Sir - contentment

I cook him a beautiful dinner, fresh, vibrant, full of big tastes. I Fix his drink, light his cigarettes.

I patter around our house in my lingerie. Black lace, straps of satin, nylon stockings, smoothing, accentuating, a sculpture in desire. 

I want to be perfect to him, a feast for his senses and desires. 

He stretches out on the sofa and plays old albums. Leonard Cohen, folky love songs. I sit on the floor at his feet. 

I rest my head on his lap. He strokes my soft dark hair and sings along to the music. 

He looks so content. So happy.  He's  warm and relaxed. I've made him this way. Good slave, good girl.