Monday, June 2, 2014

I Make Good Sandwich, TYVM

I'm going to start with the end:
It's going to be an interesting week. 

Yesterday, Husband was being an asshole. 
Now, before you start making conclusions, I don't mean a "real" asshole; I mean, he was being snippy at everyone—including our precious little cutesy wootsy five pound dog—griping about the smallest of shit, and basically just scowling at the world. 

The kids instinctively knew to stay away from him. Even the dog kept her distance. 
Me? Not so much.
"You need to stop being Mister McGrumpyPants," I announced to him (oh yes I really did). 
"Mister McGrumpy Pants?" He asked me with eyebrows raised. "Is that what you just called me?"
"Yes," I said. "You need to figure out something that is going to take you out of this bad mood, cause it's enough already."
He stared at me, and it occurred to me I might have gone a tad bit too far in my assertiveness. 
"Is there anything I can do to help you?" I asked, changing tactics. "Any way I can help?"
A cold gleam entered his eyes. He smiled. Then he got up, took my hand, and led me upstairs to the bedroom. 

He lay down on the bed and dragged me with him. 
"What are we doing?"
"We're snuggling." 
He pressed me into the crook of his arm, and I relaxed...for about, oh, five seconds. Then he grabbed the back of my hair with one hand while he started to pull down his shorts with the other. 
"I thought we were snuggling!" I said.
"We are," he replied, and shoved my face down his cock. 

He pumped my head up and down a few times by my hair before he let me go. As soon as his grip loosened, I lifted up my head enough to look up and say, "This is not snuggling!"
"This is my idea of snuggling," he replied with a laugh. 
"Well I don't think so!"
"Well I don't care." He grabbed me by the back of the hair again and shoved me down his cock, all the way to his balls, until I started making those choking sounds he seems to enjoy way too much in my mind. 
This time, even when he released his grip, I kept going. I had, after all, offered to help him with his grumpy mood.
He put his hands behind his head and made little sounds of pleasure as I worked. It didn't take long for him to come; within a few minutes, I felt the first spurt of creamy salt in the back of my throat. 

Now, I don't know how other women do it: but what I do is, I usually wait for Husband to finish coming, completely, and then I swallow. I don't like to take a bunch of mini-swallows as he comes. I like to take it all down in one big gulp. 
So I waited until I knew he was done, and then I sloooowly eased my lips down his prick while holding his come inside my mouth, ready to swallow once he popped free. 
Before he was even out of my mouth, Husband looked down at me and said, "You can go make me a sandwich now."

At this point, I could feel the mutiny rise up in my chest. 
I had offered to help him, true; but was a blowjob not enough? I had to make him a sandwich now?

Son1 was in the kitchen when I came downstairs. Husband joined us soon after, and lay down on the loveseat in the family room, watching me from afar. He watched me get out the bread and cold cuts, put everything on a plate, watched me make a sandwich....
And then he watched me eat it myself. 
It was a good sandwich. 

Son1 left the kitchen. Husband walked over to where I was sitting, happily eating my sandwich, and leaned in. 
"Is it a good sandwich?" He whispered.
"Yes," I said. "Very good." I grinned through a mouth full of cold cuts. He smiled back.
"That's good," he said. "You know what you have to look forward to now?"
"No?" I replied, my nervousness growing. "What?"
"There's a brand new jar of tiger balm sitting on our bathroom counter. You forgot?"
The truth was, I had forgotten. The tiger balm had been a gift to Husband from a fellow Top and Sadist. Husband had ordered me to put the jar on our bathroom counter so I would see it every time I went in there. But after seeing it for so long, just sitting there not doing anything, the jar had lost my attention. It had become one of those things that just exists in the room, but don't claim your focus anymore. 
I was focusing on the memory of it now, by golly. Focusing on it so much I started to choke on my sandwich. 
"There we go," he said, whacking me on the back. "Now you remember. And look, you're choking again."
"You're always making me choke!" I yelled, albeit hoarsely. "With you and your—your—"
"Snuggling?" He suggested. 
He laughed at my expression. Then he walked away. 

I have no idea when that tiger balm jar is going to be opened. It will probably take its time migrating from the bathroom, to my bedside counter, to the bed....but eventually, it's going to make its way to my ass. 
"Eventually" will probably come all too soon. Like, sometime this week. Probably when I least expect it. 

Like I said, it's going to be an interesting week. 

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