I managed to squeeze in another – fourth actually – pleasuring incident, and when Wonderboy got home we fucked. He watched some porn while I sucked him off, licked and sucked his balls and played with his beautiful cock, and then. Then he turned me on my stomach and took me away.
You whore. You dirty little slut. You are all mine.
On a related note somehow I’ve been wetter, happier, more into it, more excited and still… When I’ve come I feel sort of neglected, like it wasn’t real. Like I didn’t come at all. I’ve never questioned my orgasms before, but I am now. I feel like something… something I can’t put my finger on, is missing.
I sometimes wonder if my sexual appetite is also inflicted by all the Pervocracies and Thumper’s denials I read and enjoy. I mean – I didn’t use to have anyone to share this secret of mine with, I didn’t even share it with myself! Now I’m writing about it, I’m reading about other people’s adenture’s and magically – I’m not so scared anymore. It doesn’t feel so
But reading Holly’s earlier posts I felt a little twinge. She kept saying that who was she to write a sex blog or even call herself kinky, since she didn’t even do this and that or have that many sexual partners or whatnot. And still, the things she does, even in those earlier entries, are too much for me. So who am I to even say I am submissive? Who am I to label my sexual existence in any way? Why do I need to do it?
I know I’d like to try some things, like pegging and being tied, with real rope and real restraints, and maybe something concerning needles, maybe. I don’t even believe the last thing I wrote myself, but I have cut myself, I have hurt myself, and there was a reason for it, but the reason was not what I thought. I needed to feel the pain. Maybe I still do? But it’s so scary.
I don’t know what’s happening. But I did make Wonderboy very happy yesterday. And that makes me happy. It’s a vicious circle.
It’s so nice that you’re like this again, he said.
Like when we met. So… lustful.
Are you happy about it?