Last night I didn’t want to go to sleep. I felt a streak of stubbornness (“I am never going to sleep ever again!”). M told me, “Time for bed, Kitten.” And I went. Maybe a bit reluctantly, but I climbed in and crawled up to him.
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The next morning, he praises me,
“Good kitten,” for snuggling so well against him. He was up a lot of the night and he appreciates it.
An hour or so after he’s left for meetings, I’m still at our hotel and I wake up. I look at the clock and see there’s a half hour until breakfast is over. I know he always likes me to eat breakfast. Usually, at home, I don’t. But we almost always eat breakfast together at the hotel– and since he was nice enough to let me sleep longer, I know he’ll like it if I make sure to eat on my own.
I don’t want to eat anything. But I know he wants me to do this and I want to hear “Good kitten,” when he comes back. As soon as I know what time it is, I sleepily- but without a beat- roll out of bed. I’m not worried. I know it takes me ten minutes to shower. Five minutes to get dressed. Five minutes to quickly check Fetlife (I am good and I wait until I’m all ready to go before I do this). This leaves ten minutes to get to the breakfast room. I leave with seven minutes to go. Perfect.
I assemble my breakfast.
Juice, a smoothie, and a small waffle. I know it isn’t much, but if this were the same hotel in Europe, I’d have organized a huge feast of bagel generously smeared with Nutella, a mocha hot chocolate, delicious jams and croissants, fresh presssed juice, maybe a croissant with good cheese and deli meat, smoked salmon… It’s just the breakfasts here aren’t very good. But I eat it, anyway. Because I know I’m supposed to do this for him. And for me.
When I go back upstairs, I pack up the room. I want extra kudos. Even if he doesn’t expect it (and I’m not sure if he does or not), I know we won’t have much time. Maybe this way I’ll even get an extra five minutes of snuggles before we have to get going (and we might not have time, anyway, but at least I’ve put in the effort).
Submission takes many forms.
Sometimes it’s strict, Gorean protocol. Sometimes it’s complicated “scenes” with rope, fire, wax, and an array of scary looking- to the untrained eye- implements. It’s not -always- passive, but it’s not always complicated.
Sometimes it’s just eating a waffle with strawberry jam.