Wicked Wednesday

You’ll Have to Work for It #WickedWednesday

Image via Pixabay

Fun fact: John Brownstone and I have exactly one comfortable office chair between the two of us. Oh, we have other chairs. A recliner that only I think is comfortable. The couch. Kitchen chairs that are in desperate need of a re-do. But just the one office chair. It sits at his desk.

Back in the day (okay, prior to the end of May), the chair was mine during the day, and his at night and on the weekends. I work at the kitchen table and wheel the office chair back and forth as I need it. These days, the chair is discussed every day.

“What are your plans for the day?”

This sounds like simple curiosity and an eagerness to encourage whatever he’s doing. Really, I’m checking to make sure I get the chair.

And if I don’t claim it by early morning, I could be out of luck if he decides to work inside. Like today.

I ran errands all morning, knowing I would work during the afternoon and through the evening. We didn’t discuss the chair, but it was on my mind. (In my defense, it’s a really comfortable chair.)

We brainstormed, dreamed, and planned for two hours after I got home. Ideas flowing between us with the same energy we have when we fuck. I was pacing as I thought, waving my arms in my exuberance (and to make a point), and generally showing an inability to sit still. Later, though…

“Uhhh, Daddy, can I have the chair while I work?”

“But, Babygirl, I’m working today, too. Shouldn’t I get the comfortable chair for once?”

I could have pouted and sulked like the babygirl I am. But my submissive self hates the idea of causing him discomfort, and he lets me use his chair so often. I figured I could suffer for a while. And whine later.

“Yes, Daddy.”

A couple of hours later, my ass was killing me. And not in the way I prefer. The kitchen chairs suuuuuuuck.

I didn’t say anything. But I looked for excuses to walk around. I lost focus. So much so that I barely noticed when he stood up.

“Babygirl, come in here with me.” I followed him to the bedroom. “Drop the shorts…and the panties.”

What the? But I did. Dropped trow right there by the bed. Giggling but not questioning.

“Girl, do you want the good chair?” I nodded eagerly and barely noted the gleam in his eye. “Then you’ll have to work for it.”

Huh? How? What did he mean? What would I have to do? Thankfully, I’ve learned to keep some of that to myself. But not all. The questions were written all over my face, I’m sure of it. And there was no missing my giggles.

“Get in the bed. Ass here.” He patted the edge of the bed. “On your back.”

Ohhhhhh! Dawning realization. I’d had a Brazilian wax just that morning. We both love freshly waxed pussy. He likes it on his face, and I love the feel of any part him against my skin. This was making more and more sense.

I was about to be tortured with his tongue, and I didn’t mind at all. This was the kind of work I could get behind!

I giggled all the way down on the bed, knowing how quiet I was going to have to be. Also knowing he would do his best to make me scream anyway.

He pushed my thighs back and apart, getting to his knees next to the bed. I don’t remember what I looked at or even what I thought about (although, it’s very possible I thought: This is going to make a great blog post.) What I remember is the tip of his tongue catching fire in the center of my body. What that man can do with the tip of his tongue should be criminal.

He licked down one side of my outer labia and up the other. He poked and tapped my clit with his tongue. He flicked my slit with it.

I panted and writhed, my own desire stoking the fire. And then he dove. Hands clamped over my wrists, wide shoulders wedged between my thighs, his face pressed against my cunt. He made no sense with his tongue. No pattern I could follow. No process I could guard against. He licked and lapped, sucked and nibbled, tongued and nipped as I strangled on screams and came in his mouth, over and over again.

Not sure who worked harder for me to get that damn chair, but we were both well rewarded for it.

Welcome to Wicked Wednesday! This isn’t even all of the story, if you can believe it. John Brownstone pulled out a toy I bought at Eroticon and have been meaning to review. So I will. Later. I figured this was enough of a…taste. Once again, I didn’t follow the prompt for the week which was bubbles. But I have no doubt others did. You know what to do to find it…


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!


Leave a Comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.