Cumming In My Lace Panties

“You know I require wet lace”, I remember Him writing me once. He has a way with words, you might say. His unique verbage is like everything else about Him–unique to Him. It’s part of the reason I can’t ever seem to get enough. Like a drug that seduces you deeper, His words are that way.

I woke at around 3 a.m. grabbing my phone to see if He said anything. Just habit, I guess. I knew there would be nothing as I came to a bit.

Before falling asleep, I had been reading a book called, “The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty”, by Anne Rice. Of all people to have recommended it to me, it was the Shaman from the Ayahuasca retreat! She had called me “her sister” due to her 10 year experience with a Dom. Hers was physical, however. I won’t even go there. No need.

I lay the book down and shut the light. Hubby was still downstairs watching fucking Fox News. He’s addicted to it since Trump got in. I could feel the seduction of the book creeping in. It affected me so much tonight maybe because I had surrendered.

I had been home alone and sat at the piano. I had text Him and there was more silence. The pain of feeling so brutally alone was crushing me. I started writing several different ideas and then slammed my hands down on the piano. I just sobbed. Like a little 9 year old feeling so sorry for being bad.

I went upstairs, picked out this baby girl hot pink bralette. I had gotten it in the little girls department in Target. He called it ‘hot’ and I bought it. I had a leopard pair of panties on too. They were tight enough to pull in my flesh as I straddled the bench in my closet and snapped some pix for Him. My makeup was mostly gone and my hair a mess and I was just collapsed. Such a deep surrender inside I felt like air.

His light went on on Skype, but there was no response. I wasn’t surprised, but somehow I felt He might have understood the pictures. Maybe that was just wishful thinking, but I prayed His “I’m everywhere. Always watching” was true then.

As I started drifting off, my hand brushed the lace panties I had changed into. My fingers massaged and stroked faster, and I could feel my wetness pleasing the fabric. I tickled my nipple over my “training bra” and felt my body giving in. All the tension, feeling ashamed and alone, guilty and deprived of His attention; I imagined Him hurting me. Whipping me and torturing me. Making me bleed. I pictured His piss filling my mouth and Him shitting on me. I had never said that to Him, but I know He already knows that I’ve fantasizes about it. It’s the opitomy of being defiled. Maybe it’s where I feel I belong after being such a failure to Him. And why does it make my pussy so wet imagining His humiliation and pain running so deeply in me.

As I’m running my fingers over the lace panties I release my piss to soak them. I’m whispering Daddy and I cum so overwhelmingly, so heavily that I feel broken. I do feel broken. He has said that He would enjoy breaking me if He had me there in person. I’ve always wondered what that would be like. The way I feel lately, I think I have a clue.

I am nothing without Him. That is how I feel. Not pleasing Him is devastating and I just want to run to Him, curl up by His feet and say how sorry I am. Sorry for letting the other parts of me take control. That’s what this is all about: me taking control. His warning to me was His protection. I don’t see the beauty in what He gives sometimes till its gone and I’ve ruined it. God, forgive me. Please.

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