So, Master….

So, Master….

(that always makes me smile…how many conversations have I started with You, just this way?)

Imagine my surprise when my little poem on Sunday evening did the trick, releasing a trickle of …well…release…for my poor, beleaguered pussy.

As always…conditions…but I was too horny to really care. I *got* what You were doing…giving me release, then ramping me right back up…but the promise, oh the promise of the release…that, only that part,  had the whole of my focus.

And when I came it was…it was good. Divinely good. Angels sang. Choirs wept. It was soooo  good. Wet and drooling pussy, warm quivers all over my body, that kind of “good”.

As I lay there, panting, recovering…I thought…”O..mah…gawd…” I have to climb that fucking mountain again… and then I just stopped thinking and revved up the vibe and got to work…(because I knew that if I thought about it too much, I would balk, maybe.)

And I worked that tired, wet pussy, worked it until I was that close to cumming.

).( that close. Closer, maybe.

And I cried as I stopped… desperately wanting, needing…yearning for release that was not to come.

And that was where You let me get…just that far…just that close…and left me hanging…almost *worse* off, in horniness, than I had been before.But Like Day wasn’t too far away…

And then there was Monday…clit flicking and pussy grabbing and ramping me up and up…i’d calm down between flicks, and then boom! Right back there. Right back to that dastardly place where need meets “no”…Your place, Master.

I was a fucking horny bitch by midnight on Like Day.

The conditional release on Like Day was awesome. Clamps…mmmm…love/hate those…and kitty pins. Hate, hate those…but they do get my juices running…I always manage to bang them when I’m in the throes of heavy thrusting; the shocking pain of a pin being half-pulled away from my tender belly flesh almost pulls me away from the sex-need for a moment. A gasp of pain, the shock of it, then the insistent throb of my clit, my pussy takes me back, back between my thighs.

And on Tuesday night, when there was permission, and pain, and raw, rampant sex-need…I made sure that the ride up Lust  Mountain was slow;  slow and purposeful, because I didn’t want to go over too fast. I wanted the ride to last! And it lasted, and I let it go slowly…then buildiing…I wanted to cum, but I didn’t want to cum, too.

And when I finally did? EX-fucking-PLOSIVE!

omg…so much juice.

My bed was soaked. My thighs were saturated. The throb in my nipples, and under the pins on my kitties, and when I got up to go potty after (more on “after” in a second)…I had pussy honey run down my thighs…and they slid juicily with an audible wet sound as I made my way to the bathroom, and then back to my wee little room. The one with the bed with that wet spot dead center. The BIG wet spot.

As to the after? Immediately after I came, I texted You…and then fell asleep…I think it was close to 45 minutes later when I woke up to put my toys away. And then I send you the little poem text about the wet spot on my bed, which I was pretty proud of, for that time of the night and after a wicked and intense orgasm, to boot!

Wet spot in the bed

its big as my head

oh wOw-sweet delight

thank you Sir, goodnight!

Thank You, Master…for all your devious ways. And for the orgasms…aaah, those wicked, lovely, necessary things… 🙂

Love,

nilla