Prelude to a fuck

Since PG stood me up last week (dammit to hell), I have had to tell myself every single day: DO. NOT. TEXT. HIM. I told myself to wait till he texts me…if he texts me. Be strong. It is a struggle, to be sure. My brain gets stuck on thoughts and it won’t let them go until I act on them. I know, I know…I’m mental, but that is not the point here. The point is that I did not text him since last Thursday. I was strong and I was killing it. I made it through my first week with a personal trainer at the gym. I had the ever-loving crap fucked out of me by the hottest gigolo ever (Man Bun) on July 3rd…and 4th. I. Am. Fucking. Invincible.

I was minding my own business, slacking off from work – and binge watching “Big Little Lies”. And then? At 3:21 p.m., my phone made its notification sound: “Lacroix, sweetie!” (a line from the TV show “Absolutely Fabulous”) Dammit. Do I have another fucking automated charge that I forgot about from QVC on my AmEx? I checked my phone and IT WAS HIM. Sweet, merciful crap! “Yo,” said he. “Hey,” said I. He texted next: “Been super busy doll. How you been” (His occasional use of good grammar and punctuation is ALWAYS excused BECAUSE HE’S FUCKING PLANE GUY, DAMMIT, so STFU and keep reading.) For the record, I do love when HE calls me “doll”. My response, as the delicate flower that I am, was: “Fucking horny as fuck. Give me your dick.” Many things have been said about me over the years, but no one has ever called me subtle, although a college professor once called me the shrinking violet of his class to another professor. Sorry…I digressed there. PG’s reply of “Jesus” pleased me, but then he didn’t reply for 40 minutes. Balls.

The subsequent texts exchanged were extreme – even a little worrisome, so I shared them with a friend. Perhaps I mentioned it before, but I am the one person in the world who can mind fuck herself into a frenzy better than anyone can. The things we texted to one another would possibly be construed by a non-BDSM-friendly individual as completely inappropriate at best and possibly illegal at most. You have been warned, so GTFO now if you are not up for some sick shit. Onward.

PG asked if I needed to be raped and I replied affirmatively. (I actually replied, “Christ, yes.”) That reply was not good enough for him. “No. You fucking slut. Say it. Tell me what you want me to do to you. Tell Daddy. In detail.” I replied with the requested detail and it was vulgar, extreme…even for me. I was pretty proud, TBH.

Then shit got real. Here are a few examples: “I wanna tear your pussy with your dildo fully inserted into your asshole.” “You’re going to fuck your mouth with my cock, right? Gag and choke on me? Spit on my dick?” “And you will properly stroke me and lick and tongue fuck my asshole?” “And you will let me beat you and choke you and rape you?”

Um. After all that, I replied, “As long as Daddy keeps me safe, yes.” He cared not for that. See the screen shot below for the rest.


Right. The next few texts established the time I should appear, what I should wear, and that I had better be on time and then I was off to prep myself for…well…I wasn’t sure what, but I was willing to find out. (Clearly, I am alive and well, guys, so don’t freak out. I’m going to bed now…I’ll follow up with a post about our actual encounter very soon!)

…and always remember: Ho is life, y’all!

Sluttily yours,
#notesfromaslut #honeytoes #hoislife

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