3. Calm

I have cum twice, both times for you. Both times I moaned and whimpered and cried out, and came so hard I was breathless. My pussy aches from the turn from cold to hot, from being fucked hard by something unforgiving. But I sit on the couch, catching my breath, feeling my pussy pulse and spasm.

I slowly pull the glass dildo out of my cunt, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath to slow my heart back to normal. I roll my head back and breathe slowly, coming down. The process of coming down is always a small bit of work. I could easily float for so long, letting everything return to normal, but letting the glow of submission live on.

When we are together, I let that linger on. When I am by your side, I live in the tingling afterglow of submission, of degradation, of humiliation, and I curl into your body in a way that allows me the safety of that lack of awareness. I hide from the real world, tucking myself into the safest space I could imagine: you.

But I am not with you. I am simply worshiping you from afar.

I stand, catching my breath and balance. Walking back to the kitchen, I turn on the water again, heating it to a quick boil. It bubbles to the surface quickly, popping and warbling with heat. The more it trembles from the heat, the more I can focus on it, letting it temper my come down.

I turn off the heat and move to the cup, pouring the water in slowly, though it pops and explodes as it crosses the heated metal. The water splashes around the cup as well as it in and I can't even be bothered to slow the pour. It envelopes the tea, though I leave ample space at the top.

Usually, I love the ritual of tea. I let the moments where I can steep a cup break up my day and I worship every second. I time each steep, making sure to choose the perfect allotment of time depending on the boldness of the tea, type of leaf, type of bag, quality of the tea, and a myriad of other factors. I let it steep, quietly, not pulling or dipping the bag like people often do. I trust my diffusers to do their job without me. I give them calm. And when the bell digs I pull the teabag out, pour in whatever else (almost milk, often) I choose, and am rewarded. My commitment to ritual, to trust, to taking the two or I've or nine minutes required for something perfect, and I am met with something that I have participated in.

My ritual for this, though, is not for reverence of the tea, but instead reverence to you.

The tea steeps and I realize a few moments in I haven't set the timer. When it looks somewhat done I pull the bag out, and take hold of the dildo. It is covered twice over in my cum and juices. And with just as much precision as I usually measure out Russian Caravan of Oolong, I let the dildo descend into the stir, slowly stirring it, washing it clean, allowing it to mix with the smokiness of black tea.

I let it sit, let it steep just as well, until I know that it is slicked clean. And just to be sure, I pull it from the water and slide the smooth, hot tip into my mouth, letting my tongue run over it... just to be sure.

I sit with the tea and meditate on this feeling. I cannot help but smile as my heart speeds and slows once more. The couch nestles me, allowing my breathing to come back. My flesh, which still prickled with goosebumps, has again laid and relaxed. My blood has drifted back to its slower currents, no longer coursing through my veins with need and panic. My pupils have re-found comfort in light. My breathing has lost its momentary hiccups. And most of all, my heart has calmed.

With every sip, I descend a little more until my feet are back on the ground. I gulp it faster as it cools, letting the tea and cum roll down my throat and coat me from the inside out. I feel like I am being welcomed home. And though you are still achingly far, you are here. And I am again calm.