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Posts Tagged ‘good girl’

Have you ever had an experience you were too naïve to understand or appreciate? So erotic, but you were too insecure to just let it be and embrace it? I relive the following experience in my head over and over again. It’s been 25 years, yet when I close my eyes I am transported back to that little bedroom with that amazing young man I was completely mad about yet unable to love the way he wanted and deserved. I’ve had this written for a while but couldn’t quite get the style of it the way I wanted. I didn’t want a poem or a long story so I was left with breaking the rules.

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Standing in the middle of a dark room,

nearly pitch black

and I can’t see a thing.

But I can feel him,

his breath against my neck,

his hands gently caressing me.

I tingle all over.

My breath grows shallow.

No words.

He stands in front of me.

Close enough for me to reach out and touch,

but I don’t dare.

The buttons on my blouse

slowly, ever so slowly,

come undone.

His hand glides across my shoulder

pushing my blouse off.

Next, the other shoulder

then he pulls the sleeves

one at a time

and lets it fall to the floor.

Gentle kisses on my neck,

my collarbone,

as his hands now move lower.

The pop of another button

precedes the sound of a zipper,

my zipper,

slowly going down.

Achingly slow.

I hear every catch of the zipper as he goes.

Two hands now move across my hips

down the back of my jeans

pushing them down,

past my behind,

down to my knees.

Lift, he says.

One foot,

then the next,

as my jeans join my blouse

on the floor.

His arms are around me now

tugging at the clasp

of my bra.

Easily unhooked

it is swept from my shoulders

and drops to the floor.

The pile of shed clothing grows.

He cups each breast,

squeezes

and kisses them tenderly.

My nipples ache for more

but I dare not ask.

I am a good girl,

I don’t do such things.

He kneels in front of me

and slips his hands

under the waistband of my panties.

His hands slide down my thighs

bringing the soft fabric with them.

Lift, he says again.

One foot,

then the other,

and I am naked.

He leans in now,

buries his head

between my legs.

I tremble

nervously,

yet completely turned on.

Soft moans escape

as his tongue makes contact.

Oh my!

Off his knees now,

he kisses me

before taking my hand

and walking me over to the bed.

He pulls the sheets back

and sits me down.

I hear the sounds of his clothes

now being removed

and left in their own

crumpled pile on the floor.

Gently,

tenderly,

he takes me.

 

 

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It is amazing the power simple words have on us. Sometimes it is the manner in which they are said, but often it is simply our own perception.

Take cunt for example. Many people hate this word. They think of it as a crass demeaning word. I have a girlfriend who I’ve only ever heard say it once and that was when she was extremely upset about how another woman was treating her. I remember this incident because she prefaced calling her a cunt with an apology. Personally, I don’t consider cunt to be a bad word. I have one, between my legs, and I quite enjoy what it does for me. You can call me cunt or a cunt and it doesn’t bother me at all because even though you mean it as an insult that is not my perception of the word.

Another word people like to use as a put down for women is slut. How I feel about this word, or rather how it makes me feel, depends on the time and context. If I’m naked and there’s sex or play involved, call me a slut. A dirty slut. A greedy fuck slut. It’s all good. I’ll beg you to fuck me hard and the harder you do the more I want to hear those names, but in day to day life I don’t like it at all. A friend made an off hand comment this morning, “Good for you slut,” and it really bothered me. I didn’t realize why I was feeling the way I was until I opened the message again and saw the words. It made me feel bad. And why? It shouldn’t. I loved when he called me slut the other day when we were playing, so why should it be different now? He meant it in a positive way but I took it as a derogatory comment towards me. He calls me baby usually so slut felt a long way away from baby for a morning greeting.

Baby. Baby girl. Baby doll. Pet. Sweet Pet. I like these words. When you call me baby or pet I feel safe and taken care of. It wasn’t always this way though. There was a time when anyone calling me these names would instantly put me on the defensive. Baby? Pet? What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not your baby, I’m not some animal. You think I can’t take care of myself or something? I tried hard not to be referred to as baby, not to appear vulnerable. Now I realize that it doesn’t mean I am weak or needy, even if I am. It means you cherish me and want to take care of me. It means you will protect me and keep me safe, just like parents do with their babies and owners do with their pets.

The way I feel when you call me your good girl, now that’s a very good thing. It’s similar to baby and pet but much, much better. My panties get wet just thinking about it. When you call me good girl I know I’ve pleased you, I know you are proud of me, I know I am yours. If you aren’t MySir, or someone else I have an intimate and caring relationship with, you can call me good girl all you want and it will do nothing. I had a fuck friend once who used to call me good girl because he had read here or on a profile somewhere that I liked it. He didn’t realize that he had to mean it when he said it and that I had care.

Ma’am is one of those words, or titles if you will, that can go either way as well. A used to call me Ma’am as a sign of respect. At first it was only when I was training him but then it became a constant title. It made me feel in charge and respected. That’s the idea behind a good title isn’t it? But then there are the snippy little checkout girls who call me Ma’am. I hate that. I remember the very first time someone referred to me as Ma’am. I was only in my late 20’s and we were out on the strip having a few drinks. I had needed some air and was sitting outside on a bench when a girl came up to me and said, “Excuse me Ma’am, but do you happen to know what time it is?” I walked into the bar and told my boyfriend at the time what had happened. He just laughed at me. At that time I pictured Ma’am as some old stuffy housewife being called that by her children’s friends when she scolded them about something. I still picture a housewife, but she has a whip in her hand and the handsome young pool boy worshipping her now.

Are there words that you find have an influence on you? Maybe one of these? Something else?

 

rainbowcircle1

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soft
sensual kisses
linger on skin
tingle down spine


firm
commanding hands
fingers twist hair
as palm meets ass


brash
dominant man
dishes out pain
provides pure pleasure


guide me

teach me

use me

feed my soul


sweet
aching need
heightened senses
awakened desire

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