The next morning, I woke up at my normal 4:45 am. It was a night of little sleep, but when I did wake up, a smile was on my face. I kissed her on the forehead then got out of bed. She grabbed my pillow and snuggled into it.“It is too early to get up,” she mumbled after she lifted the blankets to her chin.“Who said you needed to get up,” I asked as I sat on the edge of the bed. I reached over and laid my hand on the side of her face, as I gently stroked her cheek. A content expression appeared on her face as she closed her eyes.“In all honesty,” she whispered from her dream-like state, “I am glad you are on shift today. I will need the time to rehydrate.” She then giggled, grabbed my hand, and kissed the tip of my thumb. There was nothing sexual in the kiss. She did not engulf my thumb in her mouth and try to swallow it. She did not swirl the tip with her tongue then flick it. She gave it a little peck then hugged my hand on her neck.After placing a glass of water on the nightstand, so she could rehydrate, I leaned over and kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and finished with her lips.After showering, shaving, and dressing I kissed her once again before leaving. I heard, “Be safe today baby,” as I closed the bedroom door.She sent me a picture when she had finished painting. I really was impressed with how quickly she could paint. Not only was she quick, but she was also good at not allowing little runs in the paint. She was very talented to keep from dripping paint on anything it was not originally intended. Well, except herself. I smiled as I thought of her mishap.I texted her a quick response as the tones dropped for a medical call. “I like the artwork: how about a picture of the artist?”My phone buzzed as we traveled to the emergency call. I opened the message to see a selfie of her with her eyes crossed and her tongue sticking out Demetevler Escort at me. I saved the photo on my phone, smiled, then sent an, “I like,” then added a smiley-faced emoji.Once we arrived, I set the phone down. I was unable to look at it again for another two and a half hours. We had back two back to back calls: Medical, a false alarm, and someone grilling too close to the house. So close it ignited the back of the home.When I was able to check my phone, I noticed she had sent me only one message.“I can’t believe you sent me a message while you were supposed to be helping someone.”Once we returned to the firehouse, I called her and explained that I was on my way to the call and I leave my phone in the truck while I am working. I thanked her again for painting and for sending the picture.Making sure I could not be overheard, I said: “You know I am a bit of a voyeur for you. Why not send a few more pictures and feed into my voyeuristic need?”“Hmmm,” she replied with a seductive timbre in her voice, “I may have to send some teasing photos because I know you will be there and cannot come to get me until tomorrow. Giving you blue balls may be a lot of fun.” She ended the call with an evil and sardonic laugh.It was a busy shift. I would check my phone the second I fastened my seatbelt and was able to angle my screen so the other guys could not see.She was an expert at teasing. One photo showed her smiling with a mirror behind her. I could see she was naked but only showing her back and the tip of her butt. Another picture was of her pulling the front of her shirt and bra down just enough to show the edge of her areolas.I felt that I had become one of Pavlov’s dogs. I would smile, blush and many times adjust myself as I opened her messages. My hardness would begin before I Otele Gelen Escort even opened the picture. I guess you could say the Pavlovian experiment was a total success because I was drooling too.The next two months were filled with fun, play, and a little bit of experimentation.One evening, while I was on shift, she sent a picture with a pair of handcuffs being held in her teeth. The look was seductive and the intent was clear. However, she had never experienced any type of bondage or real submission. We had talked about how she called me “My Sir” and what that meant to her.She used the term in a playful and teasing manner but had never been a submissive with a Master or a Sir.I was able to find a secluded room in the firehouse and called her. Due to never knowing when someone would call 911, I had to be concise with what I had to say.“Hello,” she answered.“I may only have a few seconds so I need to make this quick.”“Okay, is everything alright at the firehouse? Are you hurt,” she asked anxiously.“Everything is going well and I am not hurt. I need to clear something up with you and I need to know your thoughts and opinion.”“Okay, I am listening.”“Do you remember when we were painting and when the pizza came you told me to not hog the breadsticks?”“Yup, I do remember.”“Do you also remember calling me ‘My Sir’?”“I do.”“I know you were teasing me but I want you to know what that means to me.”“Okay.”“When you called me Sir, especially My Sir, that tells me you are willing to subject yourself to me. To submit to me.”“And I did. Mmmmm, over the sink then in the bed and again in the shower.” She giggled a little at the memory.“Yes, you did. But, you just sent a picture of handcuffs. Do you understand what you are implying by sending me that picture?”“I think I do. I have never played Balgat Escort like that and I want to try.”“If you are willing to try then we need to lay some groundwork and some rules.”“That doesn’t sound like fun. It sounds like work and it makes everything sound so mechanical,” she pouted.“Believe me it will be well worth the time. Are you willing to talk to me about it?”“Yes I am,” she said with a tone of resolution in her voice.I questioned her in order to learn the depth of knowledge she had about bondage and submission. I wanted to know if she wanted to feel the bite on her skin when she struggles or if it was the thought of feeling bound without restraints that excited her.She was a little confused about how agreeing on a safe word: it was an expression of trust for her and me. She understood that she had to trust me to release her or to stop if she used the safe word but farther than that was the importance of me trusting her.“I have to trust that you would use the safe word,” I began. “To be your Sir, your Master is not in name only. I have to know you and read your expressions, listen to your breathing, watch your reactions, feel your desire, and know the limits you need to reach for release. It will not only be an orgasmic release but a release from whatever is binding you emotionally, mentally, or sexually. If for some unforeseen reason, I miss the cue for stopping or releasing your binding and you do not use the safe word, that could hurt you. That would shatter the trust you have in me. That would then make me lose the trust I have in you.”“I never thought about how deep it could go. Honestly, I have read about it in stories and books but it was never expressed on an emotional level like that.”After a solid minute of silence, I heard her take a deep breath, hold it then release.“I need it. I want it. I cannot think of doing that with anyone but you.”“I will be home tomorrow around five. After I shower I will come over and then we will go out for dinner and discuss it further.”“That sounds fine. I will be ready by then.”“I did not say that as a question or for your approval. All you needed to say was, Yes Sir.”After another solid minute of silence, I heard her whisper, “Yes Sir.”