Full Service, Part One

Submitting out of the bedroom didn’t begin on the strongest note: I was late to meet Craftsmate’s train. However, he was understanding and we greeted each other warmly.

Gently, he took hold of my face and asked me if I knew what to call him today.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied softly and he grinned, pushing my hair from my face before reaching for my hand.

I was careful to walk a step behind him as we continued down the street. It was a gesture that he had expressed to me in the past was something he enjoyed. When he informed me that he had noticed, I was surprised at how proud I felt.

He waited until we were in relative privacy to check the second stipulation of how I was going to greet him today: that I would be plugged. Once he was sure the street was empty, he stopped me firmly before reaching down and pushing firmly against the handle of the plug through my jeans. With a smile, he took a moment to grope my ass before motioning for me to continue walking.

Usually, I tend to take charge when we’re going around my town. It’s my stomping ground, after all. And so it was an interesting exercise to allow him to lead, to gently prod him along by saying “it’s that way, Sir” without merely taking charge and directing him myself. 

While we were on the way to get something to eat, we were walking in the street next to a narrow stretch of curb about a foot wide. Without saying anything, he took hold of my shoulders and gently guided me over to walk up on the curb and out of the road. There was something so possessive and sweet about it.

At lunch, I poured out his soy sauce for him when I saw the sushi was about to arrive at our table, making sure to serve him before myself. We’re usually pretty “to each his/her own” about this sort of stuff, so I found I had to make a conscious effort to remember to be of service to him.

And, believe it or not, I kind of liked it.