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IC : Weblogs : disneypuppy : "Puppy gets to play"
Puppy gets to play (3)
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Posted by disneypuppy on Sat 20 Jan 07, 11:24 PM
Having rung the doorbell I was stood there waiting as patiently as I could, not that I've ever been any good at patience. I was hopping from one foot to another, because the drive over had got me all excited and that always makes me want to pee, chewing on the inside of my lip trying to think nice thoughts.
He opens the door and I have to grin. Not only am I pleased to see him, but he's resplendently dressed as only a certified clothes slut would be. My mind is filled with thoughts along the lines of “mmmmm…yummy…lucky me…need a pee…oh so glad I'm here…yum-yum…must pee...” none of which conform to the reflections I think a good little subbie should have, so it is a good job I've decided that I am no longer trying to force myself into that particular mould.
We greeted one another and my arousal was heightened, thanks to my imagination presenting me with a multitude of tantalising possibilities for the evening. Ohhhh, he's talking! Must focus and listen!
I was requested to make coffee (such a vile beverage imho) and to return with a glass of water for myself. Feeling braver than normal, aided by the intense pressure building within my bladder, I requested to visit the loo – only to be told that I could not. This is when the humours dialogue starts for earnest within me – desperate to say “noooooo, I mean it, I need to pee or I will wet myself” – aware that he might call my bluff and wait for the inevitable to happen – wanting to play along because it turns me on – but momentarily forgetting that this makes me want to pee ever more. I tried not to laugh, but he found it amusing and that really did not help.
So off I went to fetch the drinks. Somehow, I managed to be parted from the clothing that had been covering the top part of my body, but that just felt rather good. I wanted to make a nice drink for him, least I could do really, so I did try to focus and concentrate, but it was dark outside and light in there so I could see my reflection very clearly in the windows. I've always thought that I'm very lucky to be a bi-sexual woman, it means I can stare at and be turned on by my own breasts whenever I feel like it…but there was coffee to be made here.
Task completed, I ask once more to be permitted to go to the loo and again I was denied permission. In my mind I was getting slightly concerned that he may not let me at all, which was bound to end in tears as the pressure in my bladder was crying out to be relieved. Instead I was instructed to fetch a bowl. My mind was already running away with itself – think innocent thoughts – he wouldn't make me would he?! But he did.
The bowl was placed in the middle of the wooden floorboards and I was instructed to remove my skirt and pee in the bowl.
Darn it!
I don't want to – but I do!
I can't – but I know I can.
I won't – but I know I will.
Arrggghhhh!
What a bastard. And all he could do is stand there, unmoving and grinning. So off comes the skirt and I was left in stockings and knee high boots, feeling just a tad self conscious.
So instead of getting the misery/thrill over and done with as quickly and painlessly as possible, I felt myself getting all bashful and shy. I tried to tell him that the urgent desire to pee had magically vanished, but he was obviously enjoying himself (at least one of us was) and had me trotting back and forward from the kitchen with numerous glasses of water, which were drank rather obediently by my good self.
There was a moment where I feel quite compelled to make a sarcastic comment about the size of the glasses of water, only to be instructed to go and find the biggest glass there was. Tempting though it was to think ill of him, I was amused at my own stupidity, and really could not have felt he had any other option.
Though concerns were rife about the possibility of making a mess, not being renowned for having the best of aims in matters like this, he dismissed them. I had noted, and was duly aroused that his initial request for me to relieve myself into the bowl had not been repeated. There was no fuss on his part, just on mine. Did he know I'd do it anyway? I am not certain that I knew, so how could he? The thing that annoyed me was that he had left me in the position where by I felt that it was becoming more obvious that I would be doing this with an element of pleasure on my part.
So it was not after too many minutes that I found myself squatting over the bowl in the middle of the room. My cheeks were burning with humiliation. I wanted to mutter a “Pooh Hum” to pass the time as I waited for the message to get through from my brain to my bladder. He denied my request for him not to look, which would have speeded things up, so instead I closed my eyes.
There was finally relief and I have to admit this was mixed enticingly with arousal, due to the particular level of humiliation I was feeling at that moment. It did feel good, I am loathed to admit, knowing that I was doing something so very naughty. Only once the flow had stopped did I dare to open my eyes and peek down. Although there was a reasonable amount of wee in the bowl, to my horror some had missed and was running along the floor boards.
I was quite mortified, but not half as much as I was to become upon being told to clean it up…with my tongue! What is more humiliating than squatting over a bowl and weeing in front of him? Simple, crouching down to the floor and lapping up my still warm wee with my tongue. This was made worse by how much I enjoyed it; I could feel arousal burning within me. I was permitted to clean most of it up with a mop, probably due to the amount of time it was taking me to lick it up!
