Another month of #Storyin12 – run by @Mollysdailykiss & @Wriggly_Kitty prompts are done, and once again I have managed to do all the prompts, although, just like last month I was quite late with some. I guess this will be the trend for the future too. Just like the little notes in between my daily ‘stories’.
Have you participated in #Storyin12 yet? Please do, it’s fun!
“Swallow!” he said. “There’s nothing as healthy as swallowing spunk. Especially mine!”
Note: When I wrote this, especially the last two words, I had a huge smile on my face.
The separation devastated her; her body found five days after he left.
Note: A bit of a harsh entry, I know…
“Come on, Sugar!”
Grabbing her ass; breath gone when she struck him.
Note: The image I had in mind when I wrote this was this obnoxious man thinking he can call every woman he sees ‘Sugar’, and being surprised by one of the ‘Sugars’ showing him his place.
Her wardrobe was filled with sexy dresses and stockings. What to wear?
Note: I think many women (and maybe some men too) will recognize this, that you stand in front of your wardrobe and even though it’s filled with clothes, you have no idea what to wear.
His disability is part of what makes him the man he is.
Note: I don’t think this needs much of an explanation, but I am going to do it anyway. I haven’t known Master T any different as a disabled man, but it’s never been an issue. He is who he is, and I love him for that. It’s not like I look at him every day and think: ‘he’s disabled’, the same way I don’t look at him and think: ‘he has a beard’ or: ‘he wears glasses’. It’s just part of him, and even though his increasing disability is something we are dealing with currently, it doesn’t make him a different man to me.
She finally found it buried under a pile of clothes: her Doxy!
Note: This word touch me, as (obviously) the first thin I thought about was burying my mother last year, but I chose to write something else for this day’s prompt. I think I should search for my Doxy too, as it’s been ages since I last used it!
Nausea overwhelmed her while reading the police report of a brutal rape.
Note: I have so much respect for the police officers working in violent crimes, seeing brutal murders and rape and bringing the perpetrator to justice. I cannot even begin to imagine what a hard job it must be to see the brutal things one human being can do to another.
Sitting on the hard floor at his feet, serene peace enveloped her.
Note: I used to sit on the floor, by his feet, whenever the need struck. He would then sit with his hand on my head, feeding the submissive need at that moment, making me feel entirely at peace.
There was no excuse for her behavior. Not even sorry would help.
He never wanted to be her champion; only a loving, devoted husband.
Note: I wrote, this posted it on Twitter and then when I read it again, I wondered how many marriages there are out there where the partners have different visions of them being together. I pictured this man before me who loves his wife dearly, but to her it’s all about status and showing off, wanting him to be her champion so much, that she forgets to just love him. But what about those business men who wants their wives to be like these staying-at-home-trophies, only to be shown to the outside world when it benefits the business man. How many of those women would have loved to have an own career, to be seen for the woman she is and not the ‘wife of’? Of course I am generalizing, but this is just the route my thoughts walked…
For the first time in years, she really noticed her mirrored figure.
Note: Let’s just say: there’s more to this than meets the eye.
They consummated their bond in a far-away cottage. Spanking. Ropes. Clamps. Sex.
She had to confront herself; her mirrored image was not her favorite.
Note: How many of us – men and women – don’t like to look at our full length mirrored images? Just a thought…
The best man took his seat, smiling secretly after fucking the groom.
Their ending was his beginning. He walked away; blood on his hands.
Note: Okay, no idea where that came from. I had the first sentence in my head since seeing the prompt in the morning. The second just popped onto my screen, I swear!
One more brush stroke, and the masterpiece of her body was done.
Note: When I have written this, I thought it could go both ways: either a last brush stroke on a painting of her body, or the last brush stroke of painting her body; a bodypainting.
A flash; his eyes changed. I bow my head; he’s my Master.
Note: I have never made a secret about how his eyes changes, and what effect it has on me.
To him it was goodbye; to her farewell, being no one’s toy.
Note: When I reread this, I wasn’t sure I actually said what I wanted to say, that she will not be anyone’s toy and therefore left him for good.
“It doesn’t hurt.”
Her grimace was evidence of her love for pain.
Note: How I would love to feel the pain of a spanking or whipping again…
They hunched behind the fence, both naked, panting and horny.
Note: I had this picture in mind of two people fucking somewhere outside, and then someone walks by and they have to hide.
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Let it run.”
Note: This is something I will probably never do!
The sheer orange dress caught everyone’s attention. Or was it her nudity?
What I crave…
It make me happy. Strengthens me.
Note: This is so true! I will be nowhere without routine!
She wanted to settle.
He didn’t want to leave his loves behind.
Grief froze her in the throes of ecstasy. Tears. Her heart broken.
Note: This one was personal.
“Expose yourself to God,” the priest demanded.
She stood naked in church.
Note: If there is one place I would love to be naked at least once, it’s inside a church. Why? I have no idea!
Forever victim of her thoughts. It’s time to breathe; to live life!
Note: This one was written on the same day I had my first EMDR treatment.
“Such a horny little bitch,” he said, and fingered me to orgasm.
Note: I love when Master T calls me dirty names during sex. It makes me come that much harder.
“You’re spoiled rotten,” Daddy said as he looked at his smiling babygirl.
She never wanted to be famous; only to be seen, loved, accepted.
Note: This was my mom, and it’s me too…
© Rebel’s Notes
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