Please, please come to me with sopping panties and a pussy full of cum. Then tell me to eat you out.
Please, please come to me with sopping panties and a pussy full of cum. Then tell me to eat you out.
You mentioned (some time ago now) that you’re considering peeing on me because I’d like it.
You’re right, I would like it.
This started from an unformed scribble on my “things to write about” page. I started writing it because I’m rubbish at asking for or bringing up the subject of kinky stuff I like, or want to try and because I like to be prepared for the “why though” question rather than being put on the spot. So…
Please will you piss on me.
I don’t know how comfortable you are with this, but it can start off small: When you need a pee, you make me sit down first (no cold toilet seat! Yay!) then, facing me, you straddle me and piss on my cock. Every time you need a pee.
I like the warmth of it hitting my skin, but it also appeals to my humiliation and degradation wants and needs.
Oh my. I seem to be identifying a major degradation fetish here. Or just a bodily fluid fetish. You’ll probably say “what, you hadn’t already realised that?”
I’ve asked you to spit on me before, and I’ve not entirely been sure how you are with it.
When we’re playing, I wish you’d just randomly spit on me, without me asking. Force me to open my mouth (or having got me to such a slutty, whorish state that I’m holding my mouth eagerly wide open ready) and spit in my mouth. If I could make you drool spontaneously, I’d have you hold open my mouth and… anyway, wasn’t the subject piss?
From small beginnings…
To bigger: I’d love you to stand over me, hold yourself wide open and empty your bladder all over me, so I can see the warm liquid stream from your body onto my body.
To the biggest: sit hard on my face and piss right into my mouth. Or start peeing as I’m licking you.
Then there’s the desperation, disgrace and humiliation aspects which appeal to me:
Forbid me to go to the toilet, whilst also making me drink lots. Wearing something nice and tight like skinny jeans or leggings perhaps. Don’t allow me to go to the loo, until I might not make it in time even when you do grant permission. I will probably have been begging and pleading whilst doing the desperate-dance for quite some while by that point.
But I know you hate to see me begging, pleading and praying for permission…
I went to t’pub briefly t’other night, but in my normal accent, when it was horribly hot and muggy and I’d just been vainly pitting my makeup skills against my hyperhidrosis and heat (and losing), with the intention of a drinking a couple of vodkas and progressing (possibly even finishing (yh, right)) the piece of fiction (erotic, naturally) I’ve been “writing” for quite some time.
I actually managed to get a couple of paragraphs down, but only one vodka, so partial success I suppose. I got my drink (double Russian Standard and coke, not too much, with ice), chatted briefly with the lovely landlady about the heat and headed immediately for the garden, hoping it would be cooler and that I would cease to perspire faster.
There weren’t that many people in, but the table adjacent to the back door was occupied by one of the old-timer locals known as “Irish John”, who is the loveliest lecherous, racist, bigoted, opinionated, old pervy guy who lives in the sheltered accommodation next door, with an irrational hate of tinned tomatoes, that you could ever meet. Along with him was a woman who looked somewhat younger that John, and an still younger-looking girl (in her early 20s, I’d have said.)
That John wasn’t at his usual place at the corner of the bar, Zimmer-frame parked next to him and from where he could make inappropriate (see description of John, above) comments to/about the bar staff, and also letch at anyone coming in to the pub, buying a drink, or who were on their way to the ladies’ loo, was unusual, but I didn’t click until later.
As I approached the door into the garden, the younger girl, glanced up at me and gasped suddenly. For a moment, I mistook her for someone undesirable from low points in my past, and continued tottering outside. There were only a few others in the garden: a couple of guys (one of whom greeted Lexi, though I didn’t recognise him) and a woman seeming slightly upset, having a conversation on her phone,
A moment or two later, the girl who had been at John’s table came outside and headed for the girl on the phone and they had a whispered “you ok?” “yeah, I’m okay” type exchange. Then she made a bee-line for me, as I was draping my coat over the bench and starting to settle myself down, intending to gently pat the sweat, but not the foundation, from my face.
She started with “Sorry, I hope you don’t mind, but I noticed you come in and I wanted to say that you are stunning, you are gorgeous. Keep doing what you’re doing!” Naturally appealed to my vanity. She continued “sorry, I’m drunk, so you, what, do drag, right?”
