Perched.
blush
I spent most of yesterday collared and plugged.
It was a good day.
I’ve been talking since the summer about the tallies and how, when I reached eight, Sir was going to make me drink a cup of my own piss. One ounce per tally.
Back in October when Sir came to visit, I was up to five tallies. Now, writing this, I am still up to five tallies. However, I’m significantly less worried about it, mostly because I’ve already drank Sir’s now. (It really kind of puts stuff in perspective?)
When he visited in October, he had me get down on my knees in the shower and drink it. He already sometimes pissed on me in the shower, but this was something I’d never done before. He’d had plenty of water beforehand, mercifully, but it wound up getting in my eyes and nose and making it hard for me to breathe. Because of that, I started laughing nervously, which may have ruined the mood a little bit.
But, yeah, drinking my own piss now? I don’t know, doesn’t seem like the biggest deal anymore.
Funny you should say that.
Sir came to visit me in early October for a weekend (yes, that’s where we are in the timeline now) and when he arrived, I sucked his cock in my living room. He’d always liked to tease me about sucking other guys’ cocks, and had jokingly dubbed the last summer kind of a slutty summer for that reason. To this day, he makes me blush by telling people that I’d made good use of my free time over the summer.
But, anyway, I was on my knees in my living room and his cock was out of his pants and in my mouth. Sir started chuckling and rolled his hand through my hair, pulling it lightly to make me look at him. “Now, who taught you that?”
I blushed and didn’t respond, continuing to suck his cock.
“Look who’s been getting so much practice.” He mussed my hair. “You’re getting a lot better at that.”
I pulled back from him, “would you stop teasing me?” He pushed his cock back into my mouth, and when he found I didn’t gag, held it there.
So, moral of the story? I don’t know. Maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world. Practice makes perfect.
Poly problems.
In my defense, I was asking which sex toys he wanted me to pack.
Somebody’s spoiled.
I always think worthlessrapemeat looks a little bit like Lorelei Lee.
Yeah, guys, she’s that pretty/cute/intimidating.
I’m going to my first official legit play party without Sir tomorrow night. It’s the first time I’m ever going to one without him. He took me to my very first one and I’m a little anxious to not have him there to watch out for me and take care of me.
Instead, Pup and one of his partners (I WILL GET YOU CAUGHT UP I FREAKING PROMISE) and I are going there together, and I’m talking to Sir about all the blushy stuff I’m allowed to do there. Naturally, the conversation is dipping into kind of Daddy/little territory.
A highlight I’m squirming like crazy over is: “Fine, you can cum twice but only in public and if you suck that boy’s dick in front of everyone.”
Eep.
Back to School, Part Four
I asked Flint if he’d hurt me and he suggested the big menacing rubber thing he’d been giving The Librarian bruises with. I agreed, if he promised to maybe give only about half the force behind each swing he’d been giving her.
He sat me down in a chair and a little pocket of people started to gather around as he began smacking my thigh with the tool. It made a wet, rubbery sound each time it hit, like a suction cup being applied and then torn away very quickly. An oval rose on one of my thighs, turning pink first, then red. The bruise began to protrude as well, bulging slightly from my thigh like an extra swell of quadricep.
A girl came over and put a sticker on my cheek for taking it so well, and we ended up having a conversation while Flint hit me to distract from the pain.
“Somebody said you’re actually a teacher,” she said, gesturing to my outfit.
I nodded, “uh huh, yeah. I’m a teacher.” It made my get-up feel a little silly and a teensy bit degrading.
“You’re probably the hot teacher,” she grinned. “Actually, you’re definitely the hot teacher.” At first, I didn’t realize why she’d started laughing, but it dawned on me that I’d just started conspicuously blushing.
When Flint finished, he asked if I needed aftercare and I severely underestimated how many endorphins were running through me, so I shot up from the seat. Instantly, I collapsed right back down and the girl who had been talking fetched me water, somebody else came back with some cheese and crackers. I put my head against Flint’s thigh and sucked in a deep breath, proud of myself for taking it.
“That’s going to hurt a lot tomorrow,” Lida said, inspecting the bruise.
She wasn’t lying.
You’re fucking disgusting and everyone knows it.
Something super super brave and blushy happened last night and I need to double my efforts to catch you up on everything from September to now because holy crap.
Can the enema wait until I’m done conditioning my hair?
Shit that gets said when I stay with Sir.