Do you ever write up a blog post that ends up having way more effect on your life than you expect it will? I did, just yesterday, when I wrote up a horny little thing about getting stuffed full and bred. I assumed that maybe Mistress would read it, laugh at me a little for being such a slut, and then the world would continue on as normal. What actually turned out to be the case is that it was just as horny-inducing for her as it was for me, she said some ludicrously hot things that I’ve been thinking about all day, and now I just want to get pounded until I can’t stand even more than ever. So, all in all, a pretty positive result!
I won’t go blow-by-blow into everything she said, because, well, I’m feeling selfish and want to keep all the horny Mistress words to myself for now. I will say that I’ve been ordered to acquire a T-shirt with a certain phrase on it, which I’m currently workshopping as we speak. Do I know what her plans are for it? No, not in the slightest, although I do suspect I won’t just be wearing it inside. Does that make it any less horny? Would you believe, it actually doesn’t! One of the many (many) kinky thoughts running through my head today was the mental image of me on my knees at Mistress Charlotte’s feet, a trail of drool connecting me to her massive, thick, cock. Which, unfortunately for my employer, was a hell of a lot more fun to think about than my actual work.
Yet another reason I should clearly be kept at home like a good malewife, barefoot and pregnant! Then I could focus on all the important things, like cleaning, and getting railed. Mistress had me fuck myself tonight, until I was all good and sloppy and gaping just a little bit. When I showed her what a good slut I was, she mentioned wishing she could say “stay exactly there, I’ll be home in five minutes”. Which, holy fuck, what a mental image. Can’t you just imagine it?
I’m doing some dusting, or wiping the surfaces in the kitchen, pottering around in my little slutty apron, when I get a text from Mistress. “Fuck that sluthole for me until it’s nice and sloppy, then send me a picture of that cute little gape, open and waiting for my cock.” After hastily typing out a “Yes, Mistress!” with trembling hands, I grab the necessary supplies (dildo, lube, phone tripod) and bend myself over the kitchen counter. I start slow, but there’s hardly any need to – I know precisely how hungry that needy little hole is to feel something heavy pushing it open and forcing its way deep inside. I know it, because I’m that hungry for it, too. So it doesn’t take long until I’m desperately fucking myself, thrusting in and out of that slutty little hole, so hard, so deep, as it tries in vain to clench around the thick dildo. It shouldn’t feel this good, it shouldn’t, but it so does. My legs threaten to give out once or twice, and I hear beeps and boops as my body unintentionally moves to better receive the dildo, my ignored dick accidentally pushing buttons on the dishwasher. Once the muscles have gone slack, and that little pink hole is stretched out a bit, I pose for the camera and send a shot over to Mistress. Afterwards, I slump down over the counter, panting with the effort and the arousal, legs trembling a little from the work of holding me up through the fast-paced pounding. But it isn’t long before I hear a little notification tone from my phone – the one I use specifically for Mistress’s messages. I pull myself up to read it, only to see “Good boy, look at that! So cute.”, and then “Stay exactly there, I’ll be home in five minutes.”. And, just as I’m putting my phone away, heart pounding in my chest, I see one more message pop up: “I’m going to fuck a baby right into your belly, slut.”. I apply a little more lube – have to be as ready for her as possible – and get back into position. I can’t see the time or my phone from here, only the embroidery on the wall, constantly reminding me that I’m a house-whore. I have no concept of time, just the rapid heartbeats and shaking legs, shivering slightly in my mostly-nude malewife uniform. So when the door bangs open, I nearly jump out of my skin with fright, with anticipation, with need. I don’t dare turn my head – I just wait in position. I hear the door close, shoes kicked off, a bag dropped on the ground. I hear the rustling of clothes, and then I hear them on the ground, too. And I hear footsteps, coming closer, and closer. I flinch, just a little, when I hear her voice in my ear, as she bends over me. “I’m home, slut,” she says. I start to say “Welcome home, Mistress,” – but I don’t even get to finish before a single thrust punches the air out of my lungs.
…could you tell I’ve got kinks on the mind recently? I seriously could’ve kept writing that for a good long while, but it’s really late here and I need to go pass out. Thanks for reading!