Shiny, Pretty Things

When Daddy comes in, a smile already on his face, I am half asleep, having woken once and been tempted by the book beside my bed. My legs are wrapped in a sheet, half exposed, half tangled in soft toile. My cheek is pressed into the page of a book, I can feel my body twitch and my eyes flutter as the door opens.

He sits on the edge of the bed, placing down a box and pushing my hip just slightly to roll me over onto my back. I greet him with a face-contorting yawn and blinking as I feel his hand squeeze my flesh softly.

"Morning, Daddy."

"Morning, Princess. Good book?"

I nod, allowing my eyes to adjust and pushing it aside. (It was, actually, a very good book.) I lay back on my pillows, hands under my head.

"I have something for you." He says. I smile as I rub my eyes and yawn again.

"Yeah?" He looks more excited than usual, and I can only imagine what awaits me.

"Let's get you dressed for the day."

I nod, laying completely prone as his hands reach to the top of the one thing that I'm wearing - soft sheer panties. They are delicate, cream colored with the smallest of pink bows at the front. And while I would shy from such a delicate word, in this morning light with my Daddy's large hands so delicately looping under the hem, they are barely a scrap of gossamer tht he is pulling down until I am bared and naked.

His hands run back up my legs. I know the order. Stockings are already sitting beside the bed and he takes one, softly maneuvering it to put on one leg. I bend my right leg at the knee, lifting my foot until it strokes Daddy's arm. I can see his stomach pinch a little under his shirt as he breath catches just slightly. My pussy is opening as I run my calf over the skin of his arm, slowing when I reach the ankle, letting that little nub flick over the soft arc of his bicep.

Finally I turn my leg slightly, opening a bit more as I retoate my knee, and my leg along with it. While my cunt is exposed, it's growing wetness beginning to sparkle, this is not what my Daddy is feeling or noticing. It is the top of my foot as it runs over his skin, softly, stroking his arm down to the painted toes, and then back up, stroking him.

I run my leg back down before he takes the foot in his hand, biting the ankle, letting his teeth graze. I feel a shiver and giggle, catching his eyes with mine. This is one of those moments. This is one of those moments where the names and nicknames and everything falls away for a split second. My eyes soften, and the corners of my lips fall out of a giggling and into a relaxed satisfaction, and my breath escapes me.

I close my eyes and smile, and I feel him kiss the side of my foot again before taking it and sliding one stocking all the way up my leg. The backs of his fingers run on opposite sides of my calf and inner thigh before the slightest tug. There are  goosebumps on my thighs which I know he feels.The other stocking slides, his hands stroking my legs up and down.

Finally he reaches for the box and I can't help but wiggle with glee. I know already the shape and size, and before the lid comes off, I am excited. The lid is placed on the nightstand and inside are the shiniest pair of red, high-heeled Mary Janes that I have ever seen. I gasp, giddy and wiggling and I see his eyes brighten.

"Daddy!"

"Yes, baby?"

"I love!" I sit up, stroking the stockings back up into place. I lean forward, kissing his shoulder, softly, turning my head to let the tip of my nose run over his arm softly as I begin to whisper. "Put them on me, Daddy?"

He nods, pulling one shoe out from its nestling of paper with a welcome crinkle. He takes my stockinged foot into his lap and I cannot help but curling it to just touch the growing erection in his pants. He doesn't hide it from me, letting me touch it softly as his fingers unbuckle. I can sense the slightest tremor and I swell, along with my clit, knowing what is happening.

I run my toes over him again before he takes my foot and slide it into the shoe, buckling it. He holds my leg, squeezing the calf and ankle and letting his fingers run over the shiny, cheery red patent leather. His fingers linger and stick over the shoe, running his fingers over the lip where it meets my skin. After a long minute I pull it back, shifting and placing my other foot into his lap.

"The left one, Daddy." My voice is just above a whisper, but there is no question mark in my tone. It is just a statement. I would never say a command, but simply a directive for what is next.

He takes my foot and slides it into the other shoe, stroking the arch, the heel. I lift it softly to his arm, up to his face.

"Kiss it, Daddy." I hear his voice catch and I know he is fighting a wider smile. I know. And he knows. And he knows that I know. "Daddy, kiss it."

He leans forward, placing his lips on the buckle, the metal kissing him back coldly. I do not move my leg. "Again, Daddy." He laughs again, hesitating, not because he doesn't want to but because he does. I can see him getting harder.

I lean back on my elbows, still only in the stockings and shoes. His hesitation will be short lived. It will always be unspoken that a good babygirl always has her Daddy wrapped around her red-painted finger, and though sometimes there is the charade, the farce of begging and want, even Humbert knew that while he drove, Lo could always take the wheel.

"Kiss it again, Daddy." My voice is chalk, just above a whisper but with intention where the ephemeral could be. He leans in and kisses it again, this time on the cheery red. I can feel my pussy starting to soak. I strok his face softly with the shoe, letting him kiss it again.

"Kiss the heel, Daddy." My other foot comes up to sit against his lap, the clean edge of the tan sole now stroking up and down over the bulge straining in his pants. His lips find the heel, and I see the tip of his tongue running over over it as he still holds my ankle in his large, controlled hands. If he wished, those controlled hands could easily grab both legs and push them back and he could fuck me until I was in tears right now. He could easily slap me across the face for this and I would not begrudge him that. But that is not the balance, and the balance is delicate.

"Daddy, am I your Princess?" I watch him enjoy the feeling of the patent leather. I can see him reveling in the shape, the stroking of skin against thick, new, unforgiving leather.

"Yes, honey. You're my Princess." His voice is here but gone as he strokes and kisses. I continue to flick over his cock. I want it hard. I want it aching. I want it to strain and throb.

I watch as his tongue strokes the heel, I feel him push against my other foot. He squeezes the patent leather and I groan softly. "Then show me, Daddy. Kiss me here."

I shift back and open my legs, pulling my knees back. He places a hand on the top of each foot and pushes them back a little more, opening me up a little more as he leans down and begins to lick my clit. I tremble, pushing my hips up into his mouth. When I react, he pushes harder into my pussy, taking my swollen clit into his mouth. I writhe and gasp against him. I will cum in his mouth, I will feel my cunt drip, juices running down my ass. I will scream and whimper and gasp and collapse under his tongue and mouth. I will arch off the bed and cum for him until I cannot breathe.

And during all of this, his hands will never leave the top of either shoe.

I hate that this makes me cum

I have this image that I can't get out of my head, probably because I hate the feeling so much.

I am on my back, but you have my hair in your hand, squeezing it tightly. My heels are touching, legs splayed. You have told me not to move, and I know the second those heels come apart, the world will only get worse. My fingers are interlaced behind my neck, elbows touching the bed behind me.

You are leaning over me, holding my head up just enough to be close to your face. You stare down and there is only the marriage of coldness and playfulness that make you look sadistic. I lean up and playfully bite at your lips, knowing it will only bring out more from you.

You fingers are on my pussy, lips open and ready for you. I can feel your cock get harder against my leg as you rub just slightly, just enough for my clit to respond, and begin smacking my cunt hard. I brace, tightening my mouth as your firm hand comes down over and over and over. I scream, but it only makes you pull my hair harder.

Without missing a beat you shove your fingers into my cunt, which is neither wet nor wanting. I am tight, and two of your fingers stretches and probably tears just enough to see blood soon. You fuck until I push back and then pull them out, going back to smacking my pussy, making my clit sting and ache.

I whimper and scream faster, wanting to pull my hands away and shove you off. There is no game. There is no reward. There is no punishment. There is simply your want to hurt and get hard and I am your toy to use.

I fucking hate this feeling. I wince every time your hand comes down with a firm smack on my clit and cunt. There is no pleasure. There is simply suffering through.

There was no build up, no experiment. You simply told me to get naked, lay down and put my heels together. I never see you more raw than when you are simply seeing a desire and filling it. I want to be that toy for you.

You continue to smack, going from rubbing my clit, to hitting my cunt over and over and over, knowing how painful it is, knowing how much I want it to stop and I know that it will go on as long as you will it so, to fucking my dry pussy with your fingers harder.

I hold my fingers tight, screaming and trying to fight the urge to spit in your face. I will suffer this. I have no choice. My cunt belongs to you, and while I love being fucked and used and touched, you are entitled to this as well. And I will gladly give. I will fight, and you will watch my face contort. I hate this feeling. I hate this pain. But I will gladly give you everything I can muster. If only to prove that I am worth your ownership.

Perfect Subject

When I arrive, I know he is already prepared. There are no pleasantries. There are no arms coming around me, no lips on mine. There are only shadows from where the street lights are coming in the windows.

"Step in and take off your clothes, Subject."

I do not speak. I have not been asked a question. I take off my boots and socks, baling them into the left, and place the against the wall. I hang up my coat on the hanger which is now as naked as I will be. I strip off my dress, hanging it below the coat, and slide my ring and necklace over the neck. My bra Is slid under the dress to hang as well. He knows quite well I no longer wear panties.

"Excellent." I hear a slight click and a light comes on. His coffee table is pulled out. There are a few candles, matches, a pen and his cane. It is a thin bamboo, slightly curved already, with red rope wrapped around the end. Below the table is a pillow. "Walk towards it and kneel with your hands behind your head."

I nod, but again do not speak before I stride over. I hold my head up, though my lips remain in a straight line parallel to the floor. I look straight ahead to the table, pulling out the pillow and kneeling on it. I sit on my legs, feet tucked underneath me, back perfectly straight and elbows splayed as I interlace my fingers behind my head.

"Subject?"

"Yes, Researcher?" I hear him smile and I cannot help but return with a curl in my lips. I can almost hear him growing hard in his pants, even if I still cannot see him.

I want to see him.

