שטויות שרשמתי בפטלייף

The two of them left the apartment and decided to make a day of it, hand in hand like a romantic couple with nefarious schemes going rampant in either of their minds.

Going shopping, getting a cup of coffee and a snack at a café, just spending time together is enough and the moments shared are plenty.

He intentionally pulls her hair backwards to make her look up at him while being behind her, planting a peck on her forehead and fondling her ass or breasts if the moment gave way to it.

Running his hand from her knees to her panties while they sat together in the café or the restaurant, booth always the pick for that reason.

Whispering profane and lewd things into her ear when able, while letting her feel how hard her Daddy is for her; his adorable Little Girl.

Letting her hug his hand into her chest while sitting next to each other, letting those fantasies slow cook inside of her head while he keeps adding the aromatics and the spices.

It's a long day, but it'll be longer still as Daddy wants her to get her horny-ness turned up to 11.

Occasionally pressing her up things and pulling her head back to face up to him, their height difference quite visible.

Hand latched on her neck from the side but not circling it as if to choke, lips planting pecks on the face and smiling down at her.

Daddy kept assuring her "I'm going to finger your pussy and suck on your clit in the shower, just you wait" in a calming whisper.

The promise of being eaten in the shower, finger-fucked in the shower and on the bed, fucked raw and quite hard at that - all of those were told to her in whisper.

Could she keep her cool?

Should they start carrying spare underwear for his little girl incase she got too wet in public?

Should her daddy keep up his attempts of turning her on outside and in public?

All in wonder of how she would react and behave once they're back behind closed doors.

There's so much of that back and forth between them, how they do their utmost to turn the other on while in public during their dates and their outings after work.

Be it her biting his arm while they sit at a bar and leaving marks that look absolutely marvelous in his eyes.
Or his running his big hand up and down between her thighs or grabbing her ass cheek while they lounge at a sofa.

Her daddy absolutely adores the moments when she's squirming in her seat because of him, knowing full well that if he were to just push her just a little further down the rabbit hole - he'll get to see that little Minx of his in action.
Taking her out on dinner dates or pub crawls with a toy inside of her, making sure to keep her responses covert but still in public as to not rouse suspicion.
Whispering how much he's going to use her, put his fingers inside of her while he suckles on her breasts and let her gnaw at his flesh when she knows he loves it when she marks him; unashamed of those markings and proudly displaying them in a guise of territorial dominance.

To go to a party with her, let her get all riled up and in need of having her nether parts filled with fingers or a cock.
Let her tear open his buttoned-up shirt because of how pent up she is and how much she needs to release.
Let her have her turn to gnaw and bite, lick and mark.

He'll have her over his knees in no time, thumb up her pussy and his palm applying pressure on her clit.
He'll smack her ass and hear the voices she lets escape from between her lips; while her other lips let nothing slip from them.

Daddy's Good Little Girl, loves to be manhandled by him.

Daddy's Little Angel of Chaos, loves to take control of the situation and have him ask to be inside of her.

The duality of it all, the thrill of it.

His back riddled with nigh-blood letting scratches that she so thoroughly had adorned it with.
Her hips and thighs, sore from being grabbed and used while he maneuvered her little frame during their little sexual escapade in the bed.

The gentle moment after when they've showered together, providing the other with the attention their bodies need and ending in snug cuddles.

Only to begin that cycle anew.

What happens when two predatory beings of different species get together and mingle? 

That has been in his head for the duration of the time he has been with his paramour.

Her, being small and fit like a jaguar with nails fitting more like a bird of prey's talons, made to score and split skin and dig into the flesh.

Him, much taller in comparison that the vibes of a silverback with the calm demeanor of a liger (and their capability of ferocity, being the offspring of lions and tigers) with hands big and made to encompass the opposing skin.

Be it the tender touching, the bites to the skin and the marks left to be reminded of one's momentary conquest of the other, the passionate kissing and the buildup of arousal and primordial cravings or the need to pin the other down and have their fill, if only to calm their hunger down for a while.

Upon sitting over his lap and noticing he has been lusting over her for a while, with his lips coating her neck with pecks and blowing cold air on the damp spots of her neck, his teeth sinking into her skin and hearing her moan and groan in the mix of pain and pleasure; only to be met with her nails scoring the skin of his back and digging them into his flesh.

