Masturbation Monday

Begging For It #MasturbationMonday

“You’re hot and sweaty!” I crinkled my nose in mock-disgust.

When you let someone fuck you until sweat drips off the tip of their nose and onto your body, a little sweat and dirt from being outside really isn’t an issue.

“I know it, babygirl. I’m about to take a shower.”

“Ohhh! I want to join you!” I may have jumped, squealed, and clapped my hands.

You’d think, after all this time, his quiet chuckle would be a warning sign.

In the shower, under the jets of water, we giggled about schwetty balls and slippery skin. I playfully smacked his butt while he rinsed soap out of his hair. When it was my turn to rinse, I expected retaliation. That’s why I do it, y’all.

Instead, he reached a hand between my legs and found my clit. He stroked, a playful gleam in his eyes. It didn’t take long for my body to respond. I leaned forward, holding onto his shoulders, gasping for breath. He didn’t stop or slow down.

“Puh-pl-puh-lease, please, please, please.”

“Please what, babygirl?” Goddamn, how he could sound so fucking calm?

“Please can I coooooooome?” Between a wail and a whisper, I managed to get the words out.

A quiet yes from him was followed by jerking and shuddering as my nails dug into his flesh, bracing myself against the currents of desire streaking this way and that.

While I was still shuddering in aftershocks, he easily moved me under the water, acting for all the world as if nothing had happened.

Later I washed his back, making giant swirls in the soap across his back. He sighed with pleasure, relaxing in front of me. It’s these quiet moments I love. We swapped places – him under the water to rinse, me scrubbing myself.

When I was done, I waited. I know what comes next. He uses rinses me off. I tease and say I feel like I’m being watered like a plant. It’s what we do.

“Turn around, girl.”

Wait, this isn’t what we do. Was he going to wash my back? What was happening? I didn’t ask the questions running through my mind. I turned around.

Without warning, he grabbed me, wrapping an arm my shoulders and chest, holding me still. His hand cupped my mound, rubbing the soap suds, pushing his way into my slit and up to my clitoris. Soap really helps move things along. Within seconds, I was there, on the edge, ready.

“Please, please, please. Oh God, please.” I knew that wouldn’t be enough. I tried again. “Can I? Can I? Can I? Please?

His voice mocked me. “Please, please, please, can I, can I, can I? Is that how you ask for it?”

I barely registered his question. My body burned, a fire spreading from the inside out. I knew what I had to do, but I didn’t know if I could.

I squeaked. I whimpered. I trembled in his arms.

“I’m waiting.”

Waiting wasn’t the right word. His hand never stopped. His fingers tortured and teased while my brain turned to mush.

“Ahhhh, please can I come, Daddy?!” This time, it was a plea through tears.

“Of course, babygirl. All you had to do was ask.” Sadist.

Warm fluid gushed down my thigh. Spasms wracked my body. I leaned into his supporting arm, forgetting to breathe. While I recovered he whistled to himself, happy and content.

Turning, he had the shower head in his hand. Oh yeah, that’s right, I’m still soapy. He rinsed my front, and I turned around for the back.

“Not yet, girl. I didn’t say you could turn around.”

I heard a familiar click of the jet changing. Oh God. Is he going to…?

When I turned back to face him, he aimed the water, now a thick stream meant for one purpose (you don’t think that’s to massage sore muscles do you?) between my legs. God help me, I rode it, grinding my pelvis forward for more, more, more.

This time, now on number three, the edge was quicker and loomed greater. I need to come. Now!

I began the familiar litany, this time remembering all my words.

“I want you to beg for it, girl.” How can someone who loves me so much sound so mean and sexy at the same time?

God help me, I did. I pleaded, letting the tears fill my voice. I begged. I cried. Anything, anything, just please let me come! And he did, oh yes, he did, never letting the water move away from my clit. We rode the orgasm that ripped through my body together. My mouth in an O of pleasure. My breathing hitched and forgotten. My eyes squeezed shut.

I didn’t scream until he pinched a nipple, reminding me that he was still there.

He got out of the shower soon after. I stood there, mouth gaping, body quivering, cunt pulsing and throbbing with need. He hummed to himself as he dried off.

“Daddy?” I called over the water.

“Yes, babygirl.” He sounded so satisfied for a man who hadn’t come yet.

“Can I have another?” Maybe it’s because I sounded like a kid asking for a cookie, maybe it’s because I’m a greedy babygirl, but damn it, he laughed – full-throated and completely pleased with himself.

“Go ahead.”

Fuck, I love an indulgent Daddy Dom.

Welcome to Masturbation Monday! We’re (finally) slowly coming out from underneath an absolute deluge of stuff to do from the past several weeks. This is how we celebrate, I guess. How are others celebrating this, the best of all days? Click below to find out!

About the author

Kayla Lords

I am a sex blogger, podcaster, freelance writer, international speaker, kink educator, and all-around kinky woman. You can find me online sharing my innermost sexual thoughts and experiences, teaching other bloggers how to make money writing about sex, and helping kinksters have happy healthy BDSM relationships. I'm also a masochistic babygirl submissive with an amazing and sadistic Daddy Dom and business partner, John Brownstone. Welcome to my kinky corner of the internet!


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