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.