The Diary of a Broken me
Dirty whores don’t get to cum, but Princess’ do!
Maybe I should address you as something else in this journal, but for now, please forgive me, but you will have to do. I just said good night to you. Well, I typed good night to you. I wonder if I’ll ever hear your voice? If I’ll ever feel your skin against mine? I’m very wet as I sit here writing to you. And you know why, but I want to tell you anyways.
A month has passed, and we’re still together, still unsure how that happened. Countless times I invaded your IMs to tell you to fuck off, to tell you to go flirt with someone else, to tell you to own someone else, and every time— every, damn time you talked me out of it.
Why do you keep talking me out of it? You know I’m more trouble than I’m worth. You want more than I’ll ever be able to give and vice versa. I’m one high-maintenance girl, yet you still want me.
Please forgive me, I have to get some things off my chest, but then I promise to share why I’m dripping with need for you. Please know I wish I could share these things with you outside of here, but there isn’t enough time in the day, and I don’t want to spend what time we do have discussing over and over again, why I’m so fucked up.
P.S. You’re not always a bowl of cherries to deal with either. Our schedules conflict, yet I find myself wanting to type to you in whatever form you’re available in email, IM, and/or chat-box. Neither of us is getting enough sleep these days. We talk less and less inside that chat-box, but every once in a while you send me a message from there just to remind me where we started. You’re quite demanding considering we live an ocean apart, and why do I keep doing what you say? Because you have infested me like a drug, and you are eating away at my exterior, leaving me vulnerable. And strangely thus far, I’ve had only a melt down ever few days or so.
Bless you for putting up with my slightly insane ass.
Jealousy’s a dangerous play ground to play in, yet you like to keep us there, at least when we role-play. Sexting, the 2000’s version of phone-sex! I do love that term, although I never thought I’d be the one doing it with someone. I still ask myself why, but you keep coming up with great answers to my question. You don’t care that I am fucked up like a soup sandwich, and honestly I question your sanity at times. Thought you should know.
I know this post’s a little different, but we are different now, and I don’t have completely miserable days anymore. I don’t doubt you at every turn, now it’s just every third turn left, right?
I made a funny. I hope you laughed.
I want to listen to your laughter. Another something you should know, mine’s infections I’ve been told. Maybe it isn’t just you that is like a drug, perhaps I’m your heroin to you being my cocaine. You lift me up when I am down, and I soothe you when you’re in need.
That brings me to why I’m wet. I’m imagining that it’s your cum that’s seeping from my pussy lips. I’ve a great imagination, but you already know this, since role-playing’s what got me in this state. This juicy, amazingly euphoric state.
You were the boss, and I was the secretary…
“That’s right you dirty bitch. Suck my cock, or these pictures go to your husband. And you don’t want that, do you? Huh?”
I’m gasping right now just reading those words. Imagining my fingers brushing over my clit, as you typed them to me.
Thank God for sexting, right?
My hand’s around your cock, and my head lifts just enough for you to see a deep-sea of green in my eyes, my angry eyes.. You know I need this job, fucking asshole. “Fuck you…you won’t send them. Then I won’t be your dirty whore anymore. And you like my dirty whore mouth. So…fuck off, eh?” And like a greedy slut, I gobble your cock right back down my tight throat.
That’s when you stopped talking to me for a good three or four minutes. And I couldn’t tell you this then, but it made me giggle with glee. I knew that my type sex just had you cumming buckets, and I knew it was because of me. And as the owned one in this relationship, it’s rare I get to be giddy over such things. So thank you. Not that you could help cumming in buckets—I’m that damn good.
I waited until you returned, and then you made sure I was dripping with need, to write this entry.
“You’ll always be my gutter slut, you know you can’t make it without me.” You know those words would ring in my ears like a bell or whistle, and my mouth was a flame that couldn’t be snuffed out. Your cock thrusting in and out of my throat, deeper and faster as I gag.
My fingers slipped over my clit like a slippery slide, until they’re inside me. My hips lifted into the air, and I was just about to cum, when you typed…
“Don’t you fucking cum, you don’t deserve to cum.”
Mid thrust of my three fingers into my cunt, and I stopped. I stared at the phone in disbelief. Not again— you really are cruel sometimes.
