Giving up my independence has not been an easy transition for an unspeakable amount of reasons. Not only have I given up smoking, being able to drive myself everywhere, and determining my own grocery list, but my orgasms have become linked to my man's. This is actually a result of my own sensitivity and some unconscious training I gave myself years ago, than anything my man has or has not done. He'd have me coming all day everyday in an ideal world.
He is away at some appointments this morning. This morning is also a morning in which I was unable to come and became frustrated. After hours of attempting to clear my mind, then finding myself unconsciously pulled to pornography online, I accepted that I must find a way to give myself orgasm.
I didn't search too long for porn simulating truck stop fantasies similar to my own, before deciding this was enough. It worked (I didn't even get to the end), got me focused enough to go back to work, and increased my desire for a ball gag exponentially.
Showing posts with label idling sex drive. Show all posts
Showing posts with label idling sex drive. Show all posts
Monday, March 1, 2010
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Who is blamed for the fall of kingdoms?
If my bookkeeping is detailed enough I’ll be able to go back to see if the waning moon is the trickster egging me on.
There are boring parts of the story, but I’m not going to start with socks getting bunched in the heels of my shoes, nor how I spent 5 minutes in the bathroom talking to the turtle when I realized I didn’t have my phone. That’s for later. That’s the color.
I’ll start at the end actually. The end is the part where I dreamt things and I don’t want the ethereal fog of that memory to burn off while I type the stuff that’s more solid. It’s the bits right before waking that I remember of course, the tip of the iceberg – if you will.
I talked dirty to Tony, but didn’t see him. I was speaking as if one of us was a God and the other could hear by some force of omnipotence. I talked using ‘dirty’ nouns like cunt, cock, and feather and Tony walked from his bedroom onto my dream stage in a vintage button down, spring fabric fedora, and bouncing straight hard on. I placed us next to an elevator and added a camera person as well as onlookers, 3 of them, 6 floors up. We enter the elevator and I drop to my knees before him.
The camera person stands back in the corner and somehow we are well lit enough to be filmed. I get ready to fulfill my hunger on his dick. We love being watched and I love giving blow-jobs. I love sucking and looking up. I love sucking and hearing moaning. I love sucking and running my hands up a torso, I love seeing a head loll back and a throat grow taut. The camera is on us; I am dripping, the bell dings, 6th floor.
Two men and a woman, all in business suits, are waiting at the door open. Two of them gasp audibly; one of them is unmistakably aroused.
Think about it, really. Which of the two? Whose sex drive was always idling? Who is blamed for the fall of kingdoms?
There are boring parts of the story, but I’m not going to start with socks getting bunched in the heels of my shoes, nor how I spent 5 minutes in the bathroom talking to the turtle when I realized I didn’t have my phone. That’s for later. That’s the color.
I’ll start at the end actually. The end is the part where I dreamt things and I don’t want the ethereal fog of that memory to burn off while I type the stuff that’s more solid. It’s the bits right before waking that I remember of course, the tip of the iceberg – if you will.
I talked dirty to Tony, but didn’t see him. I was speaking as if one of us was a God and the other could hear by some force of omnipotence. I talked using ‘dirty’ nouns like cunt, cock, and feather and Tony walked from his bedroom onto my dream stage in a vintage button down, spring fabric fedora, and bouncing straight hard on. I placed us next to an elevator and added a camera person as well as onlookers, 3 of them, 6 floors up. We enter the elevator and I drop to my knees before him.
The camera person stands back in the corner and somehow we are well lit enough to be filmed. I get ready to fulfill my hunger on his dick. We love being watched and I love giving blow-jobs. I love sucking and looking up. I love sucking and hearing moaning. I love sucking and running my hands up a torso, I love seeing a head loll back and a throat grow taut. The camera is on us; I am dripping, the bell dings, 6th floor.
Two men and a woman, all in business suits, are waiting at the door open. Two of them gasp audibly; one of them is unmistakably aroused.
Think about it, really. Which of the two? Whose sex drive was always idling? Who is blamed for the fall of kingdoms?
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