Breakfast Time

The food was good, but of course it was. The best part about living with Paige was that the food was always good. For dinner she'd cook varied meals from Chicken Vindaloo to spicy Sichuan dishes. Without much notice, Paige hadn't had time to prepare. She just made some omelettes at the right temperature. A nexus between solid and runny. Happily, she even found a use for Sandra's bagels. They were on the sides of the plate, sans cream cheese.

Me and Sandra sat at my dining table. When she moved her seat, it made a loud creaking sound. I hadn't had any company to use the chair in some time. Paige, meanwhile, folded into a kneel on top of a place mat positioned to the right of my chair. Paige's Master had made a rule of not letting her sit at the table, and I'd continued it.

In practice though, the breakfast-time conservation turned into more of a one on one discussion between Sandra and Paige. My only role was acting as an occasional interloper and the subject of Sandra's constant teasing jabs. I bore them with a smile.

The conversation quickly shifted to Sandra's mother. Paige was quite unaccustomed to meeting anyone so unfazed by a 24/7 BDSM dynamic, so Sandra's explanation tracked immediately. Sandra was all too happy to talk about her family's own history. How her father would run things around the house, for example, was a point of curiosity for my ****. As they spoke, Paige visibly relaxed, offering the occasional joke or witty observation. Sandra was getting into it too. She was at an awkward angle, so she was almost leaning out of her seat.

"If it's too uncomfortable, no one is making you use the chair." I pointed out. Sandra laughed, but a few minutes later, she repositioned herself to the ground so she could talk to Paige face to face.

I was the topic of conversation for part of the time, but I was prepared for that indignity. Once Paige was comfortable with her, she had no compunctions about sharing every last embarrassing detail about my childhood and my home habits with the woman I loved. After all, why should her fucking Master be afforded any dignity?

"Well, I think that settles it." Sandra clapped her hands. She was beaming from ear to ear now. "We're going to need a girls night out, just you and me. No need for smelly Martin."

"Smelly?" I raised an eyebrow.

"She can have girls nights out, right?" Sandra looked up at me. "No rule about not leaving the house without permission?"

"She hardly needs one." I said in a droll tone. "She never leaves. Please, take her."

Remember, if you want to make sure it doesn't take me a fucking month to update this storyline, the best thing you could do is like this thread. Or follow me. Or send this story to everyone you know. I'm subtle.