"You are going to complete a puzzle for me. I am going to time you. Each round will become more difficult. Do you understand, Subject?"

"Yes,  Researcher."

My eyes slowly adjust to the light,pupils dilating to take in all I can, provide me with all I need for this puzzle.

A black book is placed in front of me. The pen is tempting, and I stare at it, imagining how fast I can pick it up.

"Whern you are finished, put the pen down and put your hands back behind your head."

I keep my eyes forward. I hear him pull the timer out of his pocket.

"You have five minutes. Open to the first page when I tell you and begin." There is a long moment where all I can hear is my breath. "Go."

I unlace my fingers and dive into the book, hearing him click as I see the logic puzzle on page one. She I was studying for the LSATs, I would do these logic games as a treat. I would speed through the reading and comprehension, always keeping my eyes on the prize of these silly games. They were the shortest part of the test, but they quickly became my salvation when I would hate the test and myself, and I knew I could go no further.

My eyes squint, trying to read the clues, pressing my pen into the blocks, making notations, crossing out impossibilities. I look up at him and see that he has as much fire and curiosity in his eyes as I do.

I place down the pen, only a few more answers to go and grab for the matches. I light the candles and slide them to the book and realize only then that the paper is slightly darker, the ink slightly lighter than a typical notebook and type. This was my first challenge.

I finish, slamming down the pen and relaxing my fingers.

He comes over reading through the answers as the timer still runs.

"Perfect, Subject."

I smile. Proud.

"Page two. Go."

I am caught off guard as I fly into the second page and seea. Diferent game, something with numbers, staring me in the face. The directions are simple and i read through them before I begin to fill in boxes, darting around the page. I again pull the candles closer, slamming the pen down and replacing my fingers. He checks my work and again rewards me.

He tells me to stand and I immediately comply. The pillow is removed. "Kneel again, knees as far open as you can go. I want your cunt on the floor if possible."

I slide my knees apart, my clit maybe. An inch from the hardwood underneath. When I have gone as far as I can go, I interlace my fingers, feeling the insides of my knees painfully wilting into the floor.

He slams the book down on the table again. "Go." I begin the third puzzle, shifting already from one to the other. I am a third of the way through the puzzle when he takes one of the candles. I squint a little tighter to continue on. As I reach the second third of the puzzle, pleased with my progress, I feel a burning sting of hot wax being poured down my spine and I scream, losing all focus. My eyes shut and my fingers tighten around the pen in hand. When I open my eyes, I see a scrawl across the page where I dragged the pen without realizing.

I open my eyes and struggle to finish, this time coming precariously close to the beep of the final time. He checks my work. My fingers trembling as they remain interlaced.

"Perfect." I have begun to sweat from the pain. "Get up on your knees a few, but only rise a few inches.

I nod, shifting upward as he pulls out a large, curved dildo and slides it into my cunt without lube or hesitation. I tremble a little as my pussy adjusts to the size. He slowly begins to fuck me with it. I moan softly rocking forward against it, trying to angle it perfectly in my pussy.

He stops, placing the wide base on the floor. "Lower back down."

I slide down, feeling it rise deeper and deeper inside of me. The book is droped back in front of me with a start. "Go."

I can't help but pulse softly on the cock entering my pussy. It shift a slightly on the ground. I am slower on this puzzle than any yet. I languish over the answers, unable to put the words together in a meaningful way.

When I hear the beep, I can taste the end but it remains illusory. I look at him, terrified.

"Stand, hands on the table." I nod, standing, pulling the dildo from my cunt and letting a string of cum connect us until I am almost fully arisen, feet still shoulder width apart, hands still clasped shins my head. As I pull my hands forward, detangling them from my hair, I know exactly what is to come and I feel my breaths get deeper. I bend at the waist, spreading my feet just enough, arching my back. "Subject, how much longer do you need to finish the puzzle?"

I think. I do not want to ask for too much, but I do not want to leave myself with this position again. "90 seconds." I finally say confidently.

"Each came stroke is 10 seconds. How many would you like?"

"I shall take an even ten." I have ten strokes before. I am even more confident.

He nods, pausing only slightly before a solid, raw stripe of pain and fire come across my ass. I almost buckle, not having expecting this. There will be no play, no crescendo, and no peak, I finally realize. The second comes down fearlessly, and I know that my skin will be split by ten. He usually strokes me as he canes me, the touch of his skin and the warmth of his hands bringing down my heartrate. But not tonight.

Three, four, and five come down before I begin to blur, slipping into something that is not here but not gone.

"Kneel again." It takes me a long moment to realize he has spoken, let along know what he has has. "Subject." He says a little louder. I nod, my neck re-learning to hold up my head. I kneel back down, legs again splayed if not wider, hands going back behind my head.

There is a moment where I hear the stiltedness in his voice crack. "You are close to the end, Subject." I nod and the book comes back down again, open to the page. "100 seconds, go."

I grab the pen and re-read what I have already filled it. My mind begins to re-emerge from the fog of his cane and I fill in the rest of the blank spaces, leaving plenty of time to spare.

He pauses. I know he is not giving me a break so my mind focuses on hearing what he is planning. He does not move. I can hear his breath, which is slightly ragged in and of itself. He is waiting for something I cannot see and I do not know and I am, for the first time, afraid.

After a long minute, as the tenderness in my ass begins to make me twitch I hear him more. This was what he was waiting for. My discomfort. The inside of my knees are bruised, and the more I shift right to left, the more I agitate the thin red stripes across my ass. I realize that I am wincing only after I hear his breath quake. I look up at him. I narrow my eyes, I see the bulge in his pants, swollen. I open my lips, letting my breath drip over them. I want him to be caught off guard. I want him to be as captivated by his own arousal as I am by him.

The book comes down again and I am about to dive for the pen. "Stand as you were before." I take a deep breath and stand, bending over, my knee caps thankful. "Go."

I turn to the page, speeding through the directions as I arch my back into something more comfortable. At the ten second mark he begins again with his cane and I whimper loudly. I read the directions, almost starting over when he hits me again. every ten seconds another stroke comes down across my ass. They are steady. They are calm. They are unforgiving and unceasing. The skin on my ass is slatted in red stripes and the skin begins to go numb as my knees begin to get weak. My head is floating and my pen strokes show it. They are becoming airy, disjointed, unimpressively bubbling.

I finish and place the pen down and my hands on the edge of the table. He puts down the cane and I remain standing, not sure how much more I can take from him.

"Your last puzzle, Subject." I nod. I don't know how my knowledge of this this will change the outcome of the experiment. The book, for the first time, remains on the table.

He lifts the dildo, and my feet open a little wider as he rubs the opening of my pussy with it. I push down into it, letting the swollen head of plastic enter me with a jolt. He steps behind and begins to thrust it heartily into my pussy.

As he says go, I grab the pen and the pain is gone. There is only me and this puzzle. It is the same kind as I saw on the first page. My hips may shift towards the dildo entering me, then pulling out, becoming more and more coated in my cum. And though I don't hear it in this state, his zipper comes down and with the other hand he pulls out his cock and shoves it firmly into my ass. I feel him bend over me slightly, my head swimming and my hand dropping the pen.

"Oh God." I shiver as he begins to fuck both my holes. I grip the edge of the table for balance. His breath jolts against my back as he slams his hips into my red, pained ass.

I tremble as I pick the pen back up, struggling not to move enough to read and to begin answering the questions. I plug information into box after box, struggling to keep it together enough to finish, as does he. He pumps harder and faster into both my ass and my pussy. I struggle to rock back and forth between focus and sensation. The more I struggle, the tighter I am, the more it hurts. I struggle to steady my breath, at moments even counting as I inhale or exhale to keep my heart from exploding in my chest. I struggle to open my legs to get him deeper inside me.

As I finish the puzzle I feel him begin to cum, and as the pen comes down to write the final few words, colors of necklaces worn by six women on different days to different parties, I feel his hot jizm fill my ass. I whimper as he pulls out and I feel it begin to run down my inner thigh. The dildo leaves my cunt with an unceremonious wretch. I whimper, hands trembling on the edge of the desk and he puts his cock back in his pants.

"You may kneel, Subject." I nod as the pillow is placed back down on  the floor and I kneel, legs flaring out, hands going behind my head. It takes everything to stay in this position, holding myself upright, feeling his cum drip out of my ass and onto the feet tucked under me. He checks the puzzle diligently, his breath ragged and his face flushed. He will not touch me until the moment, the experiment is over. I wait, swaying a little bit in my lost fog, waiting to be judged and weighed and found. My breath comes down as his eyes pour over each puzzle one more time.

"Perfect, Subject." I cannot help but smile. He takes a long pause, his face, his voice softening. "Good girl."

Nature versus nurture

When you run your fingers down my spine, it makes me shiver. Initially, it was the simple sensation which elicited the response. It would shoot a little dart of electricity right into my clit and I would shiver and grind a little into the bed.

But I have learned.

Now I lay in front of you, naked save white, nylon socks pulled to the knee. My toes curl just slightly as the tips of your fingers run down my spine, barely touching my skin, but pulling a rise out of me which is so forceful it creates ripples in the air, even if the shiver itself it almost imperceptible. You feel my breath catch. You feel my heart squeeze. You feel my throat constrict, as I know what's coming now. I have been trained.

You remain clothed, and so every time I shift towards you I can feel the softness of your shirt on my arm and it is a comfort. These soft sensations which remain constant anchor me to the world. I begin to pray that you allow me this feeling, this reassurance that I am still here in this body, against you, against your shirt, and that this is familiar enough so I don't float off.

And then I feel your fingers again tickle the ridge coasting down the center of my back and again I am sent into a tremble which is not sensation but fear. You have trained this reaction. The second time you do this, I open my legs and shift, pushing my ass into the air.

