When nice means so much more than "nice"

It was nice, he said.
We don't do nice, he said.
And yet, it was nice.

Who knew that nice could mean so much?
That nice could give him such a smile?
That nice could bring us oh so close?

I was his pet today.
And his sweet, cocksucking little girl.
But there was something more.
Something rare.
At times...
and under it all...
dare I say?

We felt like lovers.

Not two people in love.
I would never say that.
Although I do love him.
You know that - and he knows it, too.
But like lovers.

Hours and an orgasm later, I still feel so soft.
So gentle.
So cared for.
So appreciated.
I feel his nakedness next to mine.
I see his smile.

And I hear the welcome ferocity of his voice as he declared:

"You belong to me."