I can hardly believe another month has gone by and I have managed once again, to participate every day of #Storyin12
I am proud to say that since the beginning of this daily challenge, I have not missed on day! Sometimes I was a bit late with my story, but I always managed to post something.
Yay for Molly and Wriggly Kitty coming up with a new prompt every day!
The smell of her delicious cunt on her fingers enlarged his cock.
Note: I was busy to write a story for Masturbation Monday, when I saw this prompt. There was this one night that I fell asleep after I have fingered myself, and I smelled myself on my fingers. I wondered what Master T would do if he smelled it too… I hoped he would do something.
Cherry blossoms adorned the bed, in which he will fuck her soon.
Gravel under her knees hurt while delicious sensations filled her needy ass.
The bounds of the rope was the revival of her inner strength.
Note: How I would love to be bound by ropes, kept in one place and to give over the control, to only be. This is something that will definitely help to get me back on the road to recovery.
After a voyage through emotions and hardship, he finally won her heart.
All cylinders of his imagination moved in motion with her swinging hips.
Raw emotions edged her face in stone; no one seemed to care.
Note: Yes, another autobiographical piece. It has to do with some people who I see almost daily and who realized I was not well, but never asked me if there was something they could help me with. No, the blame was with me, because I had to say something. Sometimes I just don’t understand how people think.
The improvements to their house turned the basement in a much-wanted playroom.
His breath smelled of fresh, raw onions when she kissed him hello.
Note: One thing that happens quite frequently is that when I return home and kiss Master T hello, his breath smells like onions. He loves eating raw onions and when he’s cooking, he will frequently eat it. He can never hide from me when he did.
Despite the water in the aquarium distorting it, her image was hot.
Each harsh kiss of the cane underlines the reason for her punishment.
A button hit the wall when he grabbed her blouse; ripped it.
Note: I will be SO pissed if someone does this to me, ruin my clothes. I might feel better about it if it’s negotiated and agreed on before, but I will regret it later, I know that for sure. It’s just the way my mind works…
Finance was not a problem; not since she had fucked the prince.
Her smile lied; her pain barely visible. She couldn’t live with it.
Note: Of course this is partly autobiographical to, as many times I have a smile on my face while my heart is breaking inside. But, this is also for all those people out there who are hurting for whatever reason. Stay strong, reach out and talk to someone, seek help, especially if you feel life is overwhelming you so much that dark thoughts cloud your mind.
The summer sun heated her core, leaving her a horny, wanton mess.
Note: Definitely autobiographical: the summer sun always seems to make me feel hornier than otherwise… except this year. But I know it’s still there and things will get better!
Building walls around her heart should shield her from pain. It didn’t.
Building a loving bridge from her heart to his, healed their pain.
His tongue circled the candy between her labia; covered by her arousal.
Six horizontal stripes was the price she paid for her big mouth.
Note: I would gladly bent over for six stripes now, even if it were given with the cane.
A photo finish, he said, but her climax was first. She knew.
Wet come spots hide in the folds of the bride’s dress. Whose?
“Relax,” he said. The plug opened her. Painfully slow, it slipped in.
The rigid strands of the flogger slice through the air before impact.
Note: Oh to hear that sound… a flogger swishing through the air and impacting with my behind.
The priest – robe pulled up, arse bare – awaited her wrath and love.
White sheet. Naked body. Tightly wrapped. Nothing shown, yet all is revealed.
She arrived too late, but stopped and stared, drowning his delicious presence.
He’s the delicious poison, flowing with my blood, binding me to him.
The corner of her street was her domain. So was his body.
Fail was not in her vocabulary; only opportunities to do it better.
Note: Part of this is what Master T frequently says to me: it’s not a problem, it’s an opportunity to do it different or better. I have difficulty seeing it like that, but sometimes I am really trying.
Green, green grass off home. Memories. I don’t want to hear it.
Note: One night we were at our regular hangout and ‘Green, Green Grass of Home’ by Tom Jones played. I couldn’t listen to it. Tears streamed down my face for the entire duration of the song. Memories of my teenage years when we went to Namibia as a family, on our yearly vacation kept on popping into my mind. God, I missed my mom SO much at that moment.
As the developing photo showed its colors, she knows: it’s a winner.
© Rebel’s Notes