Her taking her turn in nibbling on his neck, tugging at his hair to move his head for ease of access to the area she's due to gnaw on and him grabbing at her flesh tightly at the hips, thighs or ass in rebuttal; and the sudden hand that keeps her teeth on him with a hand over her head.

With every aching moment for both parties, the urge to conquer the latter rises for them both.

With her drive to blind her prey, pinning him down and both taking her time and having her ways with him - nothing in her way to get what she wants out of him; for now.

With his primal necessity to pin his prey down and restrain it, letting his teeth gnash at her calves and thighs, the way his penis had to somewhat split her vagina open due to it's girth and the neverending need to fuck her until her knees start shaking.

But paternal instincts often kick in for him, the difference in size between them subconsciously giving off play-fighting vibes, the need to pull her in close after a good round or two of rough and exhausting fucking.

Letting her rest her head on his chest, the spooning with his arm comfortably between her breasts and his thumb inside of her mouth.

Of course, until the next time they play-fight.

The hours went by at a snail's pace, you have undergone so much edging that you should have been awarded a PhD in being edged by your lover; and yet - it never seems to get any better.

Pleading like a starved peasant in the middle ages, hungry to feel that explosion of emotions that you get from finally reaching that climax you thought you deserved.
But you have not yet gotten your succour, a build up of raging emotions in the physique of what could only be construed as a grown woman who hasn't gotten the chance to grow out of her brat phase.

He may prod, he may fiddle, he may play you like an instrument for his own amusement and you'll be none the wiser for it - for you are a toy, his toy.

Every vowel and every groan fueling the machine, like gasoline to a fire and keeping it ignited.

Using his hands, his fingers and his tools like a conductor at an orchestra, an orchestra consisting of only you. Every moan and every groan is a wonderful melody, but the climax of the show has yet to be revealed.

Would you end up begging for the room you're in to sound like a standing ovation?
Would you end up drenched just from feeling his breath on your skin, his whisper in your ear?
Would you be able to contain yourself once he allows you to finally cum?

Cum once, cum once more, cum until his fingers look pruney from being in a fluid rich environment for a prolonged time.

He may demean you, he may tease the living daylight savings out of you, he may drive you up a few walls..
But he'll always want you happy.

Be his pet, his toy, his lover, his home.

You're a little trouble maker, but you've known that.
Being a brat comes as second nature, but you seem to revel in the little moments where you're pulled aside to be groped; fondled over or under the garbs, choked or spanked.
You know what buttons you can push, you know there's no "too much" with your paramour.

But there is, little trouble, smaller maker.
There is such a thing as Too much, otherwise you wouldn't be finding yourself tied up, cold chains weighing down on your nethers and letting you feel the thermal conductivity of the metal that rests upon your bare skin.
The gag, often replaced with something to shove down to reach your throat and have you beg with flails and desperate pants for air.
The vibrating toys, regularly turned on and off so you won't get used to the sensation of having something pleasuring you.

You've pushed their buttons, now they're pushing yours for torment and fun; you are a plaything, a toy, a pet, a little trouble and an even smaller maker.

Don't be tamed, it wouldn't be fun to have you completely change on a whim after the torture.
Regress to brat-hood, embrace the eagerness to be used and toyed with.

You may be the little trouble maker, but you know you're only causing that trouble to yourself.

Being tied up and used is as much your second nature as being a brat, it ought to go hand in hand.

So what say you, little trouble, smaller maker?
Ready to press some buttons?

You've counted the minutes, the days & the weeks since your Dominant has allowed you to touch yourself to fulfillment.

Like drip irrigation, keeping you fresh and full of life. The only sexual gratification they've given you is the random pull and a good fondling or a sensual kiss that lasted much longer than it should have.

You, little pet, much to your chargin; were starved of orgasms.

Every touch, every milimeter of their skin touching you could have you swivel between two states like a metronome of "You've gotten on my nerves" to "Fuck me numb already"

Every warm or cold breath on the skin of your neck, like an invisible arm having you feel like you're grasping to the memory of being devoid of air.

Every intimate moment found to be containing less and less garments, just to push you to the edge of being edged.

Let you reach a point where you gaze at them and their corresponding genitals with avarice.

Could you last any longer, pet?

Could you keep yourself together at the seams?

You've been a good girl, but have you been great?

Let your thoughts gnaw at you, lose yourself to the senses.

