Well! There sure must be a lot of voyeurs out there. Or at least voyeurs who can readily translate descriptions of an activity into provocative visions. Because my series of masturbation posts got a spurt of hits. Of course it's possible that's because I am one of the few bloggers still writing regularly this month. One advantage of being Jewish... no Christmas shopping! (And no, growing up we did not get a present each night. Who could afford a present each night? Maybe one record. Remember LPs, anyone?)
Anyway, back to my recent orgy of public masturbation. It has stopped for the moment. Enough is enough. I got sore. I mean, my pussy was sore. Which of course speaks to the fact that I probably should be masturbating every day, to keep it moist and supple. And I might have continued but I pleaded for relief and my sweeter-than-he-admits Master allowed me to stop.
He was somewhat dubious about my complaints, however. So he decided to test the condition of my pussy.
Of HIS pussy. Luckily, it was feeling much better after a day or two of rest, because last Wednesday he shoved two large fingers deep inside me and fucked me most energetically. (I left that out of the telling. Saving a little morsel for an unexciting day.)
It was delicious.
And it did not in fact hurt.
I suspect he was a little disappointed.
But oh... it felt so very good.
He doesn't usually fuck me. For various reasons, the main activity is usually a display of my exceptional cocksucking talents. Time is short and his concern is his own pleasure. Every so often, though...
[she sighs from the memory]
Such a happy little girl.
I'm not going to give you a blow by blow description of that.
I may be a bit of an exhibitionist.
OK, yes, I am a shy person with an exhibitionist streak.
But Daddy has a right to his privacy. So no detailed description of what I look like with my head bobbing up and down in his crotch. Although I have no problem with mentioning that my duties leave me absolutely disgustingly sopping wet. Warm and velvety and oh so wet.
All this gave me the idea that you might enjoy watching me do other things.
(Oops. I forgot. I did mean to do the laundry today...)
How about cleaning the litter box.
Those with an ass fixation might enjoy that...
The way I have to bend over?
And the whole thing could easily be made very humiliating.
Do I see any hands raised?
Washing the floor.
The kitchen floor.
That could be a good one.
The philosopher and I had plans for that.
[she sniffles as she remembers the philosopher. broken hearts take a long time to mend.]
The plan was for me to get down on my hands and knees and scrub the floor, which always needs washing as I very rarely do it. He would stand over me, cane in hand, tapping the business end on his palm, ready to give my butt a sound WHAP! if I missed a spot.
Still. Even without the philosopher, I could wash the floor. (I really do need to wash the floor). I'm sure the cats would be highly amused. I could wash the floor, all naked, and give you all a juicy description.
Or maybe you'd like to watch me write a poem?
Ooh... that could be fun...
I haven't been writing much lately.
Oh, I've been corresponding with my Daddy, of course, and writing for this blog. But creative writing? The occasional poem for the sadist. Very occasional. No stories, though. It feels as if I burned out with the publication of You awake ahead of the alarm in Best S/M Erotica Volume III. Odd, no? (Hey. Did anyone actually buy the book? Did you like my story? Even if you didn't like my story, I'd still really like to know... Speak up, now. And remember. There's no Sell By date. You could always get it for your favorite whomever for next Valentine's Day...)
You don't want to watch any of that.
Except for me sucking the sadist's cock, maybe.
Or his taking me over his knee,
just because he feels like it,
and giving me a firm spanking until my butt burns.
There are a bunch of you who'd love to see that.
How many would like to watch him flogging my pussy?
Am I getting warm?
I'm not being fair. Because in fact he doesn't hurt me much.
And I'm just flailing around trying to find something interesting to say.
My brain is mashed potatoes
and my creativity is champagne without the bubbles.
Without the alcohol, too.
Tomorrow is the Winter Solstice.
The shortest day of the year.
It really is!
At least here in DC.
I looked it up.
Wednesday will be
Isn't that glorious?!
I should be back in action by the end of January.
Meanwhile, who wants to send me some cookies?