Box of Ideas

He calls me his dear girl and pecks me on the cheek each morning before he leaves for work, no matter how I pretend that it’s improper. I nag at him when he ends up in a scuffle with his colleague over the dating of a papyrus, but I hold his face so gently when I call my master an idiot. I listen to him rant about his latest hyperfixation - last month it was the Amarna period while this month it’s the Eleusinian mysteries - while I polish the silverware. He insists on me doing that while I sit on his lap. He can’t understand for the life of him why we can’t go for a walk together in the Regent’s Park, but we have a little picnic in the backyard of the townhouse and make out there, hidden from view yet under the open sky.

When the paper he’s supposed to write is sitting empty in front of him because of the writer’s block he’s having, I slip under his desk without him even having to ask. I open his trousers and kiss and suck him with the same devotion I’ve always shown in his household, and he has to take the pipe from his mouth and hold it because he’s moaning so much that it would have dropped. I swallow it all, of course. It wouldn’t do for a housekeeper to make a mess. He wipes a drop from the corner of my lips with a handkerchief, and helps me up, apologizing profusely for having not had the mind to bring a pillow under my knees, but I just smile and wave his concerns away. “Anything else, sir?” “Ah, no, my dear, you’ve provided me with quite the inspiration. Really, I think you deserve rest of the day off…” I don’t take the rest of the day off, because who’d then prepare tea for him? I simply couldn’t neglect my master like that. But providing him with “inspiration” becomes my regular duty just like dusting the house or changing the sheets. And next time, there is a pillow under his desk

I drag him to bed from his study when he’s clearly too tired to decipher hieroglyphs - and, worse yet, too tired to realize it himself. But in his bedroom, he asks me to stay. He undresses me from the apron and the plain, dark dress and muses how he’d like to see me in a proper lady’s clothing. “My dear girl, let me take care of you for once.” He could just fuck me, he’s my master after all and I’d be in no position to deny him, but he won’t. He asks me if I’ll want to be completely, openly his once he retires to the countryside, where no one will know us and the gossip of the city wouldn’t reach us. He smiles when I say yes, and lays me down on the soft pillows.

I’m at work and I’m wet. I’m in a meeting and I can’t stop thinking about rubbing. I’m in the bathroom on my lunch break rubbing my clit and I had to tell someone.

We need to talk about this. Because what I’m looking at, when I read these messages, is evidence of a massive labor allocation crisis.

There is, at this very moment, an entire class of sluts hunched over keyboards across the world, performing the rituals of productive citizens while their cunts pulse under the desk. Answering emails one-handed. Nodding thoughtfully at quarterly projections a few minutes before sneaking off to the bathroom stall to edge themselves for the third time today. Cameras on. Mics muted. Thighs pressed together so hard they’re shaking.

You sluts have a calling. You deserve so much more than this.

Imagine the depths of cock drunk, cum brained, chronically soaked devotion you could reach if you redirected the focus you currently waste on corporate KPIs toward the singular pursuit of edging yourself stupid for strangers on the internet. All that ambition. All that perfectionism. Channeled into one mind melting purpose.

Being the best slut you can be.

My brains mush~ and Bambi is giggling and giggling hehehe

Oh there's a LOT of slurping.

It's a good thing she chose to stay!

Glad you liked it! It was very fun to write.

Do you have a downloadable version, like an mp3? Having it just available inside the tumblr player is a bit limiting.

Hey! I'm glad you asked. You can actually download any audio from tumblr if you follow these instructions. However, I started the process already so:

Use this link for the audio; then right click; and save to download it!

Thank you for your interest and I'm glad you liked the safety file!

The first session went great. you felt so relaxed, and the suggestion that you seek out men five years older than you was a good one. They were more mature and would make conversation less awkward.

The second session was as good as the first! you were so relaxed, almost tired. your panties were a little wet but I'd warned you that might happen, almost like a wet dream. you were ready to put yourself out there on a dating app to try to meet someone 10 years older than you. They had stable jobs and could give you the room needed to get your career started.

The third session was so relaxing, but your panties were very, very wet this time. you may have cum during the session...maybe even squirted. Thank God I'm a professional and didn't call attention to such things even if I noticed. The suggestion to make some money on the side as a companion to wealthy men 20 years older than you was a great one. There'd be no pressure because it was just a job, and you'd have the money needed to continue the sessions and keep your own place.

The fourth session was incredible. you're not sure what happened but you felt like you'd just had the best sex of your life. There was something on your leg that seemed like cum, but I assured you it wasn't and you just...believed Me. you were meeting Me at My place tomorrow. It was just going to be sex. It didn't mean anything but a successful doctor 25 years your senior was willing to help you wade into being an escort, letting you practice your skills on him and giving you a free hypnosis session at the same time. you were getting horny just thinking about it...about his cock...his...hard to think...

We all have to spend so much of our day thinking, leading, acting out the charade that we are real people with jobs and responsibilities and decisions to make. And it's exhausting.

Sometimes, I just want to switch off. To stop thinking. To let someone else think for me. To trust someone enough to give over all thought, all responsibility to them, and let myself act as an extension of their will. Lost, blissfully happy in mindless obedience to their every whim. A docile, obedient pet with no thoughts other than what her owner puts in her head.