I came home from work this afternoon and had a think about what I should do. Should I stack the dishwasher? Do some laundry? Peruse blogs? Have a cup of tea and watch some tv? Or should I just do what I normally do when I’ve got the house to myself and I’m feeling antsy…watch porn and masturbate?
So watch porn and masturbate I did.
I’m really beginning to think that I need to stop growling and making those ‘an-alien-is-emerging-from-my-bowels’ noises. I’ve no doubt that a few well-timed gasps and moans emitted from the mouth of a girl cumming are sexy to your average heterosexual male, but guttural grunts and bucking broncos? Not so, me thinks.
I’m especially interested in thinking about the ‘performance value’ of my releases – and the associated audio track- since Master announced his evil plan to make me gonzo in front of everyone at the next play party we attend.
I’m figuring it can go one of two ways: either I blush to the roots of my hair, verge on crying from shame and try to beg my way out of it, or I ignore the audience, lose myself in the moment and do what is required. I’m hoping that the attraction of having a release or two ‘off the chart’ i.e. not being counted as part of my release rations, will overcome my feelings of mortification and allow me to do the deed.
But I dunno.
I find that my feelings towards this whole slut/slavegirl thing are a little bit like visiting Disneyland. Sometimes I can be right up there thinking I’m the trampiest tramp and other times I’m just looking at a shirt-less mouse and a duck without pants on. (And yes, I waited in line for two hours to get on that fucking “It’s a Small World” sorry excuse for a ride!)
Forgetting about my angst about cumming-attractions for the moment, the reason I was feeling antsy was that I just needed the feeling of bonds on me. Like every woman’s need for the weight of a man on them from time to time, I need the restriction of bonds on my body – nice, tight, mark-leaving bonds that cradle, encompass and harness.
That was until I started looking at porn… and then it was like, Fuck the rope, give me the hitachi!
But I managed to stop myself and go and get a couple of pieces of rope and do some boobie bondage. Then I added some clover clamps. Then I added some weights and all the while gonzo was working his magic on my clit.
It seems hard to imagine that not so long ago, I was a virgin to the vibrator-induced orgasm. Those vibrating demons never worked for me all the times I’d tried in the past and the only way I was ever successful at a release was by laying in a foetal position, putting my hand between my thighs and squeezing.
Unfortunately, now that I have the hitachi and the amazing gonzo, I do a lot less thigh cardio and hardly break a sweat. This is good news for the many times I’ve given myself a leg cramp trying to cum, not so good news for the flab on my thighs that no longer gets a workout.
I’m thinking maybe a gag is in order. Not only will it inhibit the embarrassing audio track, but it might also serve as a ‘mask’ between me and others – a bit of a fourth wall perhaps. Or even better still, a gag and a blindfold.
Something to hide behind while I do the deed.