Mostly written things, sometimes strange

My cunt has been so sensitive since I’ve stopped touching it to edge, only grazing my button and stuffing my ass. Daddy barely touched my dripping pussy before I was begging to cum.

He ordered me to sit on His face, as He loves to devour me and watch me crumble. He had me keep cumming, never quite letting up on His assault, it kept me whining and dumb until I couldn’t hold myself up. (♡﹃♡)

He stuffed my cunt with His cock and I came almost instantly, whining and panting as He never stopped fucking what He owned. He let me cum as much as I wanted and then forced me to cum until I couldn’t take it. (,,>﹏<,,) It was only when I started begging that He allowed me a break, soothing me and telling me I did so good for Him.

————

His book was open in one hand, the other idly resting in my hair. I was curled across the couch with my head in his lap, legs tucked under me, quiet and content in that kind of soft silence that doesn’t need to be filled.

He was reading. I was thinking.

Thinking about something we’d talked about days ago. Something that hadn’t left me since.

I didn’t mean to break the silence. But I think he could feel it—how still I’d gone. How quiet my breathing was when I was turning something over in my head.

“Tell me,” he said, eyes still on the page.

I hesitated. “It’s dumb.”

“Mmm. Try me.”

So I did.

“I’ve just… been thinking about what I said the other day. About denial. About how it makes me feel like I’m a bad sub for wanting too much. It’s still sitting heavy.”

He closed the book—not abruptly, just with intention—and looked down at me, fingers threading deeper into my hair.

“It’s not dumb,” he said, and there was nothing casual in his voice anymore. “You were honest.”

I swallowed, heart suddenly thudding harder against my ribs. “It’s just—when denial is the default, it makes me feel broken. Like I have to apologize for needing to cum. Like I’m greedy. Messy. Wrong.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just kept looking at me with that steady, thoughtful focus that always makes me feel like I’ve just been read.

Then, quietly but firmly, he said: “‘Good girls don’t cum’ is a load of crap.” His fingers tightened slightly in my hair. “Good girls cum when they’re told.”

My breath caught—half shock, half relief, half arousal. (Yes, I know that’s too many halves, but that’s how it felt.) He set the book aside completely now, both hands on me, grounded and deliberate.

“Your orgasms live inside you,” he continued, voice low and sure, “but they don’t belong to you anymore. You gave them to me.”

I shifted, sat up, legs folding under me as I faced him fully now. Eye to eye. He didn’t let go of my hair.

“They’re yours to command,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.

“And yours to surrender,” he replied. “You don’t have to want it. You don’t even have to understand it in the moment. If I tell you to cum, you do.”

I nodded, already feeling that ache start to bloom between my legs. The one that came not from being denied, but from being claimed.

“I don’t cum for me anymore,” I said quietly.

His lips curled in the barest smile.