Your hand grips the curve of my ass firmly, tightly, making sure to wait until I wince before you stop. I open my legs just slightly and the breath against my ear lets me know you are pleased. Two strokes and I know to be yours. I know that this is my only choice.

And without fail you plunge your fingers into my cunt. They fuck me twice before pulling out and rubbing my clit. I sink into your hand, pushing my clit against the slight pressure with which you use to tease me. I whimper, shifting my hips forward again. I hear myself whisper "please" but it takes a moment to realize I have said anything. I wonder how many times I have, in this moment, begged for more. I wonder if I did it consciously the first time I said it.

I can feel myself getting wetter and I want to fight it. I try and let my mind float into space, try and struggle against my own pleasure. I know the wetter I get, the closer it is and I don't want it.

But I want to give you everything you want.

I fight pushing into your hand, I fight feeling my clit swell. I am angrier and angrier at myself as my body responds against my will and to yours. I live every moment knowing that I own my body, that my mind is paramount, that I am in control. And then these moments show me as strongly as I can feel, that this is not the case and it makes me angry.

But even through anger, my pussy does not stop dripping into your hand.

I know the moment the first drop rolls into your palm what is to come and I have the overwhelming feeling of wanting to cry. Your fingers push back into my cunt, working it firmly, pushing deep inside me. I push back involuntarily, opening my mouth to gasp, desperate for more of you. You could do this until I cum and I would explode, whimpering and drenching your hand, shuttering and screaming and tensing on your fingers until I collapsed. But that is not what is to come.

You fuck me again, firm, and pull out. I take a breath, and before I have stopped inhaling, you shove those two fingers roughly into my ass.

I tense and bite my bottom lip trying not to scream. I can feel your breath against my ear, and you know how much I'm trying not to yell. You know it hurts, but the pain is all part of the giving. I open my mouth, arching my head up to gasp for air.

As your fingers begin to thrust, roughly, viciously, I begin to whimper. It is pained and tentative, but growing louder with each thrust. Your fingers stretch my ass, and I can feel that while they were wet with my cum, they are still rough against the skin. I want to open my legs a little more, but I know it won't help, and my comfort is not important enough to break your rule - I already know I'm not allowed to move.

I can feel you move towards me, your other arm sliding underneath my body and gripping me, painfully tight. I open my mouth again and your voice is first.

"Take it, baby." It is calm but forceful. Knowing.

I nod, taking a deep breath as my ass aches and your fingers pound. I whimper again.

"Shhh, baby. Who's ass is this?"

"Your ass."

You nod, your breath getting faster as your fingers move faster and the pain is beginning to overwhelm me. But I want to give it to you even more. I own this body and I will overcome this pain to give you everything I can give. I am trembling, and I know you can feel it, tightening my ass around your fingers, which I know only makes it worse. I cannot place if these reactions are inspired by you or nature or both.

"Yes, babygirl. It's my ass." I feel you pull your fingers out of my ass and I whimper again. I didn't realize how much I was bracing, holding my breath in between desperate noises. I hear your zipper come down and I cannot help but cry out, feeling the tears welling up already even though this is my only moment of relief.

You let this noise go as you pull out your cock and climb up to the head of the bed. I lean up as you get on your knees in front of me and grab the back of my head, pulling it down on your cock. I open my mouth dutifully and gag as you begin to roughly thrust into my mouth. The weight of my body is holding me down. I struggle to get up on my hands but you knock them away. I struggle to breath, gagging harder as strings of saliva connect my lips and the head of your cock.

I struggle to breathe as I gag harder. Tears which have come to the edge of my lashes begin to run down. Like everything else, I don't know if I am upset or if the nature of my body is taking over. Either way, I am quickly covered in tears and saliva, which is pouring out of my mouth.

You fuck my throat harder, your cock slicked and wet. I begin to moan softly, begin to bounce on your cock in reaction to your thrusts. I have exposed myself. I have revealed my enjoyment. You pull back and slap me across the face hard. My lungs seize.

"Who owns that pretty face of yours?"

"You do." My eyes narrow in on you the way they always do when you beat me.

"And who owns that throat?"

"You do." I almost growl.

"And your ass, babygirl?"

My narrowed eyes turn to anger, to aggression, to clenched teeth. "You do."

"Exactly." You push me down as you say it and move to behind me, shoving your hard cock inside my tight asshole while I scream. "Take it for me, babygirl. Give me what I want."

I fight, wanting to give you my ass against my wishes, above my own pain. I hold my ass in the air, tightening around you as you begin to pound. There is no build up. There is no tenderness tonight. There is only what is given and what is taken.

I know you will cum. I know your cum will drip out of me, down my thighs, that I will feel it on my legs as I walk. I know that I will hurt and maybe even bleed and be so sore for days. I know that this will come again, and perhaps it will hurt less next time, but it doesn't matter. I know that as I lay here with your cum in my ass as your cock pulls out, that you will tell me I was a good girl, and you will run those fingers down my spine again and I will feel nothing but pride and the deepest satisfaction that I have pleased you.

Coming Home

When I come in, you're sitting there. I don't remember the last time you were here before me... I usually rush to get in first, to be waiting for you. I live in the anticipation of seeing your face, Daddy.

When I see your face, I struggle to read it. You are always so calm, so collected that my breath catches. I can tell when you're angry. I can tell when you are excited (which is often just a reflection of my own giddiness, projected onto you). But today you are just neutral.

I walk in and pull off my jacket, my fingers trembling with each large, wooden button. But they slip through the holes and I slide it off, a sweet baby blue dress draping my hunched shoulders underneath. I wear thick, woolen grey tights and red Mary Janes, and I already feel over-dressed. It is only moments before I will be stripped bare, but in the moment I feel silly in my clothes.

You motion me over and I practically skip over to stand in front of you, standing between your knees as you sit comfortably.

"Hi Daddy."

"Hi, Baby." I stare, quiet, unable to hide the smile that always accompanies my time with you.

"You saw a boy today, didn't you?" I nod, taking a shallow breath. You knew this all along, knew when I would be with him, knew when I would leave him. I'm sure you could even imagine the things he was doing to me. "Did you have a good time?"

I nod again, a bit afraid. All I want, all I ever want, is to let you know how devoted I am to you. How I ache for you when you are not there. How I think about you when I cum, when I am curled up in a chair, when I am putting a hand between my legs in bed.

"Good girl." I smile, only realizing that I was holding my breath when I release it. "Take your clothes off. Let me see you."

I nod, walking to the side of the chair to slip out of my shoes and pull off my dress. My nipples are already tight and hard. They are darkened from abuse, from use. I know he sees. He knows my body well enough to know. The rest of my skin is generally unmarked. He knows marks are for him and him alone. If he wanted to slice his name into my hip, I would gladly wear it.

I stand in front of you again, hands at my sides with fingers which ache to stroke. I know how soft the fabric of your shirt is and I want to feel it run under the tips of my fingers. I want to feel your firm shoulders, and if I am lucky, the heat of your chest.

Your hands begin to run over me, softly tracing the curves which are yours to devour. Starting with the tips, they become firmer, harder. As they skim down my thighs they begin to squeeze at the flesh. At first it is delicate, exploratory, but quickly it moves to something much more demanding.

I whimper as your rough hands pull and grope my flesh. And then I know.

"Spread your legs."

I do, opening them wide, my pussy open and waiting and wet and used.

"Hands behind your head."

I pull back my arms and look straight ahead, eyes locked and solid as my breath becomes more rapid. You stand and my unfocused eyes remain wet and still.

"Open your mouth."

I drop my jaw. This is where I know you will start. Your fingers begin the inspection, running over my teeth and tongue and gums in long swipes.

"Did you suck his cock?"

I nod, trying  to relax my tongue as you push down, your finger firm and thick.

"Did he fuck your throat?"

I nod again, and feel your index and middle finger push back. I begin to gag, to tremble a little. I can feel my eyes welling with tears as your fingers begin to thrust into my throat and then hold there, pushing slowly until I cough and sputter and try to keep my mouth open. I finally pull back and cough again, and then lean forward, mouth wide. Your fingers resume their investigation.

"Did he cum in your mouth?"

I shake my head, my tongue touching the back of my bottom lip, almost edging over as drool proceeds to drip, running down my chin and chest. You pull your fingers out and wipe them on my chest before your fingers move to my nipples, squeezing them painfully hard. I whimper.

"Do they hurt, baby?"

I nod.

"Tell me what he did."

I nod again, slowly closing my mouth and taking a breath. "He slapped my tits around while he was fucking me. He squeezed the nipples, first the right one and then the left one, and then both together. He used his fingers only, no clothes pins or teeth or anything."

"And did you enjoy it?"

"As much as I enjoy that kind of thing, yes, I did."

You nod and I look up at you, a little nervous. You smile down, lifting your fingers to my chin and pulling my head up. Your kiss is warming. I am safe here, still.

"I'm glad, baby." Your fingers pinch and squeeze my nipples. I wince,  whimper, and hold steady for you. "And tell me how he fucked you."

I nod, taking another breath. "He put his cock in my cunt. First he bent me over and fucked me doggie style. I was on my knees, ass in the air." And I feel your fingers thrust inside my wet cunt, still sore from earlier. I cry out just a little as three thick fingers push inside me. They do not thrust.

"How big was he?"

Your voice drops as your other hand grips my hip, pulling me closer. "Smaller than your fingers inside me right now. But he was rough. He pounded my cunt as hard as he could. I told him I wanted to be sore. I told him to fuck me harder."

Your fingers remain inside twisting, exploring, expanding, contracting. You are touching every spec inside me. They move deeper only, curling here and there to feel more. I know I must be dripping down your hand.

"I was pushing back against him, trying to get him deeper inside me. When I knew he was getting close I pulled back and laid on my back."

