A New Evening Routine

The Governess recently decided we will have a new bedtime routine.

I’m not meeting my personal goals, you see.

When I became her submissive I asked for her help in certain areas.

Because I knew I would do certain things to make her proud that I wouldn’t do on my own.

One of those things is keep to a regular bedtime.

The Governess and I have been together nearly half a year now and I’ve been adapting to my training well, but in this area I’m struggling.

So now we have a new routine.

First I had to write an essay about why a regular bedtime was important. It helps with my insomnia—it’s better to sleep when it’s dark—I feel better in general—all the reasons I’ve written about before (it’s not my first essay on this for the Governess). But this time it was to be sure I understood why there would be such a drastic change.

It’s not a bad change. It’s not punitive. And I know I’ll be happier with myself in the long-run.

I just can’t do it on my own.

Which is why the Governess is helping me.

Our evenings remain the same until half nine. Meaning after dinner I sit next to her feet and read or fiddle with my phone while she reads or does work, occasionally touching my hair or the back of my neck.

At nine thirty, the Governess goes upstairs to ready the bathroom. That’s my cue to put her things away—laptop or book or papers she was using, along with my things. The cushions I had on the floor by her feet go back in their places and our mugs of tea go in the kitchen sink for me to wash in the morning.

Then I go upstairs and sit quietly on the foot of her bed and wait for her to ask for me. The Governess’ new rule is no speaking unless spoken to after eight. That probably sounds tyrannical, but it’s remarkably freeing to simply do what I’m told—allowing myself to be gently guided from one thing to the next.

Her dark voice comes from the bathroom, ‘Paige, my darling.’

Night things for the both of us are laid out on the marble counter.

The Governess undresses me. First pulling my top—the top she chose for me that morning—over my head, then reaching around and unhooking my bra, her arms around me like a hug. Smiling down at me, she steps back, drawing the straps down my arms. Her fingertips bring up goosebumps as they trace down my skin.

Then she kneels and helps me out of the skirt and pants she also chose that morning. The Governess has chosen all of my clothes for me for some weeks now.

If she wants to wash my hair she’ll brush it first. If not, she’ll pull it up into a ponytail. Tonight she brushes it and leaves it down. Her own hair is already up in a messy dark pile.

The Governess turns on the shower and tests it with her hand then helps me in and tells me to wet my hair while she gets undressed.

I do as I’m told.

My eyes are closed, my head back in the water when the shower door slides shut and her larger hands cover mine, taking over wetting my hair to the scalp. I let the weight of my head fall in her hands and open my eyes.

‘Turn around.’

Her commands are always gentle in these contexts.

My back to her, the plastic click-click of a shampoo bottle then the vanilla and apple smell of the shampoo she likes.

The Governess stands behind me and tilts my head back a bit to keep the soap out of my eyes and to be sure she’s attending to all of my scalp.

Then she turns me around and helps rinse my hair, urging my head back into the water. I rest my hands on her hips while she does this. Her skin softer with age than mine, but still firm. Still pale and silky under the water. I leave my mind off and feel her skin beneath my fingertips.

There are smiles and little kisses during our shower. I like looking up at her, watching her as she concentrates on what she’s doing. Caring for her property.

Next is lathering a pouf with soap and washing my neck—I lift my chin—and chest. Her fingers play over my nipples and my smile widens. She twiddles them a bit and continues on with the serious business of washing my arms—the left then right—holding my arm up by the wrist; sure to cover my underarms and between my fingers.

‘Would you like it if I claimed you as only mine?’

I nod and my pulse quickens. I never know when she’s going to ask—always hoping.

Maintaining eye contact, the Governess pulls me into her and positions my right leg between her legs. Her hand on the small of my back, holding me against her, her other hand between her legs. She pulls up a bit to be sure everything is in position.

‘Are you ready, my darling?’

I nod and smile, biting my lip.

It’s not as hot as the water of the shower falling on my back, but it’s still quite warm. She’s so tall it starts above my hip and ribbons around my leg.

‘Only I can do this.’

I nod.

‘Because you’re mine.’ She takes her time, knowing I want it to last as long as possible. ‘And only mine.’

I nod and whimper I’m so turned on.

When she’s done she asks, ‘Do you feel properly claimed, my darling?’

I nod and grin, suddenly shy.

‘Good.’ She boops my nose with one long finger and steps back. ‘One foot up.’ She pats my right leg and I put it on the seat built into the shower. She sits and washes, exfoliates and shaves my leg. Then washes my right foot, calf and thigh, then up and carefully cleans me with her hands—not the pouf. I know the effect her claim has on me. Sometimes she takes a few seconds to be inside of me. Very slowly and only a few times. She likes watching me and I just smile at her and remain very still. She is allowed to do this when she likes.

