Nate is not my favorite. I get why she likes him, though. He’s confident, physically imposing, and when he’s focused, he has this relentless energy that clearly does it for her. When he’s around, the room feels charged. I’m usually there to assist, stay out of the way, and absorb whatever spills over.
The problem is that Nate treats me less like a person and more like a piece of furniture that can be repositioned. When things heat up, he grabs my hair to move me where he wants me, presses my face close so I can’t look away, uses my body as punctuation in whatever he’s doing with her. It’s rough and fast and often careless. I’ve learned to expect soreness, maybe a bruise, sometimes a nose that needs a few minutes of quiet afterward.
Last night they were together in the shower. Steam everywhere, water pounding the tiles, her laughing as he crowded her against the wall. I was summoned to assist, which meant kneeling on the slick floor, staying low, staying quiet, waiting for instructions. That’s usually my role in those moments, to be present without interrupting.
Nate joked. She laughed. Then she gave me a command that made it very clear what was expected. I complied, even though my chest tightened and my thoughts scattered. I opened my mouth as she let go a stream of piss, covering my face, filling my mouth. The situation wasn’t tender or erotic in the way people like to imagine. It was deliberately humiliating, messy, and meant to remind me exactly where I rank when he’s there.
Nate pushed it further, ignoring the cues where I needed a pause. He pointed his cock at me and before I knew it, I had a hot stream of his piss drenching my hair and streaming down my body. I made sure to keep my mouth closed, not willing to swallow any of his. My girlfriend found it amusing, kissed him, stayed fully engaged with him while I dealt with the aftermath, adjusting myself to be under the shower spray. I rinsed off, tried to steady my breathing, tried to shake the feeling of being reduced to a prop while they kept enjoying each other.
These are the parts people don’t romanticize. The nights where being eager means swallowing discomfort along with desire. Where the kink doesn’t feel glamorous or empowering, just exposing.
I’m still there when I’m called. Still saying yes.
But these moments are the reminder that wanting this life comes with edges that cut deeper than expected.
oh dude, i don’t know what to say here. i just spit coffee out through my nose reading this. you realize that means he’s marked you as his? hahahaha