You smile and pull me a little closer and i can't help but smile for you, kissing your arm softly the second I am close enough. I always try and do this to you, you know how much I love being on my back when I cum. And unless I've been a good, good girl for you, you always hold my hips in place. Daddy always cums the way he wants, and I would have it no other way.

"And how hard did he fuck you?" Your fingers pull back and slam into my cunt. I can feel the tips of your fingers bruise my cervix and I almost drop my hands. I cry out, trembling a little. I stand up, interlacing my fingers again, and lean into you. "That hard?"

I shake my head. "No... no, Daddy."

You thrust again, a little softer but still firmly. I am already sore, and with the tingling from the last thrust, I shiver with such pure pleasure I can't stifle my own gasp. "That hard, baby?"

"No... not that hard, Daddy..."

I stammer. You thrust again a little softer. "That hard?"

"I... Daddy?"

You smile, knowing exactly what is happening. "Yes, baby?"

"It was that hard... but please fuck me harder... the second one... please?" I look up at you, my breath starting to quicken. You pull your fingers back and thrust harder. My jaw trembles hard, my chest almost seizing as I struggle to breathe through such incredible pleasure. I moan loudly, mouth opening against the fabric of your shirt.

And then your fingers are gone.

I am silent. Struck. "You have to earn that, baby."

I nod. "Anything, Daddy." I practically bark. You cradle my face softly. I lean into the curve of your hand, my eyes closing. Your hand pulls back and smacks me. Hard. I am stunned, but I know to stiffen my neck and hold my head up. My eyes remain closed as your hand begins to come down over and over and over, until my ears begin to ring. I pull back a little and you give me a long moment to regroup. You begin again in a moment, hitting me back and forth across the face until I can feel my cheek start to swell. I try and hold my head but I am shaking. I can only hear my own breath. Your hands continue, back and forth. I try and keep steady but it is becoming increasingly difficult. My eyes are watering, my skin is red and numb, and finally I taste blood in my mouth as my lips slices over my teeth. It will be swollen in the morning as well.

I know you see the crimson when you stop. Your hand comes back to hold my now damaged and broken face. I slowly open my eyes, looking up at you tentatively, but will all the love and warmth I can muster through my exhaustion.

"Thank you, Daddy."

I know he will fuck me. I know I will cum. I know he will cover me in his cum and I will gladly lick it up. And I know that today, tomorrow, and for as many days as I am allowed by nature, I will have the deepest and most glorious and sincere honor of wearing my Daddy's marks on my face. While he has bruised and marked and knicked and hurt me often, the swollen apple of my cheek and the blossoming swell of my lip are the most beautiful gifts he could give me, and the smile I cannot take off my face when I have them is the greatest gift I can give him.

There is nothing in the whole world I want more.

Adventures in Babysitting

He's going to be a heart-breaker in high school. I imagine he's at the age before the initial attempts at sex but he's already sought and found his father's porn collection and masturbates to its memories religiously. He probably jerks off the the cobbled together moments of sexuality which we stop noticing when we start fucking.

I have noticed him noticing me, and I like that. He probably looks at his friends' moms and sisters, imagining them in states of undress, trying to figure out the difference between who would shave and who wouldn't, and what that even means. I have been his babysitter for a few months now and have loved watching the crest of his discovery that he does, just like everyone else, want to fuck everything all the time.

When I walk into the room, he is startled, and I can tell the outline of a half hard cock under his jeans. He blushes blood red and moves his hand. Whatever he was watching on TV, it had inspired him to stroke himself through his pants. I can't help but smile at him, and I know he knows that I know.

"Good show?" I finally ask as I sit down, far enough away so he can look at me, watch my legs stretch onto the coffee table, take in butter pecan thighs and sloping calves, looking up to creases of cleavage and hills of collar bones that I offer up to his eye but not his hands.

He catches his breath a little. "Yep."

"What is it?" I stretch back just slightly. He mumbles something that I'm not familiar with and tries to focus on the television, his initial inspiration. "The girls on there are cute."

He smiles, blushing a little more, and then calming down. The bulge in his pants has only gotten bigger and he shifts his jeans to hide it and relieve it at the same time. I love this moment. He has stopped being his talkative self and I can't tell if he's trying to ignore me, but I can tell he's failing. Every time I shift, yawn, his eyes dart into the corners but his head remains rigid, as if stealing glances makes it ok. I ask him questions and his answers begin falling into single answers.

"So... HAVE you kissed a girl before?" 

"Yeah, of course." His bravado is adorable and I am more certain than ever that he has yet to do more than flirt with sex.

"Oh yeah? Second base?" He smiles and laughs a little, trying to hide his youth behind pride. "Third?" He shakes his head.

"No... nothing like that. I had a girlfriend for a while and she let me put my hands under her shirt a couple of times."

I smiled and winked at him. "Way to go, stud. Did you like it?"

"Yeah."

He has gotten harder and is struggling more and more to get comfortable, thinking I don't know he's aching to stroke himself. He tells me a little bit about her, his voice getting steadier as he describes her hair and penchant for bracelets.

"And do you jerk off?" He finally blushes and looks down, away from me. "It's ok if you do, everyone does. everyone should, at least... I do."

This is almost too much for him and I see the mental image reach him. "You... you do?"

"Yeah, absolutely. I love to." His eyes go a little wide. "You should definitely do it. It's really good for you to learn what you like."

"Oh... I... yeah." I giggle a little, biting my bottom lip, thinking about how struggling against his jeans.

"Yeah... you're hard right now, aren't you?" I narrow my eyes on his, making sure he stays with me, the TV becoming a distance flicker. He nods, and I refuse to give him back his gaze. I own it, just like I own the swell of blood to his cock.

I lower and soften my voice but not my eyes. He's mine right now but I want him to feel enveloped. "You want to stroke it right now, huh?" He nods again, and his hand is trembling. "Take it out."

He stares at me, unsure of what I said. I nod. He heard right.

I hope he has a cock like his dad, which I still stroke through jeans when he drives me home. Sometimes he'll pull off to the side and let me suck it for a while before he feels bad and stops right before he cums.

He pulls out his rigid cock, his hand wrapped around it. It's sweet to watch him both thrilled to be touching it and embarrassed by his own pleasure.

"Stroke it for me." He hasn't looked down or away. He simply nods and begins working his cock up and down the way he has taught himself. His breath is beginning to speed up as he squeezes.

"Slow. Don't cum yet." He nods, watching intently still, still held by my detached gaze. He is too nervous to go fast, afraid he'll cum too fast. "Pull down your jeans a little, it'll be more comfortable." He nods again, shifting to pull down his pants and boxers - blue and plaid just like his father's - and fully expose his swollen cock, still unable to speak.

"Do you ever squeeze your balls?" He shakes his head and I motion a little with my head. "Take you other hand and squeeze them just a little."

He shudders with the squeeze. It is a delicious little shudder through his shoulders and chest and he squeezes harder on his cock as he does it. "Slow. Just relax. Keep stroking, softer than that."

He takes direction so, so well, but I can tell he's struggling to hold on as his hand moves up and down, his other hand between his legs, stroking his balls almost investigatively. New buttons to push he has never known in this way.

"Slowly." He nods. I smile at him and he is being diligent. Little beads of sweat appear on his forehead as he struggles not to cum. He has been so good about not letting his eyes wander that I want to reward him. "How you ever seen between a girl's legs before?"

He shakes his head as his eyes go wide. I smile and shift on the couch, lifting one bent leg onto the cushion. I let him stare at the patch of fabric that hides what is still the world's greatest mystery to him. I slowly reach down, pulling aside the purple fabric, letting him see in person, a shaved and wet cunt.

He stares, his hand moving faster, and with a jolt, he cums, spraying his load over his hand and jeans, wave after wave making his face tighten and eliciting the smallest of whimpers. His eyes squeeze shut as he buckles forward a little.

His breath comes back slowly. I let him come back down to the world as I shift back to sitting on the couch as I was. "Go clean up and change - do you want ice cream?" He nods, still not using words.

I get up from the couch and let him open his eyes alone. When he comes back in his pajamas there are two bowls of ice cream on the coffee table. Butter pecan.

Plastic Toys

"Plastic is wholly swallowed up in the fact of being used: ultimately, objects will be invented for the sole pleasure of using them. The hierarchy of substances is abolished: a single one replaces them all: the whole world can be plasticized, and even life itself, since, we are told, they are beginning to make plastic aortas."

Barthe's Mythologies.

You're sitting back in a chair, and I am kneeling a few feet from you, naked. I am facing opposite the men that I hear. Their footsteps, nervous and soft, their chatter, equally as precarious. They are waiting. I am waiting. And you are commanding.

I put my head down a bit. My posture was perfect, but I look down just enough to see my body. My nipples are taught and tight, wanting to be touched and pinched and kissed and held between lips and teeth.

Out of my eye line, you wave over the first one. I don't know if you have instructed him, but he begins by walking on front of me, pulling out his cock, and unceremoniously placing a hand on the back of my head to pull me into it. He rubs his cock on my face and I wince, but open my mouth.

You have made your little girl available for use and I shall perform.

He puts his cock in my mouth, and I can feel it switch. It was only semi hard when he pulled it out and it's coming to full fruition between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. I fight every urge to watch you watching me. I want to see you, but that is not the girl you have on display. You have a toy, a doll, who will make them cum one by one. Who will be used and consumed and depleated. You have a perfect hole who will do as you say and nod and not be a teary, whimpering little thing who is constantly begging for her Daddy.

And on the inside I will want you to touch me and fuck me. But I will want to please you more. And I will be prideful in my own right in a way that would, I know, subsume more than either of us will ever know. I will always strive to serve you because I am so proud to be owned by you. But I will always make myself proud, even in my pure degradation. I will always be proud of how low I will go because I know how strong I am and the strength that it takes to go so far down. I am too proud, but aren't we all?

