in town last week. They took the kids on Saturday night which gave Daddy and I some much needed alone time. We went to the dungeon and committed kinky fuckery there. The next morning, he woke me up by forcing three orgasms from my body and then fucking me. Sunday evening should have been when I wrote about it all, sharing the erotic imagery with you, but that's not what happened.
Sunday morning, I woke up with a horrible sore throat. I could feel something draining back there (ew, right?). I held it together until the evening when my family left, and then I collapsed. I was like a limp dish rag - well, except I wasn't wet or dirty. Hmmm, maybe I wasn't like a dish rag at all...maybe more limp noodle. Okay, let's go with limp noodle. Either way, I had zero energy for movement. Daddy had to take over for me - stories for the boys, making his evening coffee, getting dessert.
The next day, I woke up feeling even more miserable, but I had work that clients were expecting (very vanilla writing) and I forced myself to concentrate long enough to get that done. I managed to pick up the youngest from pre-school and then I collapsed again.
Daddy to the rescue. Pizza for dinner. Corralling the boys for shower, dessert, and the bedtime routines. He did the dishes and got the coffee pot ready for the next day (two things I normally do). He poured NyQuil and Mucinex down my throat and put me to bed.
Tuesday morning, still sick, still lacking energy, no sense of taste for anything other than sweets. Everything else tasted like cardboard to me. Still had vanilla writing to do. Forced myself to do that and went back to bed, waking up only to retrieve the little one from pre-school again.
That evening, Daddy was on duty again. Dinner, dessert, you know the rest. He poured more NyQuil and Mucinex down my throat and I lugged myself up the stairs and collapsed into bed. I was asleep before he made it up the stairs. I never even heard him come to bed.
Wednesday morning, Still sick but I almost felt human. Then I heard Daddy. Uh oh, he had the crud (whatever it was). I knew exactly how it was going to go. I asked him if he should go to work - he went anyway and came back a few hours later. NyQuil and a nap for him.
At this point, I was on the downhill slope of this evil bug which invaded our house, and he was on the uphill climb. The rescuer is now the rescued. By the time you read this, hopefully we'll be all better, or at least feeling human again.
My point of all this? Well, other than the sympathy from friends...
Just because he's a Dominant doesn't mean he can't wash dishes, feed kids, and do all the little things I do. Just because I'm a submissive doesn't mean I can't force him to go to bed, fill him full of medicine, and threaten bodily harm if he attempts to do too much.
Any relationship, kinky or otherwise, should be about two people taking care of one another and placing the other person's needs above their own. When both people do that, the relationship can only thrive.
Oh, and now you also know that only the vilest of illnesses keeps me from writing and blogging - and not even then. I'll probably ask for my laptop when I'm on my deathbed.