Hi somebody get me this, thanks.
need
So, Sir banned me from wearing panties unless I’m on my period or at the gym.
But I bet I could get him to make a few exceptions.
Right?
Sometimes when I visit Daddy’s house I’m not there to be his good girl, I’m there to be taken care of. When I walk in the door he helps me out of my coat, scoops me up in his arms and carries me to his bed. He strips me down and tucks me in under his big marshmallow of a blanket. He sets the…
Ugh, I need this right now so badly.
I’ve been in one of those moods lately where I just want to spend an unusually long amount of time worshipping a cock.
This looks cute, home made and improved. It inspires me to think that Internet porn is making the world a better place.
Keep trying new things kids!
Full Service, Part Six
What happened next is a bit blurry. I had gotten really subspaced and, as a result, had a lot of trouble keeping track of things. According to Craftsmate, later that evening, when I thought I had been saying things to him in complete sentences, I was actually only saying one or two words.
This is where I stress how important it is to be with someone you really trust when you get that deep. I am serious here. Don’t go trusting the good stuff with the people who don’t deserve it.
I had been resisting letting myself get that deep with him because of an experience in the past with someone else I used to be with. Basically, he pushed me super deep, I figured I could trust him, and he took advantage and did some stuff that was really not okay.
But, this time was really amazing and I feel good about letting go. He didn’t betray my trust and he checked in with me a lot.
At some point, I wound up on my back again. I remember he kept making me hold the vibrator between my thighs in order to have it on my clit and I would wind up squirming, making the vibrator fall off. Then I would have to shuffle around and try to push the vibrator up towards one of my hands with my knee. When the clamps became too much, I whined that I needed them off and he removed them for me.
For all the haziness, I remember distinctly how badly I needed him to fuck me and how much I pleaded.
“I want your cock,” I begged, grinding up against the vibrator between my legs, “please, Sir, I want your cock so bad.”
Craftsmate laughed and pushed some of my hair from my face. “Awww, baby, now you want my cock? First you wanted the vibrator and now you want this, too? Remember how badly you wanted it?”
He reached down and turned the vibrator off, prompting me to squeal in frustration.
Ugh, I need to just fade away like this.
I woke up on Sunday morning in Craftsmate’s bed to the feeling of him tightening the ropes around my wrists. Somehow, the night before, I had agreed to sleeping tied up. Except instead of sleeping with my arms tied behind my back or in front, I wound up with my arms tied at my sides, attached to a crotchrope with a knot that pressed into my clit, preventing me from forgetting its presence.
We had established, sometime during the evening, that I was a selfish brat. Or, rather, I was told that I was a selfish brat who couldn’t control herself. Hence, the crotchrope, the hands tied to inhibit touching, the nagging push of the knot as a cruel little joke.
When he had finished tightening the rope around my wrists and ensuring that I would not be able to let myself out, Craftsmate climbed off of the bed and went to sit down at his desk. As he slid off the mattress, I became attune to the throb of my clit and realized the effect of the crotchrope on my sleeping body had left me inconsolably needy.
“I think it would be a nice idea if you came here and touched me,” I said playfully, wriggling a bit in the rope and feeling the knot rub over my clit.
Craftsmate shook his head. “You said nothing until you finished your thesis chapter.”
“I changed my mind,” I huffed. “Come here. Please?"
He didn’t budge.
I kept pressing, but I couldn’t get him to come over. My hips had started to pick up a slight thrust and I was trying to keep myself from grinding the crotchrope right in front of him, but I could only hold out so long. Eventually, my pleas for him to come touch me turned into begging him to use me and finally dissolved into me saying all I wanted was his attention, I didn’t care how it looked.
Amused, Craftsmate came over and teased the tip of his finger over the crotchrope. "I don’t think so. Maybe your Daddy lets you be a little princess and get away with this kind of stuff, but you’re entirely too spoiled and you’re not getting what you want this time.” I blushed at the mockery in his voice.
“Please,” I gasped out, “please I’ll do whatever you want.”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t think you get to cum until you’re a good girl for me and not some selfish brat.”
After a round with Craftsmate’s riding crop and a rather humiliating inspection of my cunt, which had become so wet that it had soaked straight through my panties and drenched the knot of my crotchrope, I was sent off with assurance that my poor conduct would no longer be tolerated.
And, much to my chagrin, an order to keep my hands off of my dully throbbing cunt until my behavior improved.
I like the moment where hair becomes a liability. Where it sticks to foreheads and temples, where it slides and clings between fingers. I like the fact that somehow we want to get barer, to shed just another hindrance until it is us at our most basic and needy.
I like the shoving of limbs that comes with that. The folding them up and the stretching them wide. Suddenly, even the most essential things have suddenly become dispensable, excessive. At one point, they were the very things we caressed, lingered on, drew from them painstaking and labored admissions of desire. And, now, like our clothes, we attempt to toss them aside.
It’s interesting to me that for how extensive foreplay and physical upkeep can be, for how much we know prolonging and lingering enhances this, our bodies creep toward a singleminded desire, removing the excess and diving forth into the necessary.