Sir was here for the weekend for the holiday. Some pretty crazy stuff happened that I promise I’ll (eventually) tell you about.
Strong hint: both he and Pup were in town this weekend.
Sir just left, but we made sure to get in some overdue pet play in before he headed out. I feel so fortunate to have spent so much of this summer with him, but I already miss him like crazy.
I spent most of yesterday collared and plugged.
It was a good day.
Sir: Do you remember your task tomorrow?
Me: Nuh uh. What is it?
Sir: It’s Full Friday.
Me: …
Me: …
Me: Nuh uh!
Sir: I love the look on your face when it dawned on you.
Me: Nuh uh unless it’s Full of Cookies Friday.
A little something to thank you all for the kind messages regarding the recent mountain of stress I’m climbing.
As you can see, I’ve been…destressing.
And giving in to a certain boyfriend’s promise of cookies if I posted this.
Yes, the plug is turned sideways. Yes, there’s some super humiliating stuff written on my body. Yes, I am blushing right now.
(Had Craftsmate photoshop the background to tears because I’m a moron who thinks somebody is going to recognize my bedsheets.)
Cats Don’t Do the Dishes, Part Two
When I got into Craftsmate’s room, I set my clothes down on the floor down by the door and he approached me, giving me a hug and smoothing my hair back. I was nervous, but I showed him the plug in my ass, pushing my panties aside so he could see the handle.
From his box of random crafts supplies, he pulled out a piece of leather and tied it to the end of my plug. He had been hinting a bit at the notion of having me be a pet and I had expressed interest. “There you go, kitty, you’ve got a tail,” he said and patted my ass. “Now, I’m going to make dinner and you can clean what I’ve left in the sink.”
I huffed. “But cats don’t do the dishes. You’re conflating fantasies.” Nonetheless, he made me put an apron over my basically naked body and leashed me to the sink.
At one point, there was a knock on the door and I managed to work the leash off and run into his bedroom. It was, of all people, his neighbor The Prodigy looking to borrow some nutmeg. Once she had left, he went into the bedroom, brought me back out into the kitchen, and tied the leash back onto the sink.
Cats Don’t Do the Dishes, Part One
Craftsmate had been asking about my plug a lot in the past week or so when I got the text about what to do when I came to his room. I had arranged to hang out with him and mess around a bit that lazy Sunday afternoon, but I had never received instructions like this from him before.
He had said that I should come over to his place, strip down immediately once I had gotten through the door and let myself into his bedroom. I considered that I was fine with the idea of doing this, even if it was madly blush-inducing. I even got a little ballsy and put my plug in.
As I was getting ready to go, I stole a glance into the mirror and saw the blush burn in my cheeks. Walking over to Craftsmate’s place, I got so anxious I had to put my headphones in and play music to distract myself. I was sure people could see right through my blush, though I knew it was a completely ludicrous assumption to make that blushing girl equals plugged ass.
When I reached his place, I set my backpack down and took a look around. His roommates weren’t home and the shades of the living area were drawn. I stripped down to everything but my panties, walked into the kitchen and had a glass of water. Steeling myself, I walked over to the door to his bedroom and pulled it open.