Wednesday, September 28, 2005
I place the beer in front of the newcomer, turn just a bit and whisper in your ear, "May I place the throw from the sofa around her? She's shivering."
You turn to her master, and ask "May my slut attend to your pet? She appears to be in discomfort."
He glances over his shoulder and asks her if she is still cold. She says, "Yes, Master, I am," and he gives his assent to your request.
You just look at me, and I take the glass of brandy to her and pull the throw off the back of the sofa. I wrap it around her, and she looks up at me, so appreciative of this little comfort that I just can't resist giving her a hug.
You call me to your side and gesture that I should sit beside you. As I begin to lower myself to the floor, you catch me and whisper in my ear that you saw what I had done. (I still don't know how you do this - you really must have eyes in the back of your head.) You kiss me lightly on the cheek and allow me to sink to the floor beside you.
I wrap my arms around your calf, as this is always allowed when I am sitting with you, and you stroke my hair, encouraging me to rest my head on your thigh. You continue stroking my hair, sometimes missing by an inch or so and running a finger or your thumb across my shoulder or neck. I don't know if it is deliberate or not, because you so rarely do anything by coincidence, but I know that you understand all too well what this does to me.
I begin to whimper, softly because I don't wish to draw attention to myself, but I find myself unable to remain silent. You know, either because you can hear me or because of the way I am clutching your leg to myself, surrounding it with my breasts.
You take a moment away from dealing to ask me what it is that I want. "You, Sir. I... you... I want no, I need to feel you inside me. Please."
You smile down at me fondly and tell your friends,"You can't keep them wanting all the time" as you unbuckle your belt and unbutton your pants. I try to help, but you won't let me - I think you believe I'd take off too much. You unzip your pants and say, "Is this what you need, slut?" "Oh, yes Sir."
I manouver your cock out of your underwear and slide it inside my mouth, hurridly, as though I am afraid you'll change your mind. I love the way it feels against my lips, my tongue. I love the response when I slowly lick it from base to tip, like an ice cream cone. I take you fully into my mouth and wish I could have more.
I know the others can see, but I just don't care. I have you inside me, and that is really all that matters.
You take some of my hair and wrap it around your cock below where my lips are. You place my hand over the hair, and I masturbate you with it while sucking you off. I think you're going to give in and take me upstairs when I hear you say, "Cards, gentlemen?"
You turn to her master, and ask "May my slut attend to your pet? She appears to be in discomfort."
He glances over his shoulder and asks her if she is still cold. She says, "Yes, Master, I am," and he gives his assent to your request.
You just look at me, and I take the glass of brandy to her and pull the throw off the back of the sofa. I wrap it around her, and she looks up at me, so appreciative of this little comfort that I just can't resist giving her a hug.
You call me to your side and gesture that I should sit beside you. As I begin to lower myself to the floor, you catch me and whisper in my ear that you saw what I had done. (I still don't know how you do this - you really must have eyes in the back of your head.) You kiss me lightly on the cheek and allow me to sink to the floor beside you.
I wrap my arms around your calf, as this is always allowed when I am sitting with you, and you stroke my hair, encouraging me to rest my head on your thigh. You continue stroking my hair, sometimes missing by an inch or so and running a finger or your thumb across my shoulder or neck. I don't know if it is deliberate or not, because you so rarely do anything by coincidence, but I know that you understand all too well what this does to me.
I begin to whimper, softly because I don't wish to draw attention to myself, but I find myself unable to remain silent. You know, either because you can hear me or because of the way I am clutching your leg to myself, surrounding it with my breasts.
You take a moment away from dealing to ask me what it is that I want. "You, Sir. I... you... I want no, I need to feel you inside me. Please."
You smile down at me fondly and tell your friends,"You can't keep them wanting all the time" as you unbuckle your belt and unbutton your pants. I try to help, but you won't let me - I think you believe I'd take off too much. You unzip your pants and say, "Is this what you need, slut?" "Oh, yes Sir."
I manouver your cock out of your underwear and slide it inside my mouth, hurridly, as though I am afraid you'll change your mind. I love the way it feels against my lips, my tongue. I love the response when I slowly lick it from base to tip, like an ice cream cone. I take you fully into my mouth and wish I could have more.
I know the others can see, but I just don't care. I have you inside me, and that is really all that matters.
You take some of my hair and wrap it around your cock below where my lips are. You place my hand over the hair, and I masturbate you with it while sucking you off. I think you're going to give in and take me upstairs when I hear you say, "Cards, gentlemen?"
