It’s pretty apparent that I’ve abandoned ship on the Twelve Week Challenge front. It was good in some respects and props to Panty Parade for helping me through my writer’s block. You should follow her, by the way. I find her posts frank and refreshingly honest.
So, where am I at the end (my end) of this challenge?
I’ve made some strides in the way of taking this writing thing more seriously. My goal was publishing traditionally, or at least doing more things to head in that direction. In the end I’m finding that now isn’t the time to pursue that. I won’t abandon my writing, but I need to step back, reevaluate things, and move at a pace that keeps me from going crazy. I must negotiate my obsessive personality carefully.
So, no publishing though self-publishing remains something I can manage every so often.
As for my other goals? My things I hope to accomplish in 3 months, goals? Well, I’m realizing some of those. It’s been very fun. I got my second spanking and a little (unintentional) more. I have a feeling I’ll manage some of the others before the time expires. I already feel a lot less insecure, which is good. I’ve also taken to leaving the blinds open a lot more…
In review: no, author. Yes, bare ass. No sweat (well, yes, some sweat. It’s been in the 90s here).
I leave you with another old story.
The heavy sound of her breathing filled the air. She could feel his eyes on her bare breasts as she panted, but the orgasm rippling through her body took all her focus. His fingers continued to pump inside her quivering pussy, prolonging the spasms until she couldn’t take it. She pulled at her bonds when he stroked her g-spot.
“Stop,” she whimpered when he teased her sensitive clit. “No more.”
He chuckled, the sound warm honey pouring over her. “Ah, but you don’t really want me to stop, do you?” He reached up to trace her nipple, painting wetness on her skin. “Tell me you’re done, mean it, and I’ll untie you right now.”
She pulled her eyes from his hand playing at her breast and looked up at him hovering over her. His obsidian eyes glittered, seeing through any feeble protests she might have offered to the woman underneath that craved his touch. A smile pulled up the corner of his mouth and she shivered at the feral look on his face.
“That’s what I thought. This little pussy isn’t ready to quit; not until I say so.” He grasped the bar running through her nipple and yanked. She arched against her restraints, moaning as the pain jolted through her and raced down between her thighs. He tugged again and she felt her cunt clench. “Right, pet?”
“Yes!” Her hips rose, her thighs spread wide by the rope, her body begging for his. He smacked her pussy and she raised her hips for another. Every pull at her nipple and the increasingly hard smacks between her thighs, blended pleasure and pain into an intoxicating mix. It brought her to the brink with breathtaking speed.
Her moans grew so loud that she missed the sound of his pants falling, the tinkle of his belt skittering across the floor barely reaching her ears. All she knew was his hands fondling her, torturing her, holding her at the edge but not sending her over.
“Please, please!” Her words were a throaty plea, her mouth begging for so many different things.
She felt the broad head of his cock brush along her slit, teasing her once before he slid home. Her body opened wide and swallowed the stiff invasion with a wet gulp. That first hard thrust toppled her into the abyss and she screamed as she came around him. He continued his advances, his eyes locked to hers, that smile on his face.
“Again,” he demanded as he retreated and slammed into her. “We go until I’m satisfied.”
His words, so hard as he gritted them out between clenched teeth, left her every bit as breathless as the thrusts into her pussy. She was at the mercy of her Sir and reveled in it.