My Pura--My Will!

This story is about what happened near the beginning of our time together. We were adjusting to life in our new Vanilla-ish BDSM lifestyle. We were still very new and learning about each other.

I was learning you were bossy.

And I was learning you only hear what you want to hear.

*Pouty!*

Here goes:

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Pura was the easiest person in the world to get along with. Her desire to please and willingness to submit meant we never had an argument. She was true to her word that she would trust me. She yielded to me every time there was a disagreement. The first time it happened was our last day of classes. She announced she should get a job.

“Why?” I asked. It was an innocent query without any judgment from me yet.

“Classes are over now,” she told me as she wiped the counters down after dinner. “You only have a couple weeks of work left and then you’re off. I am not taking summer classes; I could get a job and help pay the bills.”

The idea of her getting a job did not please me. I had actually been looking forward to spending the summer with her. “That’s not necessary,” I answered. I came into the kitchen and picked up a cookie from a tray she had baked earlier. “My checks in the summer will be adequate for our needs.”

She turned and leaned against the counter. “I could be a waitress or something,” she went on. “It wouldn’t be much but it could help.”

I bit into my cookie thoughtfully. The idea of her working outside the apartment, serving others, had a surprisingly jealous reaction in my heart. But I played it cool. “That won’t be necessary,” I repeated. “I’ll take care of our finances. Don’t worry about it."

The next day when I got home from work she told me she had filled out an application at a local eatery that was hiring for summer help.

“Why?” I asked, and this time there was perhaps a little judgment in my tone.

Perhaps a LITTLE judgment? Mistress, please!

Pura, be quiet! I am telling this little story.

“For a summer job,” she explained. “It’s within walking distance, so it doesn’t matter that I don’t have a car. It’s minimum wage, of course, but there will be some tips.”

The idea that I could forbid her to work did cross my mind, but I stifled it. If Pura wanted to work, who was I to stop her from it? But that did not stop me from copping an attitude with her for the rest of the evening.

She had begun sleeping in my bed several weeks before, an arrangement that spurred on our first intimate encounters. I had found it impossible to sleep next to her without touching her. My encouragement for her to kiss me anytime meant she did so in bed, and lovemaking almost always followed. She was deliciously sensual. But tonight I wanted no intimacy. I rolled away from her and slept alone in a bed that her presence had warmed for endless nights. I knew I was throwing a fit, and she knew I was upset if not why.

The next morning, she hovered around me while I got ready for work. She offered to make breakfast but I refused and left earlier than usual. She texted me several times during the day, as always, but if I answered it was always with only a few words.

When I got home in the evening, later than usual, she was waiting on the ottoman, looking up at me with sad eyes.

“Good evening Mistress,” she said when I came in, hopeful that my mood had changed. I had softened a little by then and managed to answer her cheerfully. Within a few minutes she had returned to smiles and cheerfulness. I did not dare ask her for her number on the happiness scale, because if it wasn’t a high number, it was my fault.

Since I had no homework, I sat on the kitchen counter while she cooked, talking with her. At one point in our conversation, she mentioned, “I got a call from the diner. They wanted to set up an interview for tomorrow at three. I know you get out of work around then, and I did not want you to have to come home to an empty house, so I told them I would call them back later with confirmation.”

I felt it all come back, my annoyance and jealousy. “So, what are you saying?” I asked in a cool voice.

She was startled by my abrupt change. “I am asking if three works with you for me to be away.”

I stared at her, wanting to say no but not able to overcome the sense of “wrongness” which came along with giving her a direct order. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” I finally declared. “I thought the entire appeal of this slave thing was that you don’t have to worry about things like bills and taxes. I said my checks will adequately cover our expenses. I don’t understand why you are doing this. Do you not trust me to take care of you?”

She was stunned. “No, it’s not that,” she assured me, but her eyes were drawn downward. Color had arisen on her cheeks. “I just wanted to help.”

“But I told you it wasn’t necessary,” I argued.

She slid down to her knees on the kitchen tiles before I could say another word, and she said, “I am sorry, Mistress,” in the most humbled voice I had heard from her yet. “I see now how I must have appeared ungrateful and distrustful. I know you will take care of me. You do! I just worried about becoming a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” I snarled. “You should know that by now.”

She drew a heavy breath. “Yes Mistress. I am so, so sorry. I questioned your financial situation when I applied for a job. I did not put my trust in you as my mistress and caretaker. I have violated the Principles and have angered you. You told me not worry about this. Please tell me what you want me to do now.”

I got off the counter and looked at her, anger receding. “I want you to stand up,” I said quietly. She rose obediently. “And I don’t want you to work.”

She pressed her lips together, nodding in acceptance. “I want you to trust me,” I said. “If you don’t trust me to take care of you, how can you really be my slave?”

She stood before me not daring to make eye-contact, and she whispered, “I will trust you and submit to your wisdom.”

I felt like a jealous jackass, but that did not stop me from saying, “Call them and cancel the interview.”

“Yes Mistress,” she agreed and went to retrieve her phone from its charger.

This makes me laugh so much. We were so silly. Ahhh, who am I kidding? We still are. Just this morning she told me, "Well, you are always right." Isn't that what you said, little slave?

Yes, Mistress, but I believe I was being sarcastic, because you took a wooden spoon to me when I humbly disagreed with you.

Humbly?

Semi-humble?

Where IS that wooden spoon?