I confused her (she was drunk, it was easy) by adopting an ambiguous slightly confused-um-hang-on-for-a-moment-there expression as I contemplated how this should be played before responding “well, drag’s a very specific thing. No, I just cross-dress.” This was met by a similarly confused expression (though hers was authentic) and another “Yeah, you’re stunning. Carry on doing what you’re doing!” before she returned to her companions inside.
I settled myself at the table, rolled a cigarette, which I placed in my recently acquired cigarette holder (so elegant, dahling) practiced my 20s flapper mannerisms, and started re-reading the last bit of the story I was writing. A few minutes later (I could still feel beads of sweat forming all over my face), outside girl had finished her conversation and was just sitting there finishing her drink, and inside girl came outside again and chatted with outside girl encouraging her back inside. As they were about to go in again inside girl turned to me and repeated her opinions regarding my stunning gorgeousness, this time requesting outside girl’s (who I worked out was her older sister) opinion.
Instead of going inside, they both approached me (did I mention that I was still sweating profusely and was intending to down my drink and head home where I could perspire in private?) throwing compliments at me. “Oh, I want hair like yours, it’s perfect!” outside girl commented (I had just spent a good half hour frustratingly attempting to detangle it and make it hang properly, damn thing) and she agreed with me about how annoyingly easily it tangled, whilst inside girl expressed her admiration for my over-all look (black Bardot bodycon dress, glossy tan hold-ups, black T-bar suede heels) and the cuteness of my shoes before blurting “yuh, so I’m drink like I said, so tell me if I’m being rude and nosey, but you’re gay, right?”
I lolled a little, it being one of the questions in the cannon of Things People Ask Lexi, and answered “No, I’m bi. [blank look] bisexual” after swiftly deciding not to complicate matters with mention of demi-sexuality. Both inside girl and outside girl momentarily bore a raised eyebrow “oh really?!” expression before inebriatedley tottering back inside with another refrain of “carry on doing what you’re doing. Stunning.”
I decided that I would make my exit, put my coat on, picked up my glass and, carefully avoiding the perfectly stiletto-sized gaps between the decking, went back inside as the slightly older lady was helping Irish John outside for a cigarette.
As we passed, I heard her say “mind that step there, dad” which didn’t register until later, as I was too busy bidding Eloise, one of the bar-staff, farewell whilst appreciating her wiles a teeny bit. (“…I’m on my knees yeah/ Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah/ Eloise/ Oh I’d love to please her/ Oh Eloise/ dooh-dooh-dooh-dooh-dooh-dooh-duh” (The Damned’s version from the Phantasmagoria (Australian version) and various other albums.)) My imagination has cast her as a tiny bit completely subby. Ahem. <Sums up likelihood of her reading this. Concludes probability is low. Decides not to obfuscate names especially as that song reference wouldn’t work and it would be fairly obvious to whom I refer anyway/>
Then, as I was wiggling my way back down the road toward home, it dawned on me that the older woman was Irish John’s daughter and the two girls his granddaughters. Which made me chuckle to myself, as I recalled how protective his was of them he’d been when Alex had once, a long time ago, made a vaguely suggestive comment about them as they came in to the pub.
I wonder what he thought of them raving about Lexi… Do I dare mention it next time (A)Lex(i) is in the pub?!
Some time ago, my lovely hairdresser (who I refer to as LMB, or Little Miss Boobage, for obvious reasons) had told one of the circles of friends to keep a particular date in June free for a trip to Pinks. This date is now approaching and LMB checked with me that I was still going. I confirmed that I was and enquired about the plans and who was going. On hearing the arrangements and guest list (and dimly recalling things she’d mentioned in passing) I realised that the excursion was in fact Little Miss Boobage’s hen-do.
Lexi has been invited to a hen-do.
Sorry, let me repeat that:
LEXI HAS BEEN INVITED TO A HEN-DO!!!!
Not that it’s, y’know, a big thing to me or anything.
A HEN-DO!!!! FFS! WOW!!!!
