You would think that being ordered to shove a phalloid object into my pussy and masturbate at least 2 times a day would be a welcome task. I'm even allowed to cum each time if that's what my body wants to do - as long as the cumming and recovery time don't cut into my masturbation schedule. But this new regime just got started yesterday and already it's becoming a bit wearisome.
Not that I mind masturbating. Hell, I've gone through periods where I was constantly so desperately horny that I was racing to my bed 3 times a day or more to get myself off. But this isn't for my pleasure. This isn't for efficiency of release. It's to practice shoving those damn dildos up my cunt and pumping away while giving a good show for the men who will be watching me.
This is practice.
This is rehearsal.
And now my pussy is sore.
I'm not accustomed to masturbating with insertables. And normally I can only cum from clitoral stimulation. I do enjoy being fucked, but then it's a bigger event. There's the sense of the guy's body, his warmth, his urgency, his response, his deftness at using his equipment, and whatever sort of relationship we have. And hopefully he's been doing all sorts of things to my body. And kissing. A lover loses a lot of points for being a mediocre kisser.
The fiend is truly the finest kisser I have ever encountered. No question there.
I started this post around 6 pm Eastern Time, and then ran off to see a documentary about some musicians I know. Very interesting, watching a film about people you know... anyway, now I'm home and it's just short of midnight and time to give the cats a little more food so they won't act like starving children in the middle of the night and then I'll take off my clothes and slip into my bed and adorn an implement with condom... I think I'll go for the vibrator tonight. My pussy really is sore, even with all the lube I've been using, and the lovely blue vibrator that the philosopher so kindly bought me is more slender than that monster of a purple dildo. And then I'll give myself to thoughts of my Master's kisses as I practice my masturbation act, simultaneously imagine greedy male eyes latched onto the site of that shaking blue penis pumping in and out of my battered pussy, all the while looking forward to what will come when the whole thing is over.
My Daddy's sweet kisses
and those two precious words,
sweeter still:
Good girl.
But for now...
[she groans]
time to get to work.
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2 comments:
Interesting that you call it work but it is like you are a performer when you are in rehearsal to put on a show. Do you know when he is going to have you do a show with the men watching>
FD
In all seriousness, FD, rehearsing for a show is part of the performer's job It IS work, however much fun that may be. And in my case, for this performance, it really does feel like work, and I very much think of it as rehearsing my act. Not only do I have to think of how I will look and how well I am executing the various actions, I have to choreograph my moves and write my script, since what I say to ignite their arousal is a big part of the performance.
As for when it will take place, I honestly don't know. One of the ways the fiend torments me is to string me along, building expectations, anticipation, nervousness, perhaps even fear (though not in this case), and not announcing the exact date until it is almost upon us. Plus there is the continuing problem of coordinating everyone's schedules, which has been frustrating him all along.
I think this particular show is just for him and the one, nice man. A good way to start, I think, as the other event he has in mind should be a lot more difficult for me to handle. Even with his protections in place. Or so he has implied.
If only I could sell tickets! I could get enough money to cover my COBRA payments...
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