I’m so horny. I want to be the most amazing sub. When my Domme comes home, I’ll have her dinner waiting for her on the table and answer the door on my knees, with my thighs spread. No panties in the house, my pussy juice dribbling from my puffy cunt. I’ll edge myself every hour on the hour and when my shift is over, take my panties off in the bathroom and stuffing them in my pocket. I start on the laundry as soon as I get home. I doubt she’d want me wasting anymore of my wetness on them. I’d be good and not even think about cumming until after she ate. Even then she could be tired from work or not in the mood. My pussy could go a whole day or two without any attention and I’d have to hold it like a good girl. Imagine how painful that’d be in the shower, toweling off, going to sleep, getting up and getting dressed for another day? The friction would get me at some point. I know that my legs would stayed closed longer than normal, savoring the warmth and pressure from my thighs. And the underwear, forget it. I’m sure I’d be hyped focused on the quality of the fabric, how rough or soft it’d be against me. I already have trouble staying dry at work and with no release, it wouldn’t be long until there was an inevitable ruin. It’s so painful when you need it for so long but you can’t get any time to yourself. Those contractions fucking suck. But it’d be worth it for her to see my suffering and take pity on me, lending me her thigh or hand to cum on.
Author: VioletRosesBloom
At Your Service [FF/Lesbian/Noncon/Femdom/Power/Racism]
You’re three drinks in.
Faces are losing their recognition but it’s the same crowd as usual. No one will notice you missing so you grab a bottle from the kitchen on the way to the basement.
It’s a going away party for your kid to get their masters. Same as when they were accepted to college, graduated high school, made varsity, and the like. It doesn’t feel any different than before. Of course, you’re not going to be an asshole and not congratulate for succeeding in life but fuck, who cares anymore?
You abandon your heels once you reach the ground floor. It’s cool and quiet as opposed to the claustrophobic, hot noise upstairs. No more pretending.
The bottle’s almost empty.
You don’t need to be the perfect mom, wife or woman down here. You can let out your zipper and peel off your shapewear, rub the back of your hand through your makeup-covered face and sob freely. No one there to whisk you into another room with a fake excuse, no haunting rumors trailing behind your back.
Down here, you can drop a glass and ring your maid to clean it up… so you do.
And A Daughter Is A Whore [FF/Lesbian/Dubcon/SW/Manipulation]
Disclaimer- A work of fiction based on a mix of my fantasies, feelings and experiences. Nothing in this story has happened…yet.
Now’s the time, right?
She’s already started looking for a second job and keeps mentioning how money is tight. To her credit, she’s made a lot of sacrifices over the years to cut down on expenses: no more trips to the mall or big box stores, she sells what she can part with and donates her hair whenever it grows long enough.
It doesn’t sound like much but if you lived it, you’d know it fucking sucks. It’s the dejected tone in her voice, constant revisions to her resume, application after application, how the hopeful expression of an interview offer turns into another dim and dead end upon rejection.
So, what better time to tell your mom you’re ready to become a whore?
Sometimes I think it’s not even my own idea. Maybe she’s been dropping hints, planting seeds subconsciously for this to bloom in my head naturally?
My Good Boy [FM/Femdom]
Where’s my good puppy? My good boy?
Are you keeping your hands of that little pecker like I asked? I know you are because you wouldn’t want to upset me right? You’re not going to like when I get upset.
Aww, are the backs of your thighs and butt burning in remembrance? I bet they are. You never sit still during your punishments and you thought I didn’t notice? Well, baby, it’s hard to tune out your beautiful whines and the way your skin jiggles in response. Your hands slacken their grip for a millisecond, which could be from the waterworks that’s broken out on your back, but we both know it’s not that.
You love it. Every moment. The anticipation before, the adrenaline during and the relief after.
That’s why you come running when I call. I hear that tinny jangle of your engraved ID tag against the extra one we added, you know the one with your favorite sports team on it? I love that sound because it means you’re listening as I asked you to.
A Daughter Is Her Mother’s [FF/Lesbian/Incest]
This is a work of fiction but it’s based off my own personal fantasy.
It’s true, isn’t it? We’re literally the physical manifestation of half their DNA. We depend on them for survival from birth, use their bodies to sustain ourselves until we can sustain ourselves. And who teaches us to do so?
Mothers are so much more than the name implies. They create, nurture, protect and mentor us.
Out of love? Maybe. But why do they love us? Because we’re theirs.
Their flesh and blood.
Hopes, dreams and fear.
And they are ours.
Our first friend, first teacher, first line of defense, and the list goes on.
It doesn’t end when we leave the womb. Not when we’re weaned off their breasts. Not even when we start forming friendships and relationships, building skills and growing into ourselves. We’re tied together for life. Their love for us never ends and we don’t know how fortunate we are for that.
That is the reason why their advice needs to be taken. How can you be sure your academic advisors, political leaders, even your friends or lesser relatives, have your best interests in mind?
It Takes a Village [FF/Lesbian]
First time writing. I was feeling inspired so it’s very short but I hope you enjoy :).
That’s the saying but I think it’s especially true in regards to women. If your period sneaks up on you when you least expect it, it’s very likely that a woman nearby will have an extra tampon for you. Or if you’re approached by an over-eager guy in the club, a group of girls will rally around you to help you out. It’s an unspoken rule that we look out for each other, no matter your race, class or political differences.
I don’t complain when the sweet, old lady in the bathroom at the grocery store comes up behind me and slips her still wet hands under my top to unbuckle and remove my bra (not without giving my small tits a squeeze and remarking that I need to get implants). It’s not sexual assault; she’s looking out for me, making sure my nipples poke through my top so everyone can appreciate my body. I thank her, with tongue, before returning to my shopping.