Heheheheh 🙂 🙂
Happening the 3rd:
On May 25th, my 44th birthday, which entirely coincidentally coincided with the 44th day of my current period of chastity, Mistress granted permission for me to come. In the event, I enjoyed myself so much orally worshipping her divine pussy and causing her to climax that I kind of forgot to come myself. But that’s how I feel whenever I bring pleasure (at least: I’m aiming for ecstasy.) to someone, so that they are almost beyond themselves because of what I’m doing to them or what they’re doing to me.
100 days neatly coincides with our planned trip to Kinfest.
Is she really that beautifully scheming?!
The Fourth and Final Happening:
I still haven’t finished writing that fiction.
This started as an aside in a longer piece, but I thought it should probably exist in its own right (write?!)
Realising that only one of many slutbunny usage scenarios is covered by that, I started expanding it to include a second possible scenario. I couldn’t be bothered to finish it, though it’s getting late and there are stuffs to be done in the aftersleeps.
Standard mode (The slutbunny assumes the kneeling position)
Bespoke mode (The slutbunny is posed by the user prior to program run)
[Not all features available in all areas. Please check your sales docket for details of regional variations.]
Dea mea did an afternoon of piercing in the music/therapy room recently.
Several friends had asked for various holes to be created, ranging from clitoral hoods, nipples through to a tongue (twice) and simple earrings.
Dea mea had mentioned the date to me some time ago and I’d dutifully put it in my calendar and then forgot about it. The date crept up on me without me noticing and then it was the 10th: dea mea was setting up her couch and the various paraphernalia required to sterilise everything and to keep it sterile, and I was wondering why I had said I’d get my nipples done.
Well, the right one done, and the left one redone: I had a piercing there but the hole had closed up when I managed to lose the ring when I was cleaning it.
I should probably mention that I am absolutely petrified by needles. No petrified isn’t the right word. I don’t turn to stone at all, but almost the opposite: I start trembling in terrified trepidation. I hate injections, will procrastinate about having to have blood tests almost indefinitely, and don’t you even come near my mouth with a sharp pointy thing! Dea mea frequently accompanies me to appointments which involve me being pin-cushioned to comfort me and hold my hand whilst it happens. I *assume* that’s why she comes along at least. After all, she wouldn’t come with me just to see me pathetically cringe as the needle goes in and comes out again (and during the space in between those two events) would she now? No, of course she wouldn’t!
A few days previously I had been scrolling through the serious news analysis articles which fill my Tumblr dashboard when the thumbnail of video caught my eye – a nice looking cock with the balls tied off tightly – so I hit play. Not too long afterwards I hit stop. I still haven’t watched the thing from start to finish, but it did get bookmarked with the comment “Piercing screams – dea mea may enjoy this”.
I showed it to her on Sunday evening (when we were in the pub of all places) and I had been extremely accurate in my prediction of Mistress’ appreciation. It was a joy to witness her, and her other significant other, with one earphone each, holding my phone in front of them and hearing the peals of laughter, sharp intakes of breath and evil chucklings in response to the antics on screen… *They* watched it all the way through, while I covered my eyes and ventured an occasional peek.
Naturally, Mistress took the opportunity to suggest that on Monday, in addition to doing my nipples, she might have some fun with her needles and other parts of my anatomy. Naturally, I told her where she could stick her needles.
I can’t always tell when Mistress is being serious and when she’s doing something for effect (the effect is has on me) though. The effect of Mistress’ teasing (not the subject, just the teasing!) on this occasion was the hardening of my cock in my trousers which she discovered when she put her hand in my lap. This led to a whole new bout of teasing. Obviously the idea of dea mea using me as a pincushion was a big turn-on for me otherwise wouldn’t my cock and balls be utterly limp, shrinking and trying to hide?
Pushing my boundaries, expanding my experiences, being rudely shoved out of my comfort zone and redefining my limits are all components of my fetty ambitions and our D/s relationship is an enabler for that. Needles near ‘nads *doesn’t* actually appear on my Hard Limits List, but she knows my extreme lack of affection for needles so decided this really was teasing. I hoped.
Back to Monday.
I was second on dea mea’s victim list, having holes 2 and 3 of the day – holes 1 and 2 (her OSO) were sitting on the sofa sucking on an ice-pop when I entered the room.
“You ready then? Good. Strip!” she said, not allowing enough time for an answer to emerge from my lips. The answer would have “as ready as I ever will be” anyhow. I wasn’t going to back out, I was determined. I really only had my left one done originally because the person I was with believed I would back out of it, and I really wanted to prove a point!