“Please let your gutter slut cum, Sir?” My voice fills with yearning for you. You grab my hair shoving your dick down my throat, my pleas left unanswered. My throat opening and closing as the head of your cock attacks like the Normandy invasion.
I lightly teased my clit hoping your reply would be yes, praying you wanted to allow me to have pleasure as if it were at your hand. Of course, The reply never came, at least the one I hoped for.
“No. Dirty whores like you don’t get to cum. Stop touching your pussy.” You kick my hand away, and my heart feels as if it might beat out of my chest. Each thrash of your hips into my mouth, sends your cock violently across my tongue. “Taste that pussy, whore? That’s what raunchy girls like you deserve.”
My clit thumped like a ravaged beast that begged for the thirst to be met, trying to catch my breath, and hold off the inevitable. Thankfully, you saved me from failing. The chime that rang across an ocean.
“Now, Princess. Cum for me. Daddy needs to hear you cum.”
And like that we’re back to owner and owned, and the big, bad boss man went away. You my hero, my Daddy returned.
My entire body sang a tune of erotic notes, and my clit hit the melody that we both sought. I cried out over and over, convulsing for you. The rocking motion of my hips caused one more jolt, and my stomach tightened. My orgasm took hold of me like a possession it never intended to give back.
I remembered the phone finally, and you waited patiently on me, like you always do. I typed back.
“Thank you Daddy. You’ve no idea what you do to me. I need to changed my sheets.”
It’s soon after, and like I said before, we just said goodnight. Being the dirty girl that I am, I’m sleeping in this mess you helped me create. And it feels deliciously naughty to do it for you.
I probably will say this every time I write here, but I can’t wait for the next adventure.
Two things before I go.
- Wash your hands after sexting, it makes the keyboard sticky.
- Check your email, please…I hope you like my voice— I came for you.
Bad Penny reads poetry… take a listen!
Masochist I Am
by Penelope Jones
Leather is the Life for Me!
by Penelope Jones
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Penelope Jones- Spanking it since 1996!
Diary of a Broken Me: Lessons within Lessons
by Penelope Jones
Cum for me, Princess.
I read the text message over and over again from you. My body shudders even as I think about it, again. Maybe I should start at the beginning, rather than at the end?
Yes— I shall start there, and then you will understand.
I never expected a chat-box to become my entire world, or should I say the online version of being owned, yet somehow you have made this my reality. You— who I flirted with just like all the rest. You— who I never thought twice about until you sent that first personal message. Since then, I have thought about nothing else. You have wormed your way into my life, and my heart. No matter how hard I fought to keep you out, you were one determined S.O.B.
Me— the girl who has commitment issues, me— the girl who thinks online relationships are idiotic, and just a heartbreak waiting to happen, and I have gone and fallen for you. I ask myself daily how it happened; how did we end up here? The answer is you are an amazing man, and I am lucky to share my life with you.
I don’t know if I told you this, but I think I enjoy most of all, our conversations as friends. When I wanted to run scared, when I pushed you so hard that anyone else would have run away— you fought to stay by my side. Settled in, ready to be just my friend. Thank you … Thank you for allowing me to make the choice to serve you. Thank you for not giving up on me no matter how many times I came up with a new argument for why this couldn’t work!
We have daily conversations regarding my behaviors: good, bad, or indifferent. Each day has brought us new adventures. I think my most favored so far is touching myself as often as possible, getting my clit so hard, it pounded like a heartbeat after a marathon, and then I stopped— because you commanded it. I think I got myself to the very edge a dozen times or more that day, and my orgasm was mind shattering, earth quaking, and I can’t wait to do it again— and again.
Aspects of my life that I never have turned over to anyone else, I am allowing you to make final decisions upon. Again— How’d you weasel your way so far into my life in such a short period of time? And the answer is always the same, you nurture and care for me like no other person in my life has, or probably ever will. You fought harder than I was willing to fight for myself, I adore you: Thank you for wanting me, needing me, and caring about me.
Now that I have the beginning out-of-the-way, let’s get to why I am writing for you in this diary you gave me. You requested that I tell you about the highs and lows of my week within our relationship. I am not sure if this is so I can improve, or so that you may, but either way I am happy to be sharing it.
