If I could have rubbed myself against someone yesterday, I would have. Walk up to them (male or female, no matter) and grind my cunt into them, writhe against them, and cum – I would have. Of course, He only would have allowed something like that if He was available to watch.
I walked around with a deliciously agonizing ache in my pussy most of the day. I sexted Him several times – a sexy shot of my lace-covered ass, thoughts on fucking and sucking, anything to share my desperation.
My pussy throbbed with unfulfilled need. I squirmed in my chair at the office, grinding myself into my seat. I fidgeted throughout the day, filled with nervous energy. Each time I used the restroom, I smelled my own musky scent. The smell of hot, sticky juices waiting impatiently to be released intoxicated me.
I produced powerful pheromones. As I walked through Target on my lunch hour, every male employee stopped to ask if I needed help – every one. Not one woman stopped; one even glared at me. Now, I am most certainly not a strikingly beautiful woman with a supermodel body. I am of average looks and average build. I don’t need a bag over my head, but I’m also not the type of woman men clamor to be near. Every. Single. One.
Of course, I told Him about it. He laughed and teased me. Said I should have asked one of them to satisfy me.
All this heat and wished-for-grinding has little to do with simple release. He allows me to cum almost every morning in the shower, several times. I realized quickly that what my cunt and my mind both needed was Him. Just my Sir. His growly voice, His presence, His words – Him.
Life never slows down, and it keeps speeding up, so having what I want never happens when I want it. But as He tells me all the time, “Good girls get good things.” And apparently, He feels I’ve been very good because I have permission to cum in any way and as many times as I want tonight.
Thank you, Sir. Your bitch in heat appreciates You very much.