Dea mea left the room to wash her hands and I took off my top. When she came back in, she said “I thought I told you to strip?” and looked at me with a raised eyebrow and a displeased expression on her face. I started to get worried.
I took off my socks and trousers, leaving me standing in just my back panties. Another raised eyebrow and expectant look on her face, one of the ones which says “are you really going to make me say it, or you are you going comply?”, followed after a moment by “Those too.” I took them off and protected my bits with cupped hands.
After having been marked up and re-marked a couple of times (damn perfectionists the never get it right.) dea mea told me to lie down on the couch and get comfy. She then donned a new pair of black latex gloves, looking me straight in the eyes and taking an excruciatingly long time to meticulously snap each finger and each gap between each finger so they fit her hands perfectly. Like a -erm – glove. Then, still looking straight at me, she moved her equipment tables closer to where I lay with increasing nervousness.
She’d already abandoned most of it when she ordered me to strip, but the rest of dea mea’s usually irrefragable professionalism disappeared as she climbed onto the couch, straddling me and pinning me down. I realised why she’d moved the tables closer now, as everything she required was within reach.
She brushed my nipple an unnecessary number of times as she attached then reattached the piercing forceps on my left nipple, each time eliciting little moans and groans from my lips.
“Take a deep breath in… and out… take a deep breath in… and out…” she told me once she was satisfied with the placement of the clamp. “Deep breath in… and out… In… and out…” she continued saying. I couldn’t look, but I knew she was going to do it any second.
And there it was.
The needle entering my nipple initially was too bad. More painful than I remembered, and most definitely not as painful as a moment later when dea mea had to push through the scar tissue caused by the first time round. It seemed to last an age, an excruciatingly painful age which saw me desperately grabbing the frame of the couch and trying not to be too loud, before it was done and dea mea had replaced the needle with the bar.
She sat back smiling her malevolent smile, admiring her handiwork as I lay there panting, still holding onto the couch edges. “Do you want me to do the other one?” she asked “You don’t have to” she continued and I think she was semi-expecting me to grab that opportunity.
One of the reasons I wanted to get them done is because I wanted my nipples to look more similar to each other: I didn’t like having one larger than the other because of the healed piercing. The only way to do that was to have them both pierced, (Mmm, symmetry…) so I couldn’t really *not* have it done otherwise I’d be back in the same situation.
In response to a breathy nod, dea mea prepared my other nipple and I closed my eyes and grasped the couch-frame again in preparation. But the right nipple, oh! *So* different to the left!
With no scar tissue to contend with, the needle went through smoothly and the pain it produced was somehow quite different.
I apparently failed in my attempts to not be too loud, as dea mea’s next couple of clients, waiting in the room below, later attested.
The “screaming” I had made was reduced to “squealing” when contested at appeal!
If you’re really really well-behaved, there is a possibility that I might let you come
At me with needles again.
Just so long as it’s not quite as painful as my left nipple…
My confession (1st in a series of many.)
I confess, I have never been able to come from receiving oral.
Oh yes, it feels wonderful, having my cock worked on by a warm, wet and welcoming mouth, particularly if eye-contact is maintained throughout. It feels even more wonderful when said mouth belongs to someone as skilled as dea mea, but it gets to a point (very quickly, usually) at which it feels as though there are a few hundredths of a second remaining before I shoot my load.
That, though, is as far as it ever gets.
The sensation is almost the same as that last second when I’m being edged. I’m just about fail, my balls contract and I can feel my cock beginning to pump the liquid up inside my cock. Then, then… She stops. My cock is left derived, twitching to itself in mid air and pumping, still vainly attempting to ejaculate and attain that denied climax.
On occasion of course, it is slightly too late, and some over-eager cum makes it all the way up my cock (are they over-eager, or do they simply have a really short distance to travel?) where they dribble disappointingly out of its tip and look around for that orgasm, which is nowhere to be found. Seemingly, the orgasm has been replaced by a gleefully cackling Mistress.
As a result (largely) of this inability, I have never come in someone(else)’s mouth.
Yesterday I came in dea mea’s mouth (manually: the opening statement still stands.) Then she kissed me and dribbled my cum back into my mouth. And it was so fucking hot.