I want to end on a happy note, so I shall start with the low of the week.
The day I thought I pushed you too far, and thought it would be the end of us. I found myself staring at the phone. I knew you were busy, and yet I continued to find ways to rationalize in my head, all the other things you were doing that had nothing to do with me.
Turns out, you were doing exactly what you said you were doing— working. However, I’d already done the deed, by the time I realized the truth. I’d once again let my imagination, and those in my past dictate how I react to things. In your email, your chat-box, and your IM window, a message waited for you … “I am walking away, have a nice life.”
I can’t remember how much time had passed before you responded to my blatant attempt at attention seeking, and my over-zealous way of shoving you out of my world. And in a very simple fashion your message read, “So you think you can dismiss me out of your life?” Why must you always say the right things? I know…because you are my owner, and this is the way it’s supposed to be, but try telling the broken me that.
The more you said the right things, the more you pushed— the harder I fought to protect myself. Which in turn had you fighting just as hard to prove me wrong. Over and over again points were made, and I was defeated.
You win…you’re right. Maybe we can do this, maybe this can work. I gave up fighting you, and the moment I did, I felt a sudden relief wash over me. The weight of a thousand thoughts lifted from my shoulders, and I could breathe again. So, maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that happened, maybe it was just a perfect lesson learned?
Lesson learned with another lesson. We talked through my fears, and you understood, just like every other time I pushed you away, that its me and my shattered heart that’s wrong with our relationship. We decided being friends was the best option for us. We— like I’ve any say in the matter. You decided, and I think we both know that your decision was the catalyst for why you own me.
The lesson within the lesson.
Putting me on friendship terms allowed me to realize I didn’t want, nor could I be just your friend. Jealousy issues arose, and that was another can of worms, we will open later, but you knew making me sit on the sidelines would bring me around. Or that our relationship wasn’t meant to be more if I didn’t? You didn’t put any stock into the last option.
I’m the princess in the tower that screams down to her knight in shining armor. “Save me…but on my terms.” You were willing to do just that, you rescued me from that proverbial tower, and now I want nothing more that to serve you. Which also becomes a factor, when you are a chat-box— another dark, dank hole of trouble, for another day.
As you rescue me though, I realize my behaviors, though in my mind they were completely necessary to save me, you found them appalling and set to correct them. And you’d think this would’ve been the worst part of my week, being in trouble. Being punished— but it’s the most exhilarating I have felt in my entire life, and it’s because of you.
Trust— was the lesson you taught me.
Trust in your word, trust in your heart, and trust in your ability to know what I need, when I need it. Trust doesn’t come naturally to me, due to my fucked up past: my father who beat us all, my mother who let it happen, my ex-owner that abandoned me in my time of need. You knew it all, and carefully maneuvered around each potential landmine, and you kept me on the edge of orgasm for over twenty-four hours. It wasn’t until I beg you, my owner for release, that it would be granted. Beg to your satisfaction, then I would be allowed to cum for you.
We spent hours sexting back and forth, and I can’t remember how many times I begged you to cum, as I strummed my fingers over my clit, inserting toys at your request. Task after task, your commands were followed through without fail. My ass was well used, and my pussy was dripping with need. I begged you one finally time, and you typed. “Send me a picture— be a good girl for Daddy, and send me a picture of you playing with your clit. Then you may cum.”
I froze instantly, I’m sure you knew I would. I just stared at the phone in disbelief. There’s no way I can do it— I think I even said it out loud a few times. I told you how unfair you were, I called you a prick, but ultimately you’re right. If I wanted to cum, I would send it. If I didn’t, no big deal, except it’s a VERY big deal. My clit was so swollen, and I’m pretty sure I could feel the throbbing in my throat.
I’d lost my mind I think, but I sent you a picture before I had a chance to change find it. And I sat and waited…waited for you to type something, anything. Self-doubt ensued after only minutes. How could you just leave me hanging like that? How could you— you promised? All that and more ran through my mind, until I saw your reply. Setting my mind at ease almost instantly. “Princess my cock twitches just looking at your picture.”
I am sure I swooned, just before we commenced to finish me off. You left me in a puddle of a mess, and a euphoric bliss like I’d never felt before.
And it was the most mind-blowing orgasm to date.