Some conversation was then had, whilst I knelt on the floor beside the sofa and he reclined with his boots supported in my hands. I did try to focus on what he was saying and not think of how much I wanted to have a wank, honest! He asked me what I had hoped to get from the evening – like I was ever going to tell him that!!!!! I just muttered something about pain and seemed to get away with it. The twinkle in his eyes and smirk on his face had me hopeful in that direction.
I followed him upstairs and was cuffed (very soft and very nice cuffs they were), my wrists were then suspended and I was blindfolded (much prefer to be blindfolded, seeing things makes me scared, like it might hurt or something like that) the back of my body exposed. It had been quite a long time and a part of me was anxious that I might no longer enjoy this, or it would be too much too soon.
I am always rather useless at describing what I like when playing, I prefer to have no choice, that always helps! I know I don't like to start too quick or have too much too soon, something within me needs to be woken first.
Mentally I think I am prepared as I hear him moving around, trying to guess what he will use first, calming my breathing, gaining control. Then the git goes and uses his hands, his fingertips – they are all over me and I am no longer focused or controlling anything. I just want it.
I find it hard to know exactly what happens during play, I am not too good picking out what was used in what order with what force. I am focused on the sensation, but it is more than that, it is the journey that I am on, that I am being taken on that has all of my attention. For me it is like being driven through some fantastic scenery, I mean jaw droppingly beautiful countryside – and afterwards being asked if I noticed the road we travelled on. Of course the road was important, without it I would not have been able to experience the sights I saw, but it was meaningless compared to those images. The sensations, the highs, the lows, wanting it to stop, to be faster, harder, slower, softer, deeper, lighter…no more of this…oh god not that, go back to the other one….no, no, no don't stop please keep me hear forever. The passion, the desire, the joy and laugher…it doesn't get much better.
He had me there. There was a moment, I don't know what happened or what it was with, but it felt so good I cried, tears soaking the blindfold, the release making me want some more of the endorphins that seemed to be distorting my thoughts.
Why does it hurt, have me begging for no more, but once it stops I want it again? Why does my head spin so, and then become so clear? How did I get to where I am?
He took a break and held me – bliss – as things slowed down some for me. We talked and laughed. I hoped he did not realise how aroused I was, just how much I was enjoying it. There seems to have been changes within myself, my perceptions of my submission since I've been playing. I respect my submission more now, which in its turn bequests respect from those who wish to have my submission, which is indeed a million miles from where I was a while ago.
He says there is more, my grin is wide, my body eager. It was the turn of my breasts and one of my favourite toys. I was blindfolded again and stood as still as I could – I was surprised to have a clamp placed on the end of my tongue…didn't really like that. It hurt, like proper, like hurt so it connected all the way down to my clit hurt. Then I started drooling…drooling from my mouth and dribbling form else where, gawd help me.
Then he placed a twelve peg zipper on each of my breasts, with the final peg on each being saved for my nipples. I loved the feeling of the stretched and pinched skin, there was just enough pressure to really feel them, but not so much that I'd want to cry out. They were to stay in place a while, and I loved every second of it. I then felt some weights being added to the piercings in my labia, again just enough to really feel them and love the sensation.
There was some wax (yummy), which I have never found painful but always a turn on. Little hot spots to warm me up and tease me further. The tightening of the wax as it cools and hardens, all so yummy and sensuous on my body that felt so alive.
I heard him taking photos and thought to myself that this was the part where I was meant to blush or something. It always goes back to the same old thing where I would never stand “willingly” and allow this but of course he was “making” me and therefore absolving me of any responsibility. This little ruse has helped me do so many things I wanted to but never dared and have so much fun in the process.
So I know the zipper needs to come off, and I know it'll hurt, but I know I'll enjoy it, but the anticipation, it is such a killer! Of course he knows this, taking hold of the ends and just popping them one by one, teasing and tantalising, getting me so aroused. I'm laughing and moaning with pleasure, because I know he is enjoying this. Without warning or fuss the last lot of pegs are pulled off with a force that has me howl. Such a rush all in one go, the sensation last for seconds and I want more.
Instead I was uncuffed and instructed to kneel. I had hoped he might but I hope for lots of things. My lips are at his cock and my tongue is dancing around it, with only seconds to wait before the warm amber liquid was filling my mouth. My tongue is bathing and luxuriating as my mouth was filled, I swallowed greedily again and again and again as the flow of pee just kept coming. This has to be a favourite of mine, kneeling with fingers griping my hair and drinking down his piss like the reward it was.
It was all over much too soon in the physical sense, but the endorphins and happy thoughts, not to mention the bruises remained for a while longer.
My thanks to you, kind Sir, for giving me something to write about.
x
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