friedcherryblossomprincess:

Our friends have gone home. Having them stay with us for the weekend has been great. But there are some frustrations. Master put a bedtime rule in place that “in case Alouette and I get too noisy”, there was no sex or touching allowed for us while our friends were staying. Just cuddles and kisses, and we were allowed to give Master oral sex.

By the time they went home this morning we were both blazing like supernovas. We were conflicted – one the one hand, it’s not nice when your friends have to leave but on the other hand knowing that we will be allowed when they leave.

Master teased the hell out of both when they went. He made tea and made us sit and chat while we drank it – not too fast, he didn’t want us scalding our tongues.

When he finally relented, he made it a slow ritual. He had us fetch our collars and each in turn take a firm grip on each other’s hair to pull it out of the way, to pull each other up on tiptoe while Master buckled our collars. Then he had us ask him for permission to remove each other’s clothes, one piece at a time.

“Please may I take off her shirt, Master?”
“Yes, Alouette.”
She pulled my shirt over my head and folded and placed it neatly on the coffee table.
“Good girl.”

♥♥♥ Swoon! Melt! ♥♥♥

Then he made us sing Eye of the Tiger for him, and kissed us and told us we’re his good girls.

Finally he took us to bed. But they only made love to each other, not me. I was allowed in the bed with them, but he told me I was “too excited” and cuffed my hands behind my back. Kisses were allowed, but no touches for me below my navel or above mid-thigh. Not them touching me, or me touching them. I kissed and was kissed, was touched and rubbed against them. But nothing where I was hungriest to touch and be touched. That was forbidden.

No matter how much I begged. That’s always allowed. They love to hear me beg. If I’m honest, I love to beg. I love to beg and wait and burn and hang on their word feeling sure it’s going to be “no” but somehow still hoping. And then that “no”… sometimes it’s kind, sometimes harsh. Sometimes it’s amused, sometimes it’s concerned. There are all kinds of ways to say “no”, even just a quirk of the eyebrow can be a “no”.

Every “no” brings me a rush of disappointment, a flood of desire, a surge in desperation and a blossoming of pride. Pride because when I resist, when I’m strong enough to hold back from doing what I want so much, from what I’m craving, I know it makes them proud of me. And I’m proud too, proud to be their good girl.

And it that perfect moment, when I have asked and I can see it’s going to be no but it hasn’t crystalised yet. That’s where love burns the brightest. We’re testing each other. Do I love them enough to resist? Do they love me enough to show no mercy?

Today the answer was always “yes” to love, “no” to touching. No touching there until afterwards when Master probed me with his fingers and made me squeal. And him and Alouette tasted me on his fingers to see how very wet and turned on I was. I still am.

Honestly, just about the hardest command to follow I have ever been given was when we were all snuggled up together afterwards. “Please stop wriggling, Princess.”

That was hard. It was all hard.