He fucks my mouth and I being the ritual: I open my mouth, let him fuck me, and when he is too tired, I eagerly fuck him with my mouth. I am quickly letting a line of drool fall down my lips and chin and tits. I am quickly being made a mess and he is quickly responding.

"He may not cum in your mouth. None of them will cum in your mouth or inside of you. You will be covered."

I nod as I suck, and I can feel him acknowledging you. He fucks my mouth until he pulls out and I close my mouth. He begins to cum on my tits. I close my eyes and hear him groan and feel the splashes of sticky, thick cum cascading down my tits. As I am simply trying to feel each spray coat me, my hips are grabbed and I feel another gentleman begin to fuck me, sliding his cock inside and bucking hard.

And one by one they come over, using me. Each either fucks my mouth or my cunt, or they stand and jerk off while another does. Each moment is purely for utility. As I kneel I shift back to fuck harder, lean forward to suck deeper. I pull my hands to their cocks and balls and thighs and grip and stroke and tease.

Each cums hard. They cum on my tits, on my ass, on my back, and for the lucky ones - my face. I gag and drool and spit and tear up, but I do not stop myself or them from this exhibition of stamina and utility.

I keep my eyes forward as I am fucked. I keep my mouth open and available. As another cock slides over my tongue and into my mouth, I see another man standing nearby, stroking himself, just watching, enjoying my use from a few feet away. I imagine men behind me, I never know how many, getting hard and stroking themselves as they prepare. In my mind's eye I see hoards of them. I want to turn around, to see what I will be faced with but I refuse to move. I know it will only make me want to cover myself and curl up. I choose to focus on my tongue, on licking the cock in front of me, of stroking his balls, which are covered in my spit and trying to wipe my nose as I choke. The more I focus on the task at hand, the easier it is to forget what may be awaiting me.

I feel another man grab my hips and I whimper, letting myself fall forward. My body is beginning to give out. My knees are sore from kneeling, my jaw feels like it is about to seal shut or break off. Mascara and eyeliner are pooling in the tear ducts of my eyes and beginning to sting. My throat is feeling raw. I am exhausted. I want so much to just be left alone and curl up into the smallest of balls. To be melted down and only made anew. I will continue to let them use me as long as he commands, but I am turning into a rag doll as I find, and they see, the limits of my body.

I close my eyes and keep my ass in the air, but lay my torso onto the floor, resting my cheek on the cold tile beneath me, which is covered in a pool of my spit and tears and cum. I can feel it soaking into my hair and sticking to my cheek. I have never felt more base.

The man behind me stops and pulls out of my cunt. I let my hips sink down as well until I am laying on the floor completely. I struggle not to simply drift off, to leave this place and delve so far into my head I forget I was ever here. My mind is humming on a frequency I rarely find, and the white noise is all I can hear. My breathing is slowing and my heart is beginning to skip beats, out of rhythm but not out of order. I can feel my body sinking down, turning to liquid. I don't know where I am but I am not here.

I feel the slightest touch on my hip and I jerk, opening my eyes and taking in what is a painfully sharp breath in my languid state. You. I look up in a panic. I have collapsed. I am no longer of use. I am soiled by the cum of more men than I chose to count.

I watch as you pull out your cock and I struggle to get up. You shake your head, and I could not be more thankful. I would have trembled the whole time. I remain a puddle on the floor, unable to move, only able to open my mouth and wait while you begin to stroke your already hard cock. It is so beautifully swollen and I do want it in my mouth as much as I could never lift my head to take it. I shift, rolling a bit so I can at least swallow as much of your cum as I can.

I watch you stroke. I watch your face contort and tighten. I lick my lips, keeping my mouth wide for you. I want to taste you. I love the feeling of your cum shooting into my throat. I love swallowing every single drop, and I want, more than anything right now, to know I have pleased you.

You cum hard, shooting wave after wave onto my lips and tongue. I keep my mouth open and wait until you are done to close my lips, not wanting to miss a thing. You shake your head as my lips close.

"Wait."

I nod, letting your cum pool on my tongue and in my cheek. You keep your cock out and I wait, looking up at you, finding my focus again under your direction. I feel like a dog holding a bone.

"Swallow and close your eyes."

I nod, and savor the taste of your cum running down my throat and over my tongue. And then I feel it. I feel your hot piss cascading over my face, rinsing off the layers of dirt and cum and sweat and tears and spit and makeup which have covered me. I tilt my face up towards you. When you are done I feel a warm, wet washcloth, cleaning off the smears which remain on my face. I finally open my eyes, focusing them up on you. I feel anew. Christened.

You see the question perched behind my teeth. The only thing that matters and the only thing I want to know.

You nod. I can't help but smile. I am melting into a new form. And I will be cleaned and reformed and put back together. And then I will be used, and consumed again.

Sleepovers and such.

I always thought she was pretty. I always enjoyed the way she would insist of spooning when I sleep over at her house. The way she would nuzzle up as soon as she knew her parents were asleep would make me shift back, curling into her body. We never talk about it in the morning, and more recently I have found her hands trailing in the night, but I would never move to stop her.

Tonight we are on her parents' couch again, and they are gone for the night. While we always start quite close to each other, as the movie moves on I end up as I always do - head in her lap, hand on her thigh, her hand playing with my hair.

We have talked about the boys we've fucked, the cocks we've stroked to cumming in locker rooms and behind buildings. And then she asks the question that she has been waiting to for hours.

"So HAVE you ever kissed a girl?"

I blush, smiling up at her, shaking my head. "Have you?" She is a few years older, so I always assume that when she asks me something, she has done it and I have not.

She has not yet stopped stroking my hair, pushing it behind my ear. "I have." My eyes go wide as I nudge and push for details, eagerly turning over, my elbows resting on either side of her hips. I feel her hips push up towards me as she shifts to accommodate my movement. My chest is pressed between her legs and she shifts against me as she speaks. "It was really nice. I liked it. But we were just practicing..."

I nod, resting my head on one hand. "I've never practiced like that."

"You should, it makes you a WAY better kisser." I nod, looking up at her earnestly. I do want to be a very good kisser. I sometimes practice with Daddy, practicing to be the best little cock sucker he can imagine and be proud of, but he never kisses me.

"You think I should?"

She looks down at me, and I can't stop staring at her lips. I think about what they will feel like against mine, what her tongue will be like. I imagine it stroking over my tongue and feel my nipples strain against my tank top. I imagine her tongue flicking out over my lips. I imagine soft velvet. "If you want to be a good kisser, you should." I nod, looking down, waiting to think of something to say. "Do you want to practice right now?"

I nod again, smiling up at her and shifting up. I feel her move her hips again. As I shift, I feel her press against my arm. Between her legs, I can feel a heat I wasn't expecting. And I'm not sure, but I think I can feel a spot of wetness at the seam of her pajama pants.

"How do we do this?" I sit up, my back rigid against the back of the couch. I want to taste the popcorn and Diet Coke still on her tongue.

"Have you never kissed before?"

I laugh. "I've never practiced before. How do you start?"

"Kiss me, asshole."

I smile and lean in, my lips just barely cracked open, and press them to hers lightly. She presses back and I feel her lips nudge mine open. They widen with a nervous eagerness that only the combination of curiosity of what this will be and an assurance that it will be good can bring.

I let her tongue stroke mine first. It is soft and teases instead of insinuates itself like many of the boys I have kissed. She wants to coax me to kiss her back, and I do. She wants me to run my tongue over hers and I do. She wants me to shift my head to the right in order to get deeper in between my lips - and I do. She is giving me excellent practice. And while I should be thinking about the next time I am under the bleachers or tucked away in an empty classroom, I am only curious what she will teach me next.

I move closer on the couch, and her hand comes to rest on my hip, and her fingers skim the surface of my skin under my shirt, just at the top of my shorts. I feel goosebumps blossom after such a soft stroke.

I gasp and our lips break. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting that." I am flushed. I want to practice more. Her lips feel so soft against mine.

"Oh, I was just moving to get more comfortable. I'm stretching really weirdly to reach you."

"Oh shit, I'm sorry. Here... Let me move." When I move to get closer, I shift to sit on her straightened thigh. My thigh goes on either side of hers and I feel her move closer, getting my leg tighter in between hers. I can feel how achingly hot she is between her legs. I don't know what to make of it, but I don't want to shy away either.

As I lean in I feel her move against my leg. As much as she tries to hide it (barely), it is clear that the friction is something she's enjoying very much. As I lean in and kiss her again, her hips move more purposefully against my thigh. She is grinding slightly and I hold my leg in place. I can hear tiny moans beginning to emanate from her throat.

It's hard to concentrate on so many new things at once, but I do my best. As I notice that her pajama pants are soaked, my tongue stops moving, and it takes me a second to remind myself that we are, in fact, kissing. My tongue flicks back to life against hers and I begin to push my leg into her pussy, feeling my thigh get wetter and wetter with her juices. I can feel my own clit swelling, starting to hurt a little.

Finally she lets out a longer moan and I stop, blushing and worried I have done something wrong.

"What?" She says, a little caught off guard. "Why did you stop?"

"I just..." I bite my lip and then open my mouth to speak again. "You're soaked."

She nods, blushing a little, putting her hand between her legs, feeling how wet she is through the fabric. "You're a good kisser." I laugh a little, feeling braver. I put my hand down, over hers, pushing her hand into her own pussy, softly. She moans again, enjoying my emerging curiosity. "I can't believe it's so wet even wearing underwear and pants..."

"I bet your underwear and even worse." I pull back and look at the spreading wet spot on the blue cotton.

"Yeah... wanna see?"

"Of course." I loop my fingers into the waist of her pants and pull them down. She is right. Her cotton panties are translucent. I can see her open lips, the soft fuzz around her sopping cunt. "You're going to leave a stain on the couch if you're not careful."

