I love the idea of being stuck like this with a group of people casually hanging out. And I’m struggling to do simple tasks while everyone just sits around and laughs.
degradation
Puff lightly and carry a big stick.
I absolutely hate it when he’ll have a cigar with his friends. It’s super, super rare, thankfully, but it’s still really disgusting to me. I can’t even watch him do it. I associate cigars with old, rotund colonialists with chubby fingers covered in ostentatious rings. And that’s not him at all.
So, naturally, of course, I end up fantasizing about him using my mouth as an ashtray sometimes. Right in front of his friends, knowing how disgusted I am but not caring. Because I guess I’m into degradation a lot more than I would like to admit.
Also, I absolutely kink on 1950s misogynist advertising. Oops.
Piss Shy, Part Nine
StandardDisclaimer: The content of this story is a little bit harsher and a little more intense than most of the experiences I have written about on here. Please keep in mind that I had safe words – “yellow” for slow down or do less, “red” for stop. The things I did were done willingly and enthusiastically, even when I demonstrated reluctant or fearful behavior. I like to be scared and I like to feel psychologically exhausted, and this experience allowed me to tread some harsher waters. So, I hope you’ll stick along for the ride.
I went to rush out of the bathroom when Flint ushered the group back in, grabbing my shoulder and turning me around. Lida slipped out of her pants and underwear, stepping into the bathtub and squatting down.
Now, tumblr. I’ve seen some shit. I’ve watched a dick the size of my forearm get stepped on like a bug, that guy from my frat has tricked me into watching a prolapse porn (EUGH), an anon on here once sent me a 10 second video of himself jerking off that ended with him whispering, “I love you” (OH MY GOD IT WAS AWFUL AND IF ANYONE EVER DOES IT AGAIN I WILL RIP YOU TO SHREDS.) But, nothing was more “oh my gosh I can’t look but I can’t look away and I don’t know how I feel about this but I think I might like it” than watching Lida pee into the bathtub, wipe herself with her hand, and then lick her hand clean.
Back in the living room, Lida, WRM and I held down a blindfolded Macy while Flint repeatedly slapped her pussy. All things considered, she took it like a champ.
“So, what’d you think of that?” Flint asked, “in the bathroom with Lida. She hasn’t used a toilet since, what, Christmas?” Lida blushed and looked down at her hands.
I shook my head and chuckled, “I’ve gotta walk that off.”
Liking it best like this makes me a filthy girl by default, he says.
What a lucky little kitty she is, getting all her courses on separate plates. Surely her owner needs to realize kitties shouldn’t care about presentation and that putting it all together – maybe even blending it – is just fine.
I don’t like milk at all.
And, besides, using food is messier.
The first time I ever cried for Sir in a D/s context was when he pushed my face into a plate and wiped food all over my face while I was being a kitty for him. We were dating, right on the cusp of becoming some kind of an official couple, and I react rather strongly to degradation. So, I cursed at him and whimpered and started crying. And then I asked him to do it again.
He says he wants to make me cry like that, but push me harder. Humiliation and degradation aren’t really my favorite things, but mostly because I’ve had some pretty rotten experiences with other people. I want to trust that he will handle the aftercare properly and he won’t trigger anything weird, but I’m scared. He knows it, too, and has been really patient and open and loving about negotiating it.
So I want to be brave when I see him in December and let him push me really hard. In his words, I’ve been “braver and braver” lately and I want to be able to trust him.
He says he has this fantasy of whoring me out. I’ll admit that maybe, just maybe, I’ve got a little bit of a fantasy about it, too.
“How much would it cost?” I asked.
He smiled, “two hundred dollars.”
“Two hundred dollars?” I exclaimed. “That’s so inexpensive.”
The thing is that making it ridiculously cheap turns him on. He likes the degradation of it. On the other hand, I prefer to feel special and expensive and precious.
“Fine, how much do you think it’s worth?” he asked.
I huffed. “Four million.”
“Nobody pays a four million dollars for that, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “He’ll probably only take ten minutes once he gets his hands on you, anyway."
"And what if he wants an hour?” I pouted.
He smirked. “Nah. Still two hundred.”
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.”
This is one of those things that I spent a lot time pretending I didn’t like, because I was more than a little embarrassed.