Monday, July 6, 2015

I know you're watching....

Patricia walked into the storage room. The floor was swept clean, the garage was down, and Jeremy's work truck--hitched to it's trailer--was parked toward the back. She knew he'd be back within the hour, lunch in hand for the both of them.

A wicked little grin tugged at her lips. Wouldn't it be nice to surprise him?

She slipped her dress from her shoulders and let it fall to the ground, puddling around her feet. Stepping out of it, she kicked off her shoes, unclasped her bra, letting it slip from her shoulders and down her bare arms to join her dress on the ground.

Laying down on the cold tile floor, Patricia arched her back and inhaled sharply. She giggled with the delicious shiver that the shock sent through her body. Picking her ass up off the floor, she pulled her panties down around her ankles, kicking them aside, leaving her naked, goosebumps covering her from neck to thighs.

She placed her hands on each of her breasts, rubbing over her nipples softly, though they were already erect from the cold. Licking her right forefinger and thumb...then her left...she began to tease her nipples until she could feel the rising pulse and heat between her thighs. Her clit began to tremble from within, and her pussy began to open hungrily, waiting for something to enter.

Her stomach began to feel hollow, as her pelvis tilted upward, ready to receive. Patricia trailed one hand between her breasts, down her torso, across her navel, and into the soft, clean-shaven folds of her twitching cunt. Touching her clit felt like a low level electric shock, vibratory and warm, and she let loose a soft moan of release upon contact.

Her whole body relaxed, heat extending to every extremity, a buzzing under her skin.

She slipped one finger into her wetness and felt her muscles contract in response. Her pussy tightened around her finger, hugging it greedily, unwilling to let it go. But she pulled it out and slipped it back in again. Each time, her muscles grabbed hold, and her body melted with the effort.


Patricia lifted her feet up off the floor and opened herself up as wide as she could...to the point that she could feel the cold air of the store room on her exposed asshole. It, too, began to pulse in response to the new stimulus. It fluttered softly, being so fully exposed, and Patricia licked her lips and moaned a bit, arching her back and feeling the cold tile on the back of her head, hard and unyielding.

Her eyes closed, writhing on the floor, she made quite the spectacle for Jeremy in the doorway. As Patricia worked herself into a frenzy, the telltale pink rising from her belly to her breasts and up her throat to her cheeks, making obvious her state of ecstasy, Jeremy smiled. He leaned against the door frame, with one leg bent and crossed in front of the other, and interlaced his arms across his chest. He cocked his head a bit, ran his tongue across his teeth, and licked his lips. He wondered if she'd intended to be caught, or if he was simply just this fucking lucky.

Patricia's back arched, she squealed a bit, and nearly rose from the floor as every muscle in her body clenched in orgasmic rush. She cried out, grunted in a rather unladylike way, and her face pinched, as if in pain. Her thighs clamped on her hand, as if unwilling to let it go. But within seconds, Patricia lay on the floor, one leg bent, knee pointing to the ceiling, and the other splayed to the side, exposing her glistening cunt toward the door. Toward Jeremy...who was clapping, slowly, and emphatically.

Patricia smiled to herself before pretending to be horrified with surprise.




P.S. Head on over to the Masturbation Monday page to see what everyone else has come up with for this photo prompt. Delicious, isn't she?

Hitting the floor...and living to write about it

(I've made a bit of a promise to myself to share more of the "not so good" times on this blog, because I feel that the whole purpose of blogging is not only to connect with other people, but to show that we share experiences that aren't always rosy. It's easy to write about what works. It's harder to admit when things go wrong, and it's even harder to expose our vulnerabilities. I deal with bi-polar disorder, which means my family deals with bi-polar disorder. And most specifically...He deals with the repercussions of my bi-polar disorder. Today was one of those ugly days that pop up from time to time. Several events lumped together to create a shit storm of emotions that I simply couldn't deal with. This is my take on what happened.)

So I majorly crashed today. And once I did, everything that could possibly seem wrong...did. 

Basically, I'm angry at myself. And because I'm angry at myself, I'm seeing all of my faults in glaring neon lights. They aren't pretty.




Earlier this week, I removed the color from my hair so I could use henna instead. But even though I've washed it 6 or 7 times, it still smells like chemicals. Soooo...here I am in hair-color limbo land, with this weird "off" version of my natural color, and the texture of my hair is making it difficult to style. Which pisses me off. Nothing like starting every day with bad hair. 

Then, today, Daddy told me not to spend any money when I went out to pass time shopping with my mother. I did anyway. I came home with the items I'd bought and He gave me a look of utter disappointment and then got after me for it, and rightfully so. I cried. Partly because I was being chastised...and partly because I feel trapped by our financial situation. All of it stems from being a spoiled brat. Which is silly, because it's not like I've ever been rich. Not even close. I've always had to watch my accounts. I just haven't been very good at it. And while I can create an amazing budget, I'm awful at keeping to it, and I can find a hundred ways to get around it. That's exactly why I handed it over to Him. This is the first month He's had complete control of our finances, and in some ways, I feel a bit out of control because of it. I am at the mercy of His choices. And since He's not given me any money (we're waiting for pay day...and we have several things we need to put money toward this month that are going to make things tight), I felt a bit pouty when my mother wanted to go shopping, and I had nothing to spend, not to mention that I was a little embarrassed to admit that He could tell me not spend money and I was supposed to follow his command (my parents obviously are unaware of our "arrangement"). I'm already stuck at home quite a bit during the summer, and not being able to buy things that I want when I want them, even if it's something small, makes me feel frustrated...sort of like - okay, I have no money, so what am I going to do? Clean another fucking room? I know that's not how I should look at it. I should read, walk the dogs, work out, take the kid to the park...any number of things that are free. But I don't. I pout and make things worse. 

Sunday, July 5, 2015

The Chair

Check out who else is being sinful.




A little help from Daddy behind the camera this time...thanks, Honey. It's not easy to be the cameraman for a very self-conscious subject.

Saturday, July 4, 2015

The Contract: week in review

To see the contract, click the link in the menu bar above.

It was easy to keep up the contract while Daddy was out of town. Quite a bit of what was required needed to happen via phone, and lots of it just went by the wayside, because he wasn't here to serve. Of course, I had to be honest about asking to spend money, and I went through with "No-panty Friday," even though he wasn't here. I even went through with a punishment (above and beyond) on my own, with his guidance.

This week...keeping to the contract was a little more difficult. I forgot to keep my phone on me and missed a call from Daddy. Even as I stuttered out an excuse or two, I knew they were feeble and useless. There was going to be a punishment, and I knew it. Or, at least, this was the test, wasn't it? Would he let me off the hook, or would he hold me to it? And how?

Since sexual subjugation is his tool of choice, and because he'd just happened to spy a foil-wrapped chocolate Santa on the counter (something we'd taken away from our son because, seriously...it's July already, why is he still hoarding this?), my fate was sealed. He stuck a condom on the Santa and made me fuck myself with it while he got ready for bed. And then he took pictures of it on my phone...presumably so I could post them here as penance and so he could ask me to refer to them at a later date. Humiliating, yes. Not fun. And yes, I was pouty and angry about it. We went to bed, and I rolled over to sleep, hardly turned on, and a little pissed.