She nods, and I catch her blushing harder. "I think I might have already left one." I can't help but laugh with her. I scoot back, settling onto the floor in front of her. Her legs remain open and I watch her fight to touch herself. I have never seen this bashfulness written so plain on her face. The more I look at the wetness of her pussy behind what is not gauzy white fabric, the more I want to touch her.

I put my hand against her soaking cunt, rubbing directly over her clit, pressing the fabric into her. She pushes against my hand, breathing harder. Her cum has soaked her panties down to her ass, and have clearly seeped into a small puddle on the couch below her. I'm glad we're at her house. I push my hand down, underneath her and she pushes down, pushing into the couch and making the puddle worse. 

"You should get up. It's going to be hard enough to explain." I look up at her, and I can't help but smile just a little. My nipples are hard behind the fabric of my shirt. Even on my knees, I know she will do whatever I say right now.

She doesn't move, as my fingers are still pushing against her pussy. I doubt she can even hear what I'm saying. All she can think about is her clit and how much she wants it touched, wants the pain to go away. She is bashful. She is bared in front of me. I finally pull my hand away and she stands, her pussy so close to me. I raise up on my knees and look up at her. "You're going to stain your panties if you keep them on."

She nods. I reach up, pulling down them to her knees and watch her open her mouth, and say nothing. Drips of cum string from her pussy as I pull them down and stick to her inner thighs. I watch goosebumps rise on her thighs.

"Do you usually get this wet?"

She shakes her head, trying to hide an embarrassed smile. When we were younger, she used to tease me about being younger, being smaller, being less experienced. This is going to be a beautiful revenge.

"What do you do when you get this wet?"

Her mouth opens. "I... I.. uhm..." she stammers. I reach up to her inner thigh and touch the drips of cum which have run down.

"What do you do?"

"I touch myself."

"Oh yeah?" I rub her inner thigh. "Here?" She smiles and shakes her head. I run my hand closer to her pussy. "Here?" She gasps a little and shakes her head. "What about here?" I press my fingers to her clit and she moans, pushing forward. She nods.

I pull my fingers away and she almost falls.

"What about here?" I slide the tips of my fingers into her cunt. She moans loudly and tries to push down and take more.

"Yes, yes, there." I leave my fingers there for a long moment, letting her struggle to get more, before I pull them away again.

"And have you ever been kissed here?" I lean forward and take her swollen clit in my mouth and softly begin to suck. I feel her knees weaken as she struggles to say no, she has never had a mouth planted on her clit. Her clit is soaking and swollen and her juices are thick and sweet. I can feel them coating my cheeks and chin as I move in to fully lap at her clit.

My tongue runs back and forth, licking it harshly, demandingly. We have masturbated more than once together and I have seen how fast her fingers move, and how harshly she treats it and my tongue seeks to mimic these movements. I let my lips wrap around her clit, full and hard like a jelly bean, and pull it into my mouth.

I hear her moan loudly, her knees bending and opening as she pushes into my face. She rocks slowly, but lets me take control. I rub her clit back and forth, moving back and forth between strong licking and teasing flicks. I can feel her cunt pulsing, tightening, trying to feel something inside. I have watched her fuck her fingers, thrusting them harshly into her pussy. She has teased me in the past for only rubbing my clit while I cum, and watching her cunt beg now feels delicious.

She begins to beg. I can her her whimpering half sentences, wanting more. I graze my teeth over her clit in response and she almost freezes, trembling. She pushes a little more, but tentatively and I suck, pulling just slightly with my teeth. She whimpers but continues to push. "God, please... Please, I need..."

I pull back, her juices smeared across my mouth. "Yes?"

She looks down, breathless. "Please?"

"Please what?" I smile up at her, and I know she doesn't entirely know. She wants more. She wants to cum. She wants to fuck herself. She wants me to fuck her more.

She breaths heavy. "Please make me cum."

I smile, looking up at her coyly. "Please what?"

"Please make me cum. Please fuck me." She is pleading, practically whimpering, desperate. I watch her wants move towards her pussy, but I know she will not finger herself. She knows if she begins to finger herself I will stop.

"Lay down."

She gets on the floor quickly, and I finally pull her panties off her legs, spreading them. I push her legs back with one hand as I slide two fingers inside her with the other. She is so wet and eager that I immediately push in a third. She moans, pushing back against my hand and begins to fuck them as I fuck her.

"This is what you wanted, huh?" She nods, spreading her legs wider for me. I lean down, my mouth finding her pussy again. I lick all the way up, molding my tongue over her clit, stroking it faster. I lick hard, working it against itself, against my lips, against my teeth. She writhes, bucking against my mouth harder. I curl my fingers inside of her, pumping my fingers harder, the same way I have seen her work her cunt.

"Fuck me, please fuck me." she recites over and over and over. I can feel her pussy squeezing, getting closer. Her body is beginning to tremble and I know she is close. Her legs are tightening, and her pulse is pounding.
 She is about to cum in my mouth.

I hear the garage door begin to open and I jump back grabbing her panties and wiping off my fingers and cheeks. She is startled and I point to her pajama pants. She hurries into them, and I see her wince when she realized that the entire crotch and ass are soaked. We hop back on the couch and turn on the television, flipping channels as they come in.

Her mom walks in first and smiles as we are cuddling, as usual, on the couch. Her heart continues to pound. My nipples are still hard. Her face is flushed. But we are undiscovered, as the menial small talk lets us know. They ask about our night, we ask about theirs and we promise to be good and head to bed soon. That one we shall keep.

Messes She Makes

Daddy knows that I have bad habits. Everyone does, of course, but Daddy knows what they are. I think he knows, though, that when he takes that tone, looking me dead in the eyes to give me a command, I get wet first and foremost.

One of the habits that he always taunts me about is my unwillingness to go to pee until I am absolutely bursting. He has watched me hop from foot to foot, pressing my legs together while I finish dishes, chapters in books, preparing tea, or any number of other things which could easily paused if only my stubbornness would allow.

"You're going to get yourself in trouble one of these days, babygirl."

"I know, Daddy." and yet, I always push the limits, darting off to the bathroom as soon as I have finished the task before me and not a second too soon.

I see him watching me as I am doing it again today. I have a whole series of small to-dos in front of me in the kitchen and I am already bursting to go. But I will finish preparing breakfast first. All the tasks are so small, and I am determined to get everything together before I run off.

"Babydoll."

"Mmhmm?" I am pouring water into the kettle, trying to move quickly. I am hopping from foot to foot.

"Are you going to finish all of that before you sprint to the bathroom again?"

"Mmhmm!" I smile and nod at him, knowing that I can make it, even when things look precarious. I have timed this all before, and the muscle memory carries me through, even as I squeeze my legs together.

Each movement is urgent, rushed, but no less precise. I chop bananas, pull out milk, find various additions, and make sure I put together breakfast exactly as I would any other morning. I look forward to this breakfast through my entire workout and morning routines, and I refuse to create anything subpar after I push myself so hard.

The worst part is waiting for the water to boil. While I am running around the kitchen, it's easy to squeeze every necessary muscle. While I am standing and waiting, though, it is painful. When it is just on the verge of squeeling, I pour the piping water int othe mug and set the timer.

I am very conscious about my tea. There are very clear rules for black tea which people so often pretend don't exist, but they are sacred. The perfect cup of black tea steeps at 200 degrees Fahrenheit for three minutes. Four if it's flavored, generally.

And then I have three minutes to wait. I wish in this moment that I had made green tea (which steeps for 90 seconds at 175 degrees. But all I have to do is wait for 3 minutes, take out the strainer, and then I can run to the bathroom and pee, and it will be glorious.

There is a very good chance I will moan.

I stare at it and Daddy stares at me.

"You're going to wait for it?"

"Yes. I don't want it to oversteep. I made the effort, and I will see this through."

He smiles, having seen this exact trait in me. I love when he gives me protocol. I love when he gives me an exact structure to follow and I complete whatever task he sets out. I love when I am asked to perform and I arise to meet the challenge and my creation is perfect. And this ritual, this structure, is gifted to me from nature. I have no choice but to see it through. The world commands it so.

"What if I told you to let it oversteep?"

I pout. I furrow my brow. It would feel painful to watch it. It would sound obsessive-compulsive, but I would hate letting the timer go off, screaming in my ear that the process is done. That there is nothing I can do but follow my orders and watch something be destroyed in front of me.

"I would let it over steep."

"And then what would you do?"

"Drink it and immediately make another cup."

He smiles as the timer ticks down. I am squeezing my legs, until finally I put a hand between them.

"That's where you are, honey?"

I blush, smiling softly, bashfully staring at the timer.

"Your commitment is powerful, babygirl."

"Thank you, Daddy."

"I love that you would sacrifice yourself, your pride, all to complete these tasks."

I smile. I know he knows and feels my dedication every day. And this moment, this process, this dedication to simply making a cup of perfect, beautiful tea, is simply that dedication in another form. And he thinks it's powerful. I am proud.

As the buzzer goes off I pull the steeper from the cup and turn - he is standing in front of me and I gasp, giggling a little. His face is not stern, but he is remaining calm. This is the part that scares me. He is amused by something, but not feeling playful. His smiles always calm me. A neutral face, a face I love but cannot read, scares me. His hands move to his button and zipper.

"Daddy, I will, I have to-"

"No, babydoll. Right now."

I look up at him with wide eyes. I did not time for this. "Daddy, just let me."

"No." His face tells me all I need to know and I simply furrow my brow and take a deep breath. I look him in the eyes, pleading with him silently. My eyes whimper instead of my voice. I want to beg but he'll tell me to shush. "Babydoll, you're wasting time. You clearly don't have to go."

