Are you my good girl?
I know, I can be quite demanding. On the other hand, boy can I be rewarding.
You dress for me, as I request.
You wear panties I select. You report on your sensations as they rub against your (my) pussy throughout the day. You wear a bra I select and report on your sensations as it supports you, as it contains you. You show me photographic evidence that you’ve done as I asked.
You wear jeans I choose, or a skirt or dress I choose. You wear shoes I choose, a top I choose. I might even ask you to let me select your earrings, or tell you how to wear your hair. In short, I expect you to do me the honor of allowing me to control your body, and its presentation to the world.
I ask you to write me notes in your handwriting – notes about your desires, about your plans, about my cock, your mouth, your cunt. I ask you to “lose” these notes, to discard them in public places where they might be found. To show me where you’ve left them, so I can see.
I ask you to pose your body for me, to replicate poses, positions, photo shoots I’ve seen that make my cock hard. Or, more specifically, that it makes my cock hard to imagine asking you to reproduce for me.
I ask to hear your voice. Talking to me. Reading to me. Coming for me. Perhaps doing all three at once.
Throughout the day, I ask you to show me parts of your body – your eyes, neck, chest, cunt, thighs – clothed. Always, clothed. l almost never ask you to show me your naked body unless you tell me, or show me, that it would turn you on to do so.
I give you rules to please me – rules like, “If you’re going to show me your thighs, please be sure that they’re apart, your cunt exposed, in at least one of the shots.” Rules such as, “Please always feel free to say ‘No,’ but please always do so respectfully, considerately (as I describe in this post).” Rules such as, “Take as much time as you need to get me whatever I ask of you, but a) under-promise and over-deliver, and b) please always know that the more you send me, the more of my requests you execute, the harder you’ll make my cock. And, the more requests I’ll send you.
What, you may ask, is in it for you?
First, of course, there’s the fact that you get to be my good girl. You get to hear me call you that, in written words, perhaps in spoken words, in abundance.
But wait, that’s not all.
You find your pussy wetter, and more consistently wet, than you’ve ever felt it.
You get the rapture of handing me your orgasms, of coming for me on my demand, of not coming for me until I ask. Of edging for me – taking yourself to the edge over, and over, and over, but not coming until you earn your orgasm. Or your two consecutive orgasms. Or three? Or more? This process takes place over minutes, or hours, or days, or even (can you imagine?!?) weeks.
Imagine that – as my good girl, you find yourself walking through your mundane existence getting sexy words from me throughout the day, your pussy aching, dripping, needing to come, but not getting to come – going a day, or two, or more, without the orgasm your body is screaming it needs, but edging repeatedly, taking yourself to the edge multiple times each evening. Until, finally, finally, you earn that orgasm, those orgasms, and you give them to me, screaming for me, convulsing, spent, dead tired.
And aching for more.
And, of course, you get to know that you’re making my cock hard, nearly constantly, that you’re causing it to twitch, to throb, as I go about my day. And to hear me tell you about that, in my written, and spoken, words.
Thank you for being my good girl.