You look cutest when you're grasping for straws, trying to make sense of why you're not being fucked into a new zipcode.

The frustration and the need to be toyed with going together rather splendidly.

Rejoice, little pet.

Hearken to the heartbeats.

Stop being a little platter of melted butter.

The day will come, you will cum.

Whether you'll over their lap, bouncing up and like a good little pet and your legs akimbo.

Grasp at the straws & gasp for the air you're being deprived of.

You've been a good girl, time to make you great.

Do you reckon you'd hold onto your creed, your tenets and your resolve when you're a dripping mess?

Not much ought to be whispered to you when you're tied down and blindfolded. All it takes is some light grazing and your knowing that you're helpfully helpless, at the mercy of your paramour.

Even the silliest things that could be uttered quietly by your ears could be a trigger, be it for solvency or adhesiveness.

The feeling of your lover's breath hugging your skin as they peck and unleash their canines on your supple skin, the way their body odor creeps into your nostrils and pushes you either into a trance or to the realization that you're helpless.

Be a puddle, be glue, be the prey that your little physique allows you to be in the sweetest of ways.

Be encompassed by care, by lewd behavior and the naughty thoughts that your paramour has espoused unto you.

You're an angel, you're a toy, you're little slut, you're adoribly coy.

You're a means to an end, you're the prize, you're a good little girl who deserves to finally cum.

The more the bindings get loose and removed, the lower your resolve will be.

You would get the choice to leave, but would you take it? Seeing your breasts clad in golden star stickers because you did magnificently, your juices coating your lover's digits and their eyes on you like you're the very first prize they got on Christmas morning.

The feeling of being explored without knowing what to expect, be it fingertips, a palm or their lips, anything in their disposal to make you want to scream for more... or beg for it.

Pant all you'd like, preferably in glee.

Your moans are sustenance, my little dear.

So let me ask you again, my little love.

Do you reckon you'd hold onto your creed, your tenets and your resolve when you're a dripping, hot mess?

It has been a while since you came.

Your daddy's been starving you out of orgasms, or being filled up with his viscous sperm.

It has been a rough two weeks and you know damn well that he's been using anything to make you whimper quietly.. be it feeding you personally with his fingertips grazing your lips just to spite you, keeping a passionate kiss going for a little longer than usual, letting you smell his cologne while he leans down to hug you tightly, patting you on the head which he knows you love so much, pulling you over to him randomly just to sit you ontop of his lap and dote on you with affection and even suggestively press his limbs against your nethers in a way that lets you feel his warmth radiating through to you; all just to see you whimper and how bad your eyes tell on you that you have a primal urge to be satisfied and have the daylight savings fucked out of you.

You've been a good girl, haven't you?
You deserve to be fed your comfort food, given flowers, chocolates and an oversized shirt that'll let you drown yourself in daddy's scent.
You deserve to be manhandled, choked, used like a little toy, bathed in compliments, pampered, fucked roughly until you need assistance going to the bathroom, cuddled, kissed all over, pumped full of hot cum and loved like the cute little majestic angel that you are.

That day will come, little love. Daddy loves to torment you and make you whimper in desperation.
Daddy loves to make you overthink every touch of his, "will he make me cum around his fingers?" you're probably asking yourself that everytime he teases you.

You're a cute little plaything, you're a pretty little angel, you're a cumdump and a cocksleeve.

It has been a while and all your little body could muster is nothing but an utter, a yelp and a small stutter because of what he's been promising to do to you; nothing short of cruelty in human form as you saw it.

"It's been a while since I let you cum, hasn't it baby?" He had asked you, leering down at you like a predator looking for his next meal and stalking your clinginess and need to be satisfied.
Hormones are going wild, you've not been allowed to cum for a good few days - and the edging ? It hasn't helped you one single bit.
An iota of hope, a glimmer of what's to come and be undone to you for all the days you have done unsatisfied as he undresses you and ties your hands up and over your head; attaching the bindings to a hook that snugly kept your arms up.
Your bare breasts are grazed by the cool air of the room, your skin feels the velvety cotton bedding and you can feel his weight moving the mattress you laid so graciously on top of.

Your legs were tied to opposite sides of the legs of the bed, spreading you akimbo and in sight of him.
You weren't allowed to cum for a while, maybe today's the day?