I pout harder and lean up to kiss him softly. It is not a begging kiss. It is a kiss which only confirms that I am his girl. His lips remain closed but he still kisses back, accepting what I know I will give. I let the back of my fingers run over his jaw and he finally smiles softly.

I get down on my knees slowly, pulling his pants and boxers down in the front to pull out his cock, which I immediately put into my mouth. I squeeze my legs together and take a deep breath before I fill my mouth with his growing and hardening cock. While my instinct is to simply pull and suck and lick as hard as I can and immediately get him hard and then to fill my mouth with cum, I know that this is not the blow job he deserves.

I am aching to piss, my bladder straining and muscles aching, but that does not mean I can give him anything less. I slide my lips down the shaft before I drop my jaw and pull all of him back into my mouth. As he hardens, I can feel the tip pushing back into my throat.

As he starts to push, I hold steady and begin to gag. This is the moment where my eyes always water and the first pools of drool begin. As I gag and my body tightens I squeeze my muscles tightly, whimpering. I try and concentrate as my body spasms and it becomes seemingly impossible to hold on for a split second.

I hear him moan and I try and take a breath through my nose. As his cock swells I begin to pump my head slowly, pulling it to its full length. I do love his cock in my mouth, like no one else I have ever fucked. As my lips slide, and my tongue runs over the smoothing ridges in his swollen shaft, I begin to feel my clit swelling as well. As much as my stomach muscles hurt (I can already see the tiny belly bump my bladder is creating) the pain and pressure is making my pussy ache all the more.

I move my mouth fast, sucking a little harder, my hand wrapping around the base as I open my mouth and the first pools of drool run out and down the front of my chest. It pours out, slicking my chin and beginning to soak my shirt. I will soon be slipping in a pool on the hardwood floor.

He takes my chin in his hand and I know to open my mouth and slide my tongue over my bottom teeth. He begins to fuck my mouth, to fuck my throat, and my body begins to tense again. I always push back to his cock, wanting more of him, even while my body reacts in panic. I can feel my muscles spasm, confused where to put their horror at my need to serve.

I dart a hand between my legs and squeeze. I can feel myself reaching my limit, and my bladder simply hurts. I debate trying to let a little go, but I know that's a terrible idea. I can't remember the last time I pushed my bladder this hard, and the pain is catching me off guard. I am trying to focus on his cock, as every time I squeeze between my legs, my mouth goes a little loose. When I feel my jaw slack a little I keep having to catch myself to open it again, to let him drive his cock into my throat as much and as long and as hard as he wants.

But I ache none the less. My brain is scattered and I want to cry. I feel so lost and so desperate. He is destroying me. He fucks faster. I look up at him, and the pleasure written across his face makes me resolute. I want to please him. I want his cum in my throat.

With one hand still pushing tight against my pussy, I place the other one on the shaft of his cock and begin to stroke him into my mouth. His hands move to the back of my head and I begin to suck eagerly again. I want his cock. I want to please. I want to make him cum. I feel his cock pulse and hear him groan as he realizes how much I want it.

I squeeze my legs, shifting back and forth so I can focus on his cock while I try and hold on. I realize as I am eagerly working the beautiful, swollen erection in my mouth that I have begun to whimper. He loves to watch me struggle. I am so focused on so many things that I am not even noticing that am I covered in spit, and my nose has begun to run. The only thing I can do is squeeze my pussy tighter, feeling just barely on the brink and suck his cock. They are the only things that matter in the world right now.

He begins to push harder into my mouth and though this is what I wanted - I know he is getting closer and closer to spilling his sticky, thick cum into my throat and all over my lips - I am caught off guard. Being so focused on his cock, on sucking him eagerly and fully, I am surprised by the feeling of his tip piercing my throat.

I feel it - the first squirt of piss into my already wet panties. I open my mouth and gasp, my face betraying any calm. It is just a squirt but it is enough to feel it run down my thigh and it takes everything inside me to clamp down and hang on.

I look up at him, not sure if I should continue or stop or cry. He looks down at me, kneeling, covered in spit and tears and snot and my juices and now a single shot of warm piss which has dripped just barely onto the floor. I am still struggling.

I have never seen more need in his eyes. When he is beating me, disciplining me, when we are playfully wrestling and I get a tiny edge and he must actually reach down for strength - I have never seen a deeper need to cum in my life written across his face. I open my mouth, my hand tight between my legs and he fucks my mouth hard, forcing me to gag and whimper and drool all over his cock. My face, my makeup, is long destroyed.

I hear him get closer and he fucks harder. I hear him strain and fuck my open, wet mouth, thrusting hard between my lips as I lean up to cross my legs, squeezing them together. I slip a little and another shot of piss squirts out into my panties. I make a loud whimpering, pained noise. He responds with his own and I pull back and open my mouth and stick out my tongue.

He cums hard, spraying wave after wave of sweet, hot cum across my lips and face and into my throat. He cums epically hard, shooting every drop he can. I am covered. And when I am sure he is done and I have licked the last of cum from the tip of his cock I stand and run as fast as I can to the bathroom.

I being peeing as I slide my panties down my legs, soaking them further and sitting with a loud moan. I gasp and close my eyes as I re-create the moment that just happened and piss hard, achingly, with a sense of relief that is unparalleled. I am practically trembling, my legs weak and shaking from their hard work.

He slowly walks to the bathroom, as the door has remained wide open. I must look a fright - soaking panties around my knees, eyes closed, mascara smudged and tearing down my cheeks, covered in spit from my lips down the front of my chest, and with streaks of piss down my inner thighs. When I open my eyes he is standing, clothed, staring at his messy, exhausted baby girl, a smile softening me and making me smile back.

"You did a good job, babydoll."

"Thank you, Daddy."

"I'm proud of you."

I smile as he walks over leans down to kiss me softly on the lips. I cannot stand yet. "Thank you, Smith." I smile at him and push my panties off my legs and throw them in the sink. "I'm a mess."

"You are. It's beautiful. Shall we get you cleaned up?"

I nod as he turns on the shower. I have made him proud. He knows how far I will go, how hard I will try to be good for him. And now, he will take care of his prized girl. This is my ecstasy. My euphoria.

To dream.

When I lay in bed at night, I usually sleep on my stomach. Whether I like it or not, I often think about you and begin grinding into the bed. When I sleep beside someone it's even worse, as another body in be beside me reminds me of you.

And so I find myself fighting not to touch, not to reach down between my legs and achingly rub my clit, to push my fingers into myself, to think about you watching me, or better yet, to think of you beside me, your body wrapped around mine, your fingers plunging inside me over and over while your cock stiffens against my ass.

I get soaked. I leave drips of my cum on the sheets. I ache not being able to cum. I feel my clit ache with the throbbing of blood pulsing to it, demanding attention. I pout and whimper and hurt because your cock is not filling me.

Your memory is my ultimate tease. Because it means that all I want, all I can think about is how you are not inside me when that is all I want in the world. What I would give to live a life devoted to being used by you, your cum perpetually drying on my skin or dripping out of my cunt, which is always waiting and ready for you.

It tastes like pride.

The surge of energy when she hits me is intoxicating. I can see nothing but her face. I can feel nothing but her fist. I can hear nothing but my own breathing. And I can taste nothing but the copper taste of blood in my mouth from the cut where my lip and tooth connected.

Two others hold my arms and all I can do is hold my ground and pride, letting her slap and punch and grab and grope. She wants to make me small. She wants to destroy and degrade and shame, but more than that she wants me to prove that I am worth the attention she is lavishing on my body.

And she is extolling a great deal of attention. I gasp, aching and humbled by her punches, but not ready to break.

"Aren't you scared I'm going to hurt you?"

"I'm not afraid to be hurt."

She smiles and lands another hard smack on my cheek, holding my face to look back at her. "You're bleeding."

I nod, spitting to the side, and the spit comes out bright and brilliant red. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Are you wet, too?"

"I'm not sure, but I bet you'll fuck me either way."

She laughs, holding my face again. "Are you worthy?" Her lips are so close to mine, and this, this briefest of touches, will get me wet.

"I believe I am."

"Are you mine?"

"I am mine, Ma'am. But I will let you use me." She slaps me again. Harder. I smile, red seeping in between my teeth as my lips curl up and open.

For the file. 006.

He was on his back and I was on all fours over him. We were only a foot or so from the mirror and so it was easy to see every movement; the light from the building around through the windows was enough.

The shadows moved as fast we my mouth over his cock, eagerly bounding up and down the shaft. It felt amazing in my mouth, feeling the head of his cock stroking the roof of my mouth. I pushed my nose into his body and the head into the back of my throat, forcing myself to gag, forcing my eyes to water.

His large, strong hand held all of my hair tightly. He pushed my head down harder before pulling me back and turning my face to look, to see what he saw.

"Do you see how beautiful you are?" I see myself gasping, leaning up on my hands, arching down, aching to take him in my mouth again.

He pushes my head back down on his cock, bobbing it up and down, gasping more, letting the cascades of saliva slide down out of my mouth and over his shaft. I want it in my mouth. I want it in my cunt. I want to feel him. I want to make him cum. I want to be a good girl and please him. My eyes water more and I know my lips are swollen and slicked with the drool which is running down my chin.

He pulls my head back up and turns it again. "And every time I do it, you just get more beautiful."

He repeats the act again and again, and each time I am messier. Each time I am more degraded. Each time I am looking more and more like the used slut that he knows I am. I am raw and dirty and messy and broken and I am perfectly at peace, for this is exactly where I am supposed to be. This is exactly the girl I want to be.

