Currently hanging out on my couch with Sir, watching Jon Stewart on Hulu, while he rubs my feet. Life is good.
black and white
He likes fucking me like this
folding me up all tiny
and making me feel helpless and small.
Channeling this today.
Come at me.
“In 1921, early suffragettes often donned a bathing suit and ate pizza in large groups to annoy men…it was a custom at the time”
An interesting feature of the new nomenclature:
I know shit’s gotten serious
when he stops calling me “kitten”
and starts calling me “fuckdoll.”
Being a Brave Girl, Part Three
Sir returned and pulled me up to my feet, bringing me over to the bed. He kissed me and had me lie down while he took out a neatly coiled length of rope. "I thought all the rope was at my place,“ I pouted when he pushed my legs back, essentially folding me up. He pulled my arms around my legs and tied my hands together, forcing me to hold the position.
"Well, I saved some,” he chuckled and kissed me softly.
Taking me by the hair, he turned my head and buried my face in his cock. I accepted it eagerly, sucking him until he was hard enough to fuck me.
It’s kind of crazy how much you can miss someone’s cock. In your mouth, inside of you. But I’d been masturbating for the past month and literally missing the way it felt.
We fucked hungrily. I kept kissing him. I wanted so badly to touch his face and I needed so desperately to get him closer. And, yeah, all the denial had made me pretty needy.
When I had to cum, I started begging.
“Oh yeah?” He teased, “you need to cum?”
“Uh huh,” I exclaimed, “please?”
Without any warning, he pulled out and stepped back from me, smirking. I practically shrieked, squirming in my bonds and kicking my feet. Of course he wasn’t going to make this easy.
Being a Brave Girl, Part One
When we got back to his place, Sir made me lunch and served it to me on the floor of his bedroom. He took a seat nearby and ate his, watching me with a warm grin that made me almost feel proud to eat it like an animal. Still, I was cautious about getting my face dirty, as I always am.
So, I asked him to push me. He smiled and knelt down beside me, setting his plate aside.
“Go on, eat.” He said. I leaned down and, as I was easing some food into my mouth, he shoved my face into the plate. I’ve mentioned that he’s done this for me before. And that it’s hard for me to let go. But one day I’m hoping I’ll be able to be brave and not worried about getting my face messy and what that all implies.
When I finished, he wiped my face clean and held me close. “Now go get into position, girl. Present for me.”
Alsooooo, I get to see him tomorrowwww.
I had some really cool plans set up for the beginning of October, but I recently decided to back out of them because of some of the demands of my schedule.
Which sucks, because I really wanted to spend time with a certain special person and I’ve got some severe fomo about the whole thing.
And while I know it’s probably a good decision in the long-run and (hopefully) a rain-check is possible, I hate when I’ve gotten all excited about something (I was counting down the days) only to have it not pan out.
Blah.