So Fucking Hot.
I Love It.
“It” is the cum bit, where Mistress spits the liquid into my mouth and on my face.
Of course, it doesn’t have to be my cum in her mouth and having just stated that I’ve never orgasmed from oral, or come in anyone(else’s) mouth (and I don’t often have permission anyhow), it’s unlikely that it will be my own that often. Suck someone else off – someone who can actually climax from oral – before you kiss and spit their cum into my mouth.
Or let them cum in you so you can dribble their cum slowly out of your pussy into my mouth and on my face.
In fact, if you’ve got cum anywhere that you want cleaning up, you need only tell your little subby slutbunny to do it, and it will be done.
Incidentally, while I’m doing this confessing thing: I’ve never come on someone(else’s) face, either.
And far, far too few people have ejaculated on mine…
*Yesterday is 7-Apr-2017
There are disappointingly few photos of Ku in Macbeth being shared on Facebook. There are plenty of Alistair and Jo and Matte but only a couple with dea mea in them. None at all focusing on her as part of a group, let alone on her own.
It didn’t occur to me that people taking photos would focus solely on their personal sphere of interest and wouldn’t take photos of The Play and its cast in general. Or maybe they did, but they just haven’t seen fit to publish them. Shellfish.
So I’m sorry. I failed that one.
You were really rather excessively superb in both your roles and I’d have liked some images to refer to when my memory fails! I’ll have to trawl the video clips for some good screen caps of you.
I’m still at large!
Dea Mea will no doubt tell me I can’t possibly be at large because, well, y’know, it’s just not possible for me. But yes, I’m still free: I’m still at tiny!
Mistress didn’t lock me up on Saturday like I’d asked her to and when she had read my previous blog entry (https://lexiryedale.wordpress.com/2017/04/01/im-not-sure-youll-remember/) she made this comment:
“Read this mid rehearsals…. Had to stop laughing aloud… Maybe I am merely waiting for you to be desperate enough to lock yourself away and present me with the key like the slutty subby thing you are 😛 That way you cannot even blame me for denying you….”
My response was to say, cursing her, that this will probably happen. It probably will, (I admit, I did try on the new device to see how comfy it might be. It might be very comfy) but at the time of writing, I have full access to my boy-bits and can orgasm at will (I suppose someone should warn Will). The funny thing is though, since Saturday, I haven’t. Sure, I’ve played, got close, but not actually managed to do more than dribble.
Mistress, have you conditioned me somehow? Have you hypnotised me without me noticing and suggested that I can no longer orgasm but start becoming sluttier with every passing hour?
Because once again, the Slutometer™ appears to be rising. The meter had emptied some, after my 80 days and I had permission to cum, but the need to be played with, used and humiliated is definitely now expanding…
Do you recall, the other night when we were lounging on your bed, that I asked you to lock me away again this Saturday?
I’d been wondering, as I may have mentioned occasionally, how long it would be before you decided to lock up my cock again. Since I was released on the 12th March, 21 days ago, I have orgasmed a mere handful of times. I haven’t really made good use of my extended permissions, thinking about it. But I’m eager to be locked in chastity, under your complete control again, weirdo that I am.
Some of the reason for this desire has to be my as yet untested ExoBelt V1 cage (which looks promising for long-term wear). Some of the rest of it is because when I’m locked up, all the energy that would have been expended on my cock seems to get redirected to other things.
For instance, the energy and time that would have been expended attempting to satisfy the urge and near-compulsion to “get my cock wet” and cum!, cum!, cum! is changed into my desire and need for you to get [your cock] wet and to make you[pl] cum! Cum!! CUM!!!
So, today is the day. Did you remember?
I had one last, satisfying wank this morning, which has apparently done nothing whatsoever to mitigate my immense slutiness.
I’m longing for those times when you’ll release me from my confinement for a little while, to use me as your fucktoy or to take me to the edge and keep me there tantalisingly close to climax before caging me again, denied and desperate, or when you ruin what would otherwise have been a stellar orgasm.
You did remember, didn’t you?
You will click those locks shut and take the keys with you, yes?
You will then take every available opportunity (and those of your own making) to bait me, tease me, humiliate and degrade me, right?
I really hope you read this soon. Very soon!