1. My Gift of Me


    Date: 12/16/2015, Categories: Hardcore, Author: smiler77, Rating: , Source: LushStories

    My Gift of Me I love you. I hate the L word. I avoid it at all costs. People recycle it, over and over until the quality is diminished and it’s unrecognisable. I bet the person who invented the word to describe the indescribable, rues the very day that he or she shared that word with the rest of the world. You have to go a very long time without love to really truly know what it is to love and be loved, and it’s not about words, it’s about actions. To show you, with my actions, that what ‘we’ have is better than what ‘they’ have.. Whoever ‘they’ are! I’m giving myself to you. I’m trusting you with my very being, to do with as you wish. It’s the only gesture that I can think of to show you. It’s the only thing that feels right. All you have to do is love me back in equal measure by accepting my gift. My gift of me. On Sundays I iron six shirts for you and hang them up. You work five days, but like to have a spare. You look up at me from the couch and the smile, the one that nobody else gets to see, throws itself at you and you throw one right back at me. It melts my heart each and every time I see it and my legs, they shake a little bit. Monday morning arrives. You start work before me today and I approve of the fact that you insist on decent coffee as the smell of it wafts beneath my nose and you plant my favourite “purrfectly balanced” cat mug on the bedside table next to me. My eyes are still closed. I imagine that I look good, I probably don’t but you know how good I can ...
    look, so it doesn't matter to you today. I won’t know how bad I really look until you've left the house, and by the time you return. I’ll have done my best to look exactly as you would dream I looked, if you had the choice. Sometimes if we have the time, you dress me up. You go through my wardrobe and pick out your favourite shoes, dress, and then you put my hair up, put red lipstick on me and stand me in front of the mirror. You rub baby oil on my stockings and manipulate my head using a fistful of my hair, and make me mouth the words “I’m yours” as you stand behind me and look at my reflection. I hate looking at myself, but I like very much that you like to, so for that reason, and because you own me, I enjoy every moment. “You’re beautiful!” you tell me as you fix your eyes on mine. My eyes are your favourite thing about me. You think you can’t decide between my eyes and my smile, but you haven’t acknowledged yet, that the reason you like my smile so much, is because my eyes whole heartedly join in. They make it! “On your knees!” you tell me and I don’t even hesitate. My ears are endlessly pricked for your commands. I live for them. You look down at me. If you wanted me to look pathetic, you should have been more specific. I look brazen. I stare up at you with a defiant glint in my eye which dares you to command me more. Once upon a time, I promised you I was worth a chance, so every chance I get. I endeavour to show you that I wasn't wrong. I’m never wrong. "Who do you ...
«12345»