Author: Artistic_Corner_5640

I’m using the ribbon again just as you instructed. Between my legs. Pulled up against the vulnerable folds of my sex.

My black lace trimmed underwear is at my ankles. No protection for me today. The ribbon is to be applied directly to my flesh.

A faded green silk ribbon stained from so many uses. Stained from my body. Freshly wet now as I draw it back and forth. Back and forth. My lips spread and flex as the silk ribbon splits my sticky labia smearing the wetness. I feel the warmth spread.

Back and forth.

The knots are just the right size. They bump over my swollen clitoris the wet green silk pulls at the fleshy ridge peeling it upwards.

Back and forth.

I stand in the window as you ordered. I have a blouse on. Green like the ribbon. People in the street can see me but only to my waist. They cannot see the ribbon, they cannot see my hands in front and behind me the green silk wound tight around my slim pale hands as I pull back and forth with a tense white knuckled grip.

Back and forth. Read more »

It takes a bus ride and a walk to reach the location you specified. I dress as requested. A knee length dark brown raincoat, black stockings, black sneakers. That was all you listed and all I wear.

My bare skin is sweaty and nervous against the silky lining of the coat. As I walk the fabric slides against my nipples hardening them to aching peaks. I am very aware of the cool breeze caressing between my legs.

On the bus journey you had me sit over the wheel arch knowing what the juddering vibrations transmitted through the hard bench seat would do to me.

I recognize the location, I have walked past it many times without a thought. An office building in the commercial district. It has been empty for almost two years. Twelve floors of derelict unwanted office space left to rot.

The entrance and surroundings are walled off with high wooden hoardings to prevent trespass and vandalism. After two years plants have grown wild inside the walled off area and I can see the green tops waving above the hoardings.

The small door to the barrier is locked but you have sent me a key. I have no idea how you have this. Read more »

The dress is a shiny dark red with a florid rose print design a shade paler. It is low cut with thin straps and it flares out to a loose midlength skirt.

I wear it with black stockings, black opera gloves and a red silk band around my throat.

Those look good when the dress is removed.

The dress was chosen by me, purchased cheaply from a thrift store. A number of factors have to be considered.

That the dress is second hand excites me. I imagine who owned it before me. Where they might have worn it. What they might have done. Did they ever come while wearing it? Was it pulled up above their waist to give their partner access? Did they touch themselves through the silky red fabric?

I checked it for stains and part of me was dissappointed not to find any. My imagination would have turned a small stain from a spilled drink into evidence of an orgy.

I have come in the dress more than once. The first time alone in my bedroom seeing myself in the mirror. I wish I could say the first time had been in the changing room at the store but there was no changing room and even excited it takes time and work for me to reach climax. Read more »

You have made me do this before but this is the first time you have invited guests to watch.

You have had me perform in front of them before. You like to show me off. They know what my body looks like, they know what my orgasm sounds like. They’ve heard me beg. Seen me writhing at my limits but this particular act is new to them.

You edged and teased me until I was feverish under your touch and ready to agree to anything. I reached the brink faster with them watching.

Now you have me take off my red silk dress. It sticks between my legs as I slide it down, evidence of what your skilled handling has done to me. You did not allow me underwear this week so as the dress slides to the ground all I have on is the black silk bow around my throat and the ballet pumps on my feet.

The cool early evening air feels like a carress across my skin. Just the act of undressing and exposing myself makes me want to beg for relief. Read more »