Cum for me, Princess.
I’m reading your text again, and touching my pussy. Thought you should know.
Your Broken and Spilled out Princess
Penelope Jones- Spanking it since 1996!
THIRD TIME’S THE CHARM
The Downey Trilogy #3
by Genevieve Dewey
Adult Contemporary Fiction: Family Drama/Intrigue/Romance
Expected Release: October 31st, 2013
Once to Begin, Twice to Bind, and Third Time’s The Charm…
Of all the things Mickey Downey has accomplished in his life, successfully quitting his vices is the one thing he hasn’t been able to master. For the first time Mickey is free to have both Mary and Tommy in his life but yet he’s never been closer to being pulled back into the criminal world. While Tommy, Ginny and James work overtime to expose a nefarious plot threatening all of them, Kiki and Maeve Downey are hatching their own plots to make Mickey’s dreams come true. With shenanigans afoot in every aspect of Mickey’s life, he may be forced to pick up the weapons he promised Mary he would leave behind in order to protect his children. Can Mary finally accept he might never truly be free of it or will Mickey’s enemies once again succeed in tearing them apart?
Mary lifted her head and stared dully at his body lounging against the door frame, hands in his pockets, as usual. She was so permeated with emotion and memories and her eyes stung with that dry wetness of too many tears, she couldn’t bother to feel shame at being caught. She said the first thing on her mind.
“You—you never sent them,” Mary stopped and swallowed. “How come you never mailed them to me?”
Michael came and sat on the bed next to her. When the mattress dipped to accommodate him, her hip tilted into his and she put a hand out onto his thigh to brace herself. His left hand reached out and covered hers, tracing the faint wrinkles on her knuckles. His other hand reached across and gently took the box from her lap.
“I didn’t know where you were. But even if I had, I wouldn’t have. I couldn’t. They were never meant for you to see. I thought by writing them I could somehow exorcise you from my heart, get the memories out of my head.”
“But… After you found us and you started writing Tommy…”
“It was easier with him. There was no resentment and pain with the guilt, just love. We’re family. It was my duty as his father to make sure he knew his siblings at the very least. When I wrote to him it felt like a gift. With you…” his voice trailed off and she could tell by the tightness in his tone he was battling his emotions. “I knew after I saw you again, there would never be a day when I didn’t love you. And I no longer wanted to cut you out of my heart.”
She turned her head and looked into his eyes. They were bloodshot but otherwise dry.
“Oh, Michael,” Mary’s voice broke and his face blurred again from her tears. She wiped them impatiently. She moved her body so she could face him more directly. “Don’t you know how much I would have given to have known even half of this?”
His lips tightened and his gaze dropped to their hands.
“I thought you did know, Mary. I tried the best I could to show you what you meant to me. Words are cheap. I spent my days lyin’ to people. You know I’m damn good at it. I thought, with you, the words weren’t as important as showing you. When we were together in Brooklyn, you had all of me. All of the real me. The rest of the world had the smoke and mirrors.”
She reached up her hand and laid it flat against his chest. His heart was racing. He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his lips. She scooted closer and laid her head against his neck. She could feel the sinews of his muscles and bones and his breathing seemed labored.
“Spend the night with me. We’ve wasted so much time. You said you came for me. I’m tired of this dance, so tired,” Michael stopped. She lifted her head and watched him grit his teeth before he continued. “I’m done with it. Done with being a gentleman. We can go on as many dates as you like, but I’m not going to be under the same roof with you and not have you in my bed.”
It is necessary to read First, I Love You (Downey #1) and Second of All (Downey #2) prior to reading Third Time’s The Charm.
About the Author:
(Get missing scenes and supplemental flash fiction!)
Genevieve Dewey is the author of The Downey Trilogy and the Downey spinoff short romances featuring Katelyn & Dominic (The Bird Day Battalion and The V-Day Aversion). She is a wife, mother, sister, friend and Anthropologist. She is also an unapologetic lover of chocolate, bourbon, high heels, guns, and spending hours getting lost in research. Gen lives in Nebraska with her husband and three children. Her books include:
The Downey Trilogy
First, I Love You
Second of All
Third Time’s The Charm
The Bird Day Battalion (Free everywhere!)
The V-Day Aversion