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Zen and the art of being an ottoman.
Yesterday Mrs. Fillmore and I had the house to ourselves. Now it has been a while since she has used her crop on me, and I have to admit I was out of practice. However, despite my initial howls, we managed to settle in to nice rythym, and by the end, the pain was again our friend, bringing us together. Still bound, she took my ass with her strapon, and after a series of positions, she gave me yet another seismic hands-free orgasm. It's an incredible joy, the heights to which our sex life has soared (and not just the pegging!) but I only mention that first because it was an incredible thing, and worthy of note. Thank you, my love! The real thing that I've been meaning to write, in between all the other responsibilities that take my time, is an ode to meditation. I don't mean the meditating I do after I clean up and am waiting for her on the carpet next to her bed for her to come have her way with me. No, what really struck me happened the other day. I was cooking dinner, wearing just my kilt. Herself was in the living room, laptop on her lap, working on her current project. I came in to talk to her, just chatting really. She had the Great British Baking Show (is that the title?) on in the background. I made to go back into the kitchen but she stopped me.
"You said you had some time before your next step, right," she asked.
"Yes, Abigail."
With my response, she nodded, pointed at the ground and looked back down at her work. I got to my knees, and when she lifted her legs, got in the second position in front of her. I positioned myself appropriately, so the highest part of my back was under her calves. She lowered her legs onto me, and I could hear her typing as I lost myself in the nothingness of meditation. When I am in this position, I clear my mind by saying my mantra (which is the same as when we first started this new journey) and repeating it over and over. It is the seven deadly sins, repeated over and over. Now, some might consider our lifestyle sinful, and that is their prerogative. I pretty much don't care, though. Pride. I remember the sin of pride to always keep my natural arrogance in check.
Greed. I remember the sin of greed to keep my focus on the work at hand, and not anticipate the reward.
Lust. I remember the sin of lust, that almost destroyed my life, and am grateful that she is completely in charge of our sex life, and therefore, my libido.
Envy. I remember the sin of envy to be thankful for what I have, the treasures in my life, which are many.
Gluttony. I remember the sin of gluttony, probably the one I still struggle most with, because this is the sin that will probably contribute most to shortening my life, and therefore my time in this enlightened state with Mrs. Fillmore
Wrath. I remember the sin of wrath to curb my anger, and remind me that every creature has only their own perspective with which to view the world. By curbing my wrath, I can see beyond my anger to the reasons for the other persons actions.
Sloth. I remember sloth so that I can focus on using the time I do have to make my life, and the lives of the people I love, richer, instead of frittering that time away on pointless, self-focused, distractions. A simple act. Submitting to her will and being her foot rest. But it is a gift of immense proportions. The nagging anxieties of my work, fears for those that I love and am responsible for, even the manic whirring of my constructive thoughts about my various projects and plans, they are all gone. Flushed away. I am focused only on her comfort, on perfecting the zen state of being a human ottoman.
Then the timer goes off, or something else triggers it, and one of her booted feet slides up to neck and applies pressure. I obey her unstated command and bury my face on the hardwood floor. I feel her heel pressing firmly (but not dangerously) on my neck, and the heel of her boot tickles the side of my neck. Then she lifts her legs and shifts them to the side. I get up to a kneeling position and she puts her feet down. I kiss the toe of each boot carefully, and then get back to making dinner. I am refreshed. I feel loved. I have no guilt. No anxiety. No outside distractions. I just enjoy the art of cooking for my family. Meditation is a gift that cannot be undervalued.