Then it’s back to our routine. At her asking, I switch legs—putting the left foot on the seat beside her and she washes, exfoliates and shaves that leg then stands and turns me around to clean my back. I lift my hair so she can have a good scrub under my training collar. She nibbles my ear once I’m clean and rinsed.

Then it’s my turn to wash her. When she bathes me she’s looking after something she owns. When I bathe her I’m performing service.

I take my service seriously and make sure she’s very clean. I like feeling her eyes on me as I do this for her.

I loofah her back and kneel to clean her legs and feet. I’m not allowed to clean between her legs—she does that herself whilst I’m washing her back.

I sense her amusement when I get distracted by her nipples. You’d think I’d be used to them by this point, but nope. Nipples.

Often, if I’ve done a good job, we’ll stand in the water for a little while and the Governess will guide my mouth to her and allow me to suck her for a couple minutes. Never very long, just as a reward. She likes to be inside of me while I’m doing this and that’s lovely, too. I have to hold my arms behind my back, grasping my elbows with my hands, and I have to be still. She holds my face with one hand and touches me with the other.

If I’ve been very, very good, she’ll guide me to the other side and I can take her in my mouth a second time. Usually I make some sort of noise then, though, and it’s time to get out and dressed. I’m still learning control.

She turns off the water and slides the door open then gestures for me to step out. I help her into a thick bathrobe first and then she sits on the lid of the loo and carefully towels me off, turning me this way and that.

I study the damp ends of her hair and the grey streaks at her temples as she does this. It’s as though the Governess is looking after a piece of heirloom china.

Once I’ve been dried and my wet hair has been gently combed and put up in a towel some sort of luscious emollient is applied to the appropriate parts and I am sat on the loo lid while my skin absorbs the lotion. The Governess always chooses lotions that smell edible, for some reason. I’m not sure if it’s some form of torture or if she genuinely enjoys the smell. Perhaps both.

She dries, lotions and dresses herself then removes the towel from my head and ruffles my hair several times. I love this and find it difficult not to make ridiculous noises or at least laugh. I do end up grinning like a half-wit every time, but that only gets me smiles and nose taps, so that’s all right.

I am then dressed in whatever the Governess likes. Sometimes it’s just pants and a tank top. Other times it’s a proper long nightdress. The Governess never dresses me in things I dislike or something that would be uncomfortable—she knows my preferences and operates within that range—but I don’t know what I’ll be wearing from one night to the next.

This evening it’s a pair of plain white cotton pants, white satin shorts and a matching white satin top with lacy straps. She’s got us matching in that she’s wearing a two-piece pyjama in white satin, but hers are the sort with long sleeves and legs.

My hair is re-brushed, towel tousled and brushed a few more times to facilitate drying then she puts me into bed with my sub journal, where I write my day’s entry and get my next day’s assignments, and whatever book I’m reading.

The Governess returns to the loo to tidy our bath things away and if I’m not reading my book (it usually doesn’t take long to finish my sub entry for the day) she knows I’m not interested in reading that evening.

Otherwise after I finish my entry, I give my journal to her to read and to put in my assignments for the following day and get on with my reading.

This evening I’m pretty tired and it’s been a long week (and I only got three seconds on nipple number two in the shower) so after I hand over my journal I just look at my book lying on the bed and then at the Governess.

The Governess bursts into laughter.

‘Do you find books very tiresome this evening, my darling?’

I sigh. So very tiresome.

The Governess rolls her eyes, but she is amused.

She writes my assignments in my journal and sets that and my book aside then sets my alarm on my phone and plugs that in to charge overnight.

She turns off her bedside lamp and begins to lie down.

‘Come here, then.’

My eyes haven’t adjusted to the fresh darkness but I can hear the smile in her voice and fairly fling myself in her direction and nestle against her chest until I find a bump and nuzzle it with the tip of my nose.

Her voice comes from above me, ‘Unbutton my top.’

I am an obedient submissive, in case you didn’t know. Her top has five buttons. But I’m not to rush. As she’s told me before, I’m not a starving cannibal and she’s not the last explorer off the boat.

I start with the top button and look up at her as I unfasten each one slowly. One… Two… Three… Four… Five. Like that.

I am allowed to kiss her chest, but I cannot suck her until she says.

The Governess has me kiss her clavicle and neck and earlobes and chest whilst playing with my hair for some time before saying, ‘Take me in your mouth, my darling.’

So obedient, I am.

Her hand is in my hair then I lose track of it (what with paying attention to other, far more fascinating, things) then one elegant finger is inside me.

Just slowly and touching nothing else. Almost absentmindedly.

I whimper and moan and don’t know what to pay attention to. She’s inside of me two ways. She is taking me over two ways.

Some evenings I fall asleep this way—if I’m very tired and I only need to be close to her.

Other evenings things take a decidedly different turn and all sorts of debauchery is got up to.

But I’m sure you wouldn’t want to hear about that.