Pause on the Porn for a sec

So I'm going to have a non-porn entry, which we can all admit is pretty damn rare. I'm going to make a quick little stand, and you can read it or not read it, but I will say: I put up, absolutely free with no strings or questions attached, some pretty raunchy shit. I do it for myself, I love that people are enjoying it, and I don't intend to ever make this a pay site or anything like that. So now and then, I hope that I have won enough favor from you guys to also read a REALLY short plea for a tiny, miniscule moment for something that feels like incredibly low-threshold social justice for no other reason than I care about it, and I would appreciate it.

By now a lot of you may have heard about this Cheerios ad: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/05/31/cheerios-commercial-racist-backlash_n_3363507.html and the absolutely horrific, racist outrage and backlash it's received. It's actually just a really sweet ad where a mixed-race family is featured - that's all. Shockingly, even when you have parents of different races, you still eat cereal. (And yes, we can talk about the definition of couples/family representations which aren't shown, etc, but I don't find that helpful.)

As many of you guys know, I'm not white, I'm actually mixed-race Asian and white. Lots of people assume I'm white (which is not a big deal at all), and I haven't run into nearly as many of the really offensive moments as many others who stand out more. But there is something about being "different" looking and people feeling entitled to walk up and hit you with "so what ARE you?"* or assume they know and need to ascribe not only a race/ethnicity to you but characteristics in which you are deficient. (I've been told I'm a poor representative of Latinas because I don't speak Spanish. I told her I was a poor representative of Latinas because I wasn't Latina.)

So here's my ask. Buy Cheerios. That's it. I've bought two boxes in the last week. And yes, I had another cereal I always bought before but now I'm switching to Cheerios. It's not a huge act, and we could all do more. But in the meantime, switch to Cheerios. They showed a family that looked closer to mine than I have ever seen in a mainstream, normalized way AND THEN stood up to all the assholes out there who said horrible, offensive, racist things very loudly. And so I'm switching to Cheerios from here on out. If I'm going to put my $3.50/box somewhere, they win. Thank you, Cheerios. It felt really nice.

(Moment of irony: I actually NEVER ate cereal growing up. My mom's Asian, so lactose intolerant. We didn't really drink milk. I ate noodles with chopsticks for breakfast. No shit. But I'm a Cheerios girl now.)

*I'm not saying it's not ok to ask, or be curious, but please be polite! "Excuse me, I just wanted to say that I think you're beautiful - may I ask your ethnic makeup?" is a very different experience than "So, what ARE you?" And be aware that even when you do this politely, you're inserting yourself into someone's space/life and kind of demanding that they categorize themselves for your benefit. Not saying that's a bad thing or something inappropriate, just something to be aware of.

3. Calm

I have cum twice, both times for you. Both times I moaned and whimpered and cried out, and came so hard I was breathless. My pussy aches from the turn from cold to hot, from being fucked hard by something unforgiving. But I sit on the couch, catching my breath, feeling my pussy pulse and spasm.

I slowly pull the glass dildo out of my cunt, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath to slow my heart back to normal. I roll my head back and breathe slowly, coming down. The process of coming down is always a small bit of work. I could easily float for so long, letting everything return to normal, but letting the glow of submission live on.

When we are together, I let that linger on. When I am by your side, I live in the tingling afterglow of submission, of degradation, of humiliation, and I curl into your body in a way that allows me the safety of that lack of awareness. I hide from the real world, tucking myself into the safest space I could imagine: you.

But I am not with you. I am simply worshiping you from afar.

I stand, catching my breath and balance. Walking back to the kitchen, I turn on the water again, heating it to a quick boil. It bubbles to the surface quickly, popping and warbling with heat. The more it trembles from the heat, the more I can focus on it, letting it temper my come down.

I turn off the heat and move to the cup, pouring the water in slowly, though it pops and explodes as it crosses the heated metal. The water splashes around the cup as well as it in and I can't even be bothered to slow the pour. It envelopes the tea, though I leave ample space at the top.

Usually, I love the ritual of tea. I let the moments where I can steep a cup break up my day and I worship every second. I time each steep, making sure to choose the perfect allotment of time depending on the boldness of the tea, type of leaf, type of bag, quality of the tea, and a myriad of other factors. I let it steep, quietly, not pulling or dipping the bag like people often do. I trust my diffusers to do their job without me. I give them calm. And when the bell digs I pull the teabag out, pour in whatever else (almost milk, often) I choose, and am rewarded. My commitment to ritual, to trust, to taking the two or I've or nine minutes required for something perfect, and I am met with something that I have participated in.

My ritual for this, though, is not for reverence of the tea, but instead reverence to you.

The tea steeps and I realize a few moments in I haven't set the timer. When it looks somewhat done I pull the bag out, and take hold of the dildo. It is covered twice over in my cum and juices. And with just as much precision as I usually measure out Russian Caravan of Oolong, I let the dildo descend into the stir, slowly stirring it, washing it clean, allowing it to mix with the smokiness of black tea.

I let it sit, let it steep just as well, until I know that it is slicked clean. And just to be sure, I pull it from the water and slide the smooth, hot tip into my mouth, letting my tongue run over it... just to be sure.

I sit with the tea and meditate on this feeling. I cannot help but smile as my heart speeds and slows once more. The couch nestles me, allowing my breathing to come back. My flesh, which still prickled with goosebumps, has again laid and relaxed. My blood has drifted back to its slower currents, no longer coursing through my veins with need and panic. My pupils have re-found comfort in light. My breathing has lost its momentary hiccups. And most of all, my heart has calmed.

With every sip, I descend a little more until my feet are back on the ground. I gulp it faster as it cools, letting the tea and cum roll down my throat and coat me from the inside out. I feel like I am being welcomed home. And though you are still achingly far, you are here. And I am again calm.

Tell me anything.

I can tell you anything? Anything in the world? Anything?

How about this: Sometimes I like to fantasize about laying on my stomach with my ass perched up just enough so that you can fuck me from behind. You're holding my hips and slamming into me. I'm leaning on my forearms and gripping the sheets, and you're fucking me deeper and deeper. I put one hand down between my legs to rub my clit hard, pushing back against you. Sometimes you grab my hair and turn my head to spit on my face, and then you turn my head back down into the bed. You cum inside me, hard, grinding your cock into my pussy, making sure that every time you explode, I am filled. Then you turn me over and make me rub my clit and finger myself for you. You watch as your cum coats my fingers and I keep shoving them back in, forcing every single drop I can deeper into my cunt. You hold my legs open, pressing them down, knowing it probably hurts a bit, until I cum for you, one hand on my clit, one hand fucking myself, covered in my cum and yours.


Sometimes.

I made it to 28!

... Which means I'm not so much a tortured genius as much as a pithy asshole. I'm generally not one for birthdays publicly/socially (I take it off my Facebook, even. I'm that bad.) but I like that you have an annual moment to reflect.

Twenty-seven was a big year, lots and lots of milestones. New degree, change in primary relationship (girlfriend/primary partner is now ex-girlfriend/best friend), new love, new boundaries broken down, lots of travel, new goals, new workout routine, new parties, new social media (fuck you all for judging, I joined Pinterest and now have a much better grasp of recipes and workouts), new curiosities. Same prude, new horizons, I guess. It's been an incredible year. Thanks for sticking with me.

And in this time of re-steadying my eyes, here is my list of what I want this year.

1. Stretching. I work out a lot, and have been trying to do more throughout the day and I almost never stretch unless I'm in a class, it's instructed, and I haven't snuck out as the stretching starts. This is terrible! I need to stretch more or else something's going to snap. And it's not like the rest of my life is about sitting at a desk and resting. Also, still no health insurance (not like anything I'd get would cover the physical therapy from an injury).

2. I want to top more men this year. I don't nearly enough, mostly because I have trouble finding the right male bottoms/subs, but I want to stop assuming that it simply is too hard to make happen. I love the feeling of dominating a strong, deserving man; breaking him down and making him a stronger, more exceptional version of himself. With fists, feet, a strap on, hands, needles, words, hope, affection and absolutely unrelenting expectations for him to meet. 

3. More art. I love visual art, and I want to make some time and space in my life to create that again. I miss having those moments where I see something in my mind's eye and then I create it. That means time to paint, time to decorate, and creating beautiful, intricate scenes which are really something to look at. But also, it means more museums and galleries and openings. Can you believe I've lived here just shy on six years and have never been to the Guggenheim? Or the Brooklyn Museum? It's really sad.

4. I want to up the ante. I love dark psychological play, but my triggers have generally been worked out to some extent, and the ones which haven't been are reinforced. I want to do some more elaborate scenes this year which are about breaking down boundaries, and not just having fun and getting fucked. I've been playing more with this (Mr. Smith is a glorious, twisted man and I am a lucky, lucky girl), and I feel like a switch has been flipped. I don't want to say I've been getting bored, but my play needs to expand in new ways. I'm ready and solid enough in myself to really delve deeper in those areas we don't play in. Dark, dark shit.

5. I want to do this: http://theprudelibrarian.blogspot.com/2011/02/i-cant-tell-you-how-many-times-ive.html . FINALLY.

6. I want to be in my apartment in one year. This sounds far more intense than it actually is. My rent went up and my lease went month-to-month, so I'm literally just trying to figure out if it makes sense for me to stay here. It's large for one person, but I love this place and I just have to see.

7. And that being said - more sex parties and cocktail parties. I've been making more interesting cocktails, and I want to fill this house more often. With sex and booze and gorgeous people. I would love to throw some beautiful parties this year.

8. I want to spend the summer in this dress: http://www.etsy.com/listing/130565844/limited-holy-rockabilly-dress-batman

9. I want the people I love to be happy. I love service, and I have had some wonderful and incredibly thoughtful conversations lately around love, relationships, and how I come to kink and D/s dynamics specifically. I could expand on this, but there are some things that the Prude has to keep to herself. But suffice it to say, I hope that in the next year I am the best addition to the lives of those I love that I can be.

10. I want the tattoo I'm literally getting as I type this. Literally being inked right this moment.