Rub My Butt, Daddy

We have an agreement, John Brownstone and I. I’m his happy, willing, (mostly) compliant submissive.

And he rubs my butt — on demand.

I wiggle it. Push it into his hand. Whine, pout, and fuss when I’m not getting enough butt rubs.

It’s not always sexual — though sometimes a butt rub is the precursor to wandering fingers finding their way into a willing cunt. Sometimes, his warm hand on my ass is therapeutic.

The weight of his palm. Heat penetrating my skin. Soft touch against soft skin.

I’m soothed and calmed. The tension in my shoulders and around my eyes melts away. I can fall asleep.

And also, I can become my playful babygirl self. My voice softens as does the resting bitch face I perpetually wear. I’m a different person when my Daddy rubs my butt. I like her. She’s fun and silly and sassy in the best kind of way.

Maybe, just sometimes, I get a little out of hand so that butt rub becomes a butt smack…which turns into a butt wiggle. Because, basically, I’m here for my butt to be worshipped in soft and hard ways.

Thankfully, I’m not alone in needing his hand on my ass.

John Brownstone might sigh or tease or pretend he doesn’t want to, but I see the look in his eyes whenever I say, “Rub my butt, Daddy.” No matter how long he makes me wait for it, that moment of connection soothes us both.

Welcome to Masturbation Monday! Not a lot of fuckery going on — mostly because we’re in the stress of moving and selling our condo. When he rubbed my butt — I may have pressed it against his hand and moved my body back and forth first — it was pure bliss. I think we both slept better that night. For actual smut, you know where to go!