Me: [curling up against her as tightly as possible]
Me: [nodding against her breast]
Her: Use your words.
Me: Yes. I’m frustrated.
Her: And it gets worse every day, doesn’t it?
Her: Good. Now tell me how it gets worse.
Me: Every morning I wake up, an hour or so before the alarm, and I’m hard. Like it’s just going to burst. Just explode. And you’re right there beside me, and I roll over and up against you. And that’s bad enough, just feeling you there and knowing I’m not allowed to disturb you or wake you up and just trying not squirm and grind against you so much that that happens. Or that I go over the edge and give you a reason to punish me again. And then you start squirming and grinding and pressing back against me in your sleep, and I’m just... It’s just...
Her: Go on.
Me: Each morning I get a little bit closer to actual tears of frustration. And a little bit closer to outright sobbing in denial and need.
Her: Let me take you there.
Me: I want that. And I also really, really don’t.
Her: But you don’t have a choice anymore, do you?
Her: And I am going to take you there.
Me: [squirming] Yes, ma’am.
Her: Good boy. Now go away. You have work to do.
Me: [sighing] Yes, ma’am...