As the candlewax landed and splattered gracefully on your delicate skin, trickling and trying to make new art of the beautiful masterpiece that's been laid on the bed.. simply ready to be used.
The wax slightly sizzling the top layers of your skin from the momentary heat differential, your own body temperature cooling it down to harden atop you and leaving your soft and sensitive areolas for his mouth to be used to tend to them with.

He laid next to you after the candle has been all but spent, running his hand on the empty space between where he intentionally left exposed skin ontop of your chest and abdomen; just to place his warm, big hand over your pussy. Moving your bands from your forehead and planting a soft kiss on it, all while he begins to let his thick fingers delve into your hole.

"I wonder what made you this wet, little peanut." He whispered, gazing into your eyes as if he wasn't your tormentor, the one who turned you on every single time he was bored - which was a lot.
Looking at you as if he wasn't the one who forbade you from cumming, from masturbating and breaking your promise to him that you'll be a good, obedient little girl.

He gave you a kiss on your lips, smiling down at you and pulling his fingers out of your pussy if only just to plant his hand firmly between your legs; the sound of the wetness extruding out of you and the impact against your flesh had filled the room.
You're his little princess, his little angel.. but tonight ? You're nothing but a fleshlight.

Every repetition of his hand rather bluntly hitting your nethers, only to be followed with his fingers going back inside of you and using his thumb to apply pressure to your clit.
"Do you think you deserve to cum tonight, little love?" He asked you, removing the bindings from the pull of the hook just to let you sling your arms over his head and around his neck.
His fingers pushing as deep as his palm would allow, pushing upwards to the roof of your pussy and pinching both sensitive areas with his thumb and fingertips.

As he grabbed a handful of your hair, pulling your head to expose your neck and nibble onto it like a hungry carnivorous animal - all while the sloshing of his hand touching and exploring your pussy could fill the silence.
He loves your moans, he loves it when you shudder in excitement and finds it akin to listening to a symphony; hence why he decided to play you like an instrument.

"Do you want to cum tonight, my darling?" He asked you, knowing to pull his fingers out and smack your dripping pussy right as you uttered your answer. He loved it when you yelped in excitement, when you knew you were nothing more than his plaything.

You're breedable, you're wonderful and you're his to take his time agonizing you, letting you taste the precum off of his cock.

He hasn't cum either, he's been fair about the ordeal. He cannot wait to put his load wherever you asked him to. You were a good girl after all.

Sometimes your moral ambiguity's not in check.

It's alright to be that way, after all... you've been trying to build up an immunity to the splendor and beauty of what has been done to you.
After countless hours of being used like a toy, filled up by semen or a warm velvety hand that spread you apart like nothing you've never thought possible.
After the countless times that you've felt a firm hand over your neck, squeezing whatever air out of your throat that tried to go down to your lungs and revitalize you with more of that oxygen that you've been deprived of.
After all of the countless times you have been fingered and things shoved into your mouth and holes, your body learning what impact play is..

The first time you stand in public with your significant other, with your dominant, your top and the muse to all of the melodies you've released and sang while moaning, whining in sweet pain and ending up a wet mess to be pampered, tended to and held.
Their hand is on your cheek, lightly caressing your face and averting your eyes upwards towards them and the innocent gaze that looks back at you, telling you that you're going to be rewarded later on in the day.
Be it at home, in the park behind a bush, in the public bathroom stall, taken aside and being given what your body's been aching to for what it's gotten used to; that mental conditioning of expecting something else from a situation that usually won't merit it.

That dress you beautifully graced with your curvaceous figure, lifted up in a place of their choosing and either one or both of your orifices used to their heart's content. You're a plaything, after all.. Or at least, that is what you tell yourself.
You're their toy, you're their treasure (Their Schatz). You're a wonderful little creature that deserves to be rewarded for your good behavior.

Have you been good? The reward may not be as eternal as one can think, but you'll enjoy it nonetheless. You've trained yourself to admire the person who made you their source of admiration; though the roles are obviously not the same.

Your hair, ever so softly as their fingers run through it and hold it in a tight knot, just to make you look at them or make you squeal for them.
Your neck, ever so warm and velvety as their hands grip onto it, making you remember how fun having oxygen is and letting them see how your eyes roll backwards from the sensation you're receiving.

How about it, little toy?
Care for another trip down memory lane ?