I want to spend timelivinginstead of fearfully existing.
I just want tobe.
I will always regret Stella death. She was a pain in my ass but she was my sister and I loved her. She might shoulder some of the responsibility for her death by staying with a murderous monster but she didn’t deserve to die, especially not the way she did. My parents have survived enough grief and trauma to last several lifetimes.
Exhaustion has become such an entrenched way of life for me that I’m not sure what I’ll do after getting several weeks’ worth of good sleep in a row without needing to be “on” all the damned time, much less no longer weighed down by the stress of literally having lives counting on me.
Do I regret becoming POTUS?
If I pull back to the macro view of my life, I suppose not. Being POTUS allowed me to make a lot of positive changes in the world and help people. To make the world a safer, better place overall.
It’s allowed me to spend the last couple of decades with the men I love. Well, the last sixteen years with Jordan, anyway. And we’ll be spending the rest of our lives together.
The final countdown I’ll ever have to keep in my head: January 20th.
I won’t be POTUS any longer. It’ll all be Ciro’s headache.
I head straight for the bathroom when I arrive home, the wave of exhaustion slamming into me meaning I have no energy for anything except just being me tonight. In fact, when Jordan follows me into our bathroom, I stay him with my hand.
“It’s okay, buddy. I’m fine.”
But it’snotfine because Jordan looks borderline hurt. “Yes, Mister President,” he softly says.
Shit. “Slut, come here.”
He perks up, practically running over to me, where I pull him in for a long, deep kiss.
He’s wearing sweatpants. “Pants down.”
He eagerly complies and I use fingernail clippers to snip the small zip-tie holding the hard plastic chastity cage in place. I locked this one on him several weeks ago and while I usually remove it at least once a day for a skin check and cleaning, he’s essentially been wearing it non-stop. It’s not as mean as the metal one but it’s not as comfortable as the silicone one. Bonus?
It won’t set off metal detectors.
“Happy Election Day,” I say.
Jordan scowls. “Sir?”
I tug his sweats up over his hips as I brush another kiss across his lips. “You and Leo have fun tonight, baby. You’ve earned it. No restrictions. I want you to enjoy yourselves and celebrate. Even fucktoys get rewards when they’ve earned them.”
I know Jordan hoped for some playtime with Mister President tonight because lately I’ve been hella busy with campaign appearances and too tired most nights to do anything.
“Thank you, Sir.” His tone bears subtle hints of disappointment. He’s not trying to guilt-trip me yet I do not have the energy tonight to even pretend to be a hard-ass.
Spinning him around, I pat him on the ass. “I’m going to soak in the tub for a little while. Let me know when dinner’s ready.”
“Can I get you anything?”
Yeah, fucking leave me alone.
No, I don’t say that. Even when I’m in Mister President mode I’m very careful not to say anything that might hit him wrong. Sexy humiliation of the slut is one thing.
But the boy’s soul is fragile and tender and I’m always careful with it.
“No, thank you, baby. I’m good. I need to be alone and recharge for a little while, that’s all. Too much peopling over the past few weeks. Need some peace to gather my thoughts.”
He pauses at the bathroom door. “Open or closed?”
“Closed, please.”
