In my little imagination 🌸
(TW: Mdlg vibes, no explicit consent [however as the subject of my own fantasy I can tell you it's consensual lol])
My wife comes through the door after her work day. The dinner I've made is on the table, the house smells like lemon cleaner and champagne candles, and my favorite playlist plays in the kitchen. I pop out from around the corner in my little blue apron and house slippers, wisps falling from my messy bun and a bit of biscuit batter on my cheek. I hug her and help her remove her boots and coat.
We sit at the table, and she tells me about her day in between bites of food. I try to pay attention, but her button up's sleeves are rolled to her elbows and I'm captivated by her forearms and the way they move as she eats, and I know she knows I'm noticing. I clear the table once we're done and excuse myself to the restroom.
When I come out, my favorite plushies are on the couch, fionna and cake is on the television, and the lights are dimmed and warm. I feel my eyelashes flutter. My breath stutters, and everything in my mind fades besides the song that's been rattling around in there since ten A.M. and this warm fuzzy feeling, like a hug inside my brain. My wife walks up behind me and gently grips the back of my neck. And now even than pesky song is fading away.
"Hey angel, why don't you go change into something comfier?" She gestures towards some folded clothes on the couch--my little satin nightgown and too-big fluffy sweatshirt with the little bear ears sewn on the hood. I don't have to think about it at all, my feet and hands follow her directions as naturally as my heart beats. She straightens out my hood and kisses my forehead.
I sit on my cushion in front of the couch, feet tucked under me, and sip my juice and watch my show while she brushes and braids my hair. It makes me feel electric when she takes care of my hair; every brush of her fingers against my ear makes my breath hitch, and every tug makes my thighs clench while I wonder if she tugged on purpose or if she has no idea at all what sort of a tizzy she's got me in.
But when she ties my hair in place, gently rubs my shoulders, and slides her hands down down down over my chest to tweak my nipples, I know. I know she noticed how I squirmed, heard the half-silent whimpers. And I know she's relishing the fact that she can get me so worked up just braiding my hair.
And... And now I know nothing, now as she lifts my hoodie to flick my nipples and attach the clamps. The hoodies comes off but the gown stays on, shifted awkwardly under my boobs so my mommy can use the clamp chain as my leash. Oh, she's in a mood. I can see it in her eyes, that loving evil glint. Most days she gives me gentle orders and extra seconds for her words to work their way into my slow small mind. But today she pulls the chain without words, and I yelp and scramble to my feet to avoid being lifted by my tits.
I catch sight of myself in the hallway mirror. My knees weaken with the rush of humiliation--my boobs stretched, my nightgown immodestly arranged, my cheeks flushed and lips parted. She sees me looking and stops in front of it, wrapping my braid around her fist and tugging my head back. I look into my Mommy's beautiful eyes. I love her eyes. The color of safety. She spits on my face. Slips a finger inside my underwear. The sounds I make is half surprised, half moan.
"Goodness, princess," she murmurs. "So messy. What's got you so worked up?"
As if she doesn't know. I can't respond, all I can muster is another moan and halfhearted babbling. She cuts me off with a slap, and my eyes roll back in my head.
I don't remember how I made it to the bed, but now I'm bent over the end of it and she's attaching the spreader bar to my ankles, and now the cuffs to my wrists, and, finally, she removes the clamps. A little sob escapes me when my nipples are freed. I feel a breeze on my bum as mommy lifts my nightgown over my hips, and a sharp smack distracts me from my stinging swollen tits.
There's a pause in the sensations, and I can hear her preparing... Something. Suddenly there's a cold, wet feeling pressing into my bumhole. I start to squirm, whimpering objections, but she spanks me again--harder--and pushes the plug a bit more firmly. It's a size bigger than what we usually use, I can tell, and it's uncomfortable. A couple tears escape me as I struggle against my restraints until mommy puts her phone in front of my face. I become distracted by the video it's playing immediately. She knows it's so easy to redirect my focus, and I hardly even notice now the cold lubed metal invading me. I've become properly fascinated by my video, especially now that I've noticed it's subject is me.
It's a two minute recording from the indoor cameras mommy set up to keep an eye on me while she's at work. She's in the video, too. The date in the corner says this was filmed last Thursday, and I don't remember much happening that day, so I don't really know why she's showing me this.
In the video, mommy asks me to pick up the coloring supplies I'd strewn around the living room. I shake my head now, I stick out my tongue, I toss a crumpled coloring page and it bounces off of her shin.
And now, as the plug finally slides into place, I realize why I've ended up in this position.
(To be continued, probably 🎀)