Craftsmate says he’s going to buy me a stuffie and make me sleep with it.
Well, actually, he threatened to cover my bed at my new place in stuffies.
I told him he could only get me one, so he had to make it special.
humiliation
It was the fact that they were negotiating her evening right in front her that made sitting still so very impossible.
I’ve got a gag harness like this.
But, ah, I’m not suggesting anything.
Nothing at all.
“Go on, don’t be shy,” he urged. “Tell the man what you want.“
"Could I have a glass of milk, please?” She flushed bright red and stared at the floor when the bartender handed her a pint glass, full almost to the rim, topped with a maraschino cherry skewered on one of those little pink swords.
“What do you say, sweetheart?”
“Th-th-thank you mister.”
- A certain somebody says his Sweetheart has to call other doms “Mister.”
- She looks a little bit like me so I’m just kinda throwing myself into this story – deal with it.
- I don’t like milk but oh my God this is so humiliating.
However vehemently she denies it, she likes feeling appraised.
Well now that I need to go hide that dress.
Would that little see-through dress that
embarrassed her in high school
become one of his favourite means
of showing off his special girl?
untitled by Patricija Stepanovic on Flickr.
“Do you want to be a very good girl for me, sweetheart?”
The text came in about an hour before Craftsmate was supposed to arrive. I had just showered and I had just slipped on my clothing. I picked up my phone and texted back: “Always.“
I like when he shifts to that tone with no warning and texts me something like that. It makes me feel owned and dirty in the best way.
"Then wear your plug for me when you leave the house. You’ll be walking around the neighborhood with me with it in you.”
I hesitated for a moment before texting back: “Yes, Sir.“
I slid my shorts down to around my knees and took my plug and lube out. Carefully, I lubed up the plug and my asshole, taking my time as it had been a little while since I last wore it. I slid the plug in carefully and pulled my panties and shorts back up. After making sure I had stopped blushing and taking care to straighten my shorts, I went to do my hair, barely able to ignore the fullness in my ass.
When he arrived, he didn’t ask if the plug was in. As we walked to lunch, I stopped when we turned onto a basically empty street and guided his hand to my ass. He had to lean down a bit and applied some pressure to the plug, drawing a low moan out of me.
"What a good girl,” he grinned, waiting until we had reached another empty expanse of street to once more apply some firm pressure to the handle of the plug and make me squirm. “Do you feel all filled up for me?“
I blushed and nodded.
“Well, good,” he replied, brushing some of my hair off of my shoulder, “because you’re leaving it in for when I fuck you later.“ He smirked, relishing taunting me, “think you’ll feel just too filled up then? Is it gonna be too much? You’re so tiny, after all.”
You just can’t find good help anymore.
The mask is mockery. They all know who she is.
And now they all know what she is.
Squirm.