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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?

 

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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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This is what happened after Her Fetish.


He was very proud of her. She had greeted him just as he had told her to, wearing one of his white dress shirts and nothing else. This one didn’t fit him now of course, but damn she looked mighty fine in it. She did a wonderful job of taking control of the moment too. He did push, to see if she would falter, but she was a good girl and didn’t let him take over.

She is a most wonderful cock sucker. From the very first time her lips touched his cock he knew it was something she thoroughly enjoyed. Not like so many other women who felt they had to do it. No, she wanted it. More so, she craved it. If he were to give her the choice of activity she would choose sucking his cock to most anything else.

He was going to show her just how much he loved her, how much he missed her while he had been away. He knew it was hard on her with him on the road so much lately. There was a lot of time to make up for. There were punishments to be doled and rewards to be reaped, but first he was going to work on fixing a problem. She would soon remember who was really in charge.

Leading her to the bedroom he found she had once again obeyed his instruction. He was impressed with how well she was taking to this new dynamic in their relationship. She had laid out all the items he had told her to. Everything neatly arranged on the side of the bed. He wondered how excited she had been, how wet, pulling each piece and setting the scene.

white_shirt_by_mallorkaThe bed had been made with those deep blue sheets they had picked up on their last trip to Paris. Indigo she had called them. All he knew was that they were luxurious and she loved them. Anything to help make her more comfortable as he took her on this journey of discovery. Blue sheets and an old dress shirt were her comfort items.

Today he was going to reintroduce her to bondage with the new restraints. He knew she was still weary of it after her first time with that bloody bloke who nearly killed her. That had happened long before they met but it still haunted her. He wanted to send those old memories packing. This time he was going to show her how wonderful it could be.

He had purchased a leather set with wrist and ankle cuffs, adjustable tethers, and a blindfold. There was also a ball gag, but that would have to wait for another time. He hadn’t told her to forgo the gag so she had included it with the rest of the items. Even though it scared her more than anything he had ever witnessed, she still obeyed when he had told her to take the restraints out. He now put the gag back in the drawer.

Where earlier she had been eager and full of confidence, fear has since come to rest within her. She has crawled onto the bed and sits there now, on her knees, waiting for him to apply the restraints. Her breath haggard as she struggles with the demons inside.

“It’s ok baby, I am not going to hurt you. This time will be different. Just trust me.”

“I do.” she says, looking up into his eyes. And with those two little words she begins to relax.

The leather is so very soft on her wrists and ankles. She had expected it to be much harsher against her delicate skin. He had obviously put a lot of thought and money into this. She was thankful for many things, not the least of which was this wonderfully thoughtful and caring man she called husband.

With the restraints now on, he helps her to her back on the bed before adding the blindfold. He can still see the fear in her eyes and reiterates that she is going to be ok, that he is going to take care of her. She closes her eyes and lets him put the blindfold on.

He grazes her cheek lightly, then holds her a moment as he kisses her. Slowly, tenderly, his hands move over her body caressing and massaging gently along every curve, every dimple. His hands are followed by a trail of kisses that do not miss a spot. Even her cute little belly button gets invaded by his finger and tongue. He can feel her beginning to relax under his touch. This pleases him. He smiles.

He now reaches that hot spot between her legs. The dripping wetness from earlier had subsided but it is building again. She has let go of the fear and only arousal remains. He feels the heat rising within her. He knows how to push the right buttons.. how to flick his tongue against her clit.. how to lick and suckle it.. how to move his fingers inside of her until she gushes her sweet juices.

He teases first, just the tip of his tongue at her opening. She wants more. She tries to move her hips but the restraints won’t let her. She is at his mercy. He hears her whimper as she fails to get him inside her. She is dripping now. Hot sweet juices drenching her pussy. She is quickly reaching her limit. Again she tries to move her hips. Still nothing. Another whimper escapes.

He delves deep into her, her juices covering his face, his chin. His hands join in, fingers sliding in and out, first one then two. Come hither they say, and she does. Her whimper becomes loud moans of pleasure, her body bucks in orgasm and she gushes, body twitching uncontrollably, her wetness covering everything.

He undoes her cuffs, pulls a sheet up around her, and holds her. Stroking her hair, soothing her as her body begins to come down from its high. The blindfold stays on as she is not yet ready to come back to reality. It also serves as protection from the bright sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window.

“Good Girl” he says, still soothing her. “Good Girl.”



Click on the link below to see how others are enjoying some afternoon delight this Wednesday:

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Just a few things I would enjoy having this holiday season. One is Mister specific, but you are welcome to give the others…


One: A cock to admire and enjoy. I love going down on a guy. I like to take my time and explore every inch, every point275px-c3a9douard-henri_avril_20 with my tongue, and lips, from balls to tip. I was told recently that I don’t give blowjobs, I perform the act of fellatio. I thought that was the best compliment. The thing is I thoroughly enjoy it, it isn’t a chore or something I feel I have to do. I want to do it. I crave it.


Two: To be called Good Girl. I love being told I am a Good Girl and get upset at being told I’m not. I tend to pout even. It’s a very funny thing the power some simple little words can have over you. I will never tire of hearing those two perfect words, Good Girl.


tumblr_lzhiklu1Zj1rpw6tso1_400Three: A threesome, preferably MMF. Not that MFF’s are not fun, but I do so like being the centre of attention, having a hard cock at the ready at all times, sucking and fucking so to speak. It can often take a while to get me to orgasm, so having two men touching me, eating me, fucking me, pleasing me… I can’t help but let go and release to a seemingly never ending flow of orgasms. It is pretty damn hot I must say.


Four: To laugh. I know, it may seem like an odd request as a gift, and maybe it is, but how often do you laugh? Heartily and with complete abandon? Even a case of the giggles can do so much for one’s spirit. It’s easy to make someone smile and laugh, and it’s free to give. Even in the throes of passion a good laugh can work. It’s supposed to be fun. Lighten up and enjoy it.


For today, I wish you joy and cheer…
For tomorrow, I wish you happiness…
For always, I wish you favorite dreams that one by one come true…

Happy Holidays. Joyeux Noël. Nollaig Shona Dhuit. In whatever manner or language you celebrate, Merry Christmas!






You can check out all the wonderful Wicked Wednesday entries by clicking on the link below:

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