As happened every once in a while, both my Husband and I were sitting with our laptops, having a drink, tweeting and emailing each other. Yes, emailing each other. Sometimes it’s easier for me to write something in email than say it out loud. The word ‘merchandise’ appeared in one of our emails when we touched the subject of Him offering me to others and me being inspected as if I was some kind of merchandise. He wanted to know whether I liked the idea.

I did.

And it reminded me of a dream I had. I said something about the dream in our emails and of course my Husband wanted to know just what I dreamt about. I told Him that in my dream I was inspected by men, but I was not the only woman. From this He derived that I want to be inspected. I replied with some “yes, buts” to which He replied that I should just admit it to Him. Then I got one more email with an instruction:

I expect of you to tell me this when we are in the bedroom;
You will stand on your knees in front of me and tell me this.

I sighed. Very quietly. I was tired. Very tired. It was after midnight and all I wanted to do was sleep. But I remembered: being tired is no excuse. Up in the bedroom I got on my knees and waited. I was naked. He walked into the bedroom, closed the door and sat down in the recliner. He bent forward and grabbed me by my nipples, pulling me closer to him. I stood between His knees.
“You wanted to say something?” He asked.
I nodded. He was kind. He said the words and I repeated it.

Source: unknown

“The idea of someone treating me as merchandise and choosing me to use and abuse excites me. It makes me wet.”

“Yes, I feel it,” He said as His fingers disappeared in my cunt. I sighed. I wanted to cum. I needed it.
“You don’t have to ask for permission to orgasm,” He said, “but each time you do I want you to tell me that you’re a whore.”
(He knows that this excites me just as much as it excites Him. I am His whore. I want to be.)

I was still on my knees with His fingers moving from deep inside me to my clitoris, drawing orgasm after orgasm from me, followed by the words: “I am a whore.” I leant back against the bed, pushing my hips forward, riding His fingers. He bent forward and bit my nipple. Another orgasm. Unexpectedly, but wanting it and desperately trying to form the words in my head to tell Him, He entered my ass. My hand moved towards my clitoris. Just as I wanted to ask, He pushed another finger in my ass.
“I am going to cum… oooh I am cumming already. Oh my god, it’s so nice, oh my god…”
My orgasm left me almost breathless.

He pulled His underpants down to reveal His hardon. I knew what this meant. I bent my head and took His hard member into my mouth. It tasted good. I teased Him with my tongue; sighed with pleasure; breathed in hard and took even more of Him in my mouth. Slowly I started to move my hand up and down His shaft, knowing that this in combination with my mouth would soon cause His fluids to spurt into my mouth. I sensed His body tensing. I felt happiness, because I could sense His enjoyment. I shivered and felt a wave of horniness washing through me when He said “swallow, bitch” and I felt the first spurt of His cum in my mouth. I swallowed and felt another spurt. Swallowed again. Another. And another. When I wiped my mouth we smiled at each other.

Just before I fell asleep – my hand in His – the thought of Him treating me as His merchandize, presenting me to others to be inspected and chosen, went through my mind again. I fell asleep with a smile on my face. Content. Happy.

© Rebel’s Notes

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