There’s been an incident.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving here in ‘Murica and your favorite slut was proper stuffed. (That’s how they say it, innit, Nicola? Pissflaps forever!!! Miss you!! Quality.) Oh, how very cliché I am. Yes, I am thankful for peen…only the good peen, though, duh. You know that I search far and wide to find only the best peen so that my holes can be utilized and so that I can tell you all about my shenanigans.

Y’all know my love for #Vegas and that I visit several times a year, rarely missing a July 4th or Thanksgiving. I usually stay at the modest and delightfully cheesy Luxor and this time was no exception, but I only stayed there for two nights. On my last day I moved to Vdara. Go ahead and hit up the Googles if you have never been there. I’ll wait.

Yeah. So it is hella good, right?! Right. I booked a room suite with a view of the Bellagio fountains. Little did I realize that this meant that my suite would be on the top floor (56th) and have the most ridiculous view evah!! I was mesmerized by the fountains and the shiny lights of the Strip. #penthouse #fyl #blissandjoy #happyplace #shinythings (Below, Bellagio fountains at night – duh – and the sunrise today)

Anyhoo, it had been a hot minute since I had seen Master, but I’d finally see him on this day. I’m sure you’re not shocked to hear that I was in need of some cock. Oh, but wait, lemme back up just a smidge. I decided to look at Tinder to see what was happening here in Vegas. I swiped right on a few guys. I matched with one dude. He will not get a name because he is a spazhole, though he didn’t quite start out as such. Lemme ‘splain to you.

He sent a message on Tinder and we ended up texting. He alleged to be a “Dom” and I was slightly intrigued – mostly because I was horny AF and he was tall (6’3″) and nearby. He seemed amusing from his profile. Our texts were going in a good direction and he was okay knowing that I was not local. His family flew in from BOS for Thanksgiving, so he was not free to chat with me all day, but our texts stopped at a good point. I looked forward to talking some more with him. I sent his info to a few gal friends and they seemed pleased with this prospect.

This morning I woke up to see the sunrise (see pic above for sunrisey goodness) and he texted me. I was excited to hear from him and we texted a bit. Without going into all the back and forth, things quickly went all fakakta. You see, he asked me if I wanted to call him Daddy or Master. Er. I said that I already have a Daddy and a Master, but he could pick what I call him. I explained briefly about Daddy (PG): that I have known him for over a year (!!!!) and that there is some loyalty to PG there, twisted and one-sided though it may be. I think it is disingenuous to call multiple guys the same thing, but whatevs.

Then he went all psycho Dom: “Do you want an owner or not?” #bitchplease #ohnohebettahdont Oh, okay, fuckface, is this how you play, little man? My reply included: “I am the ultimate owner of myself. I’m not mindless.” He did not like that he was talking to a woman with her own free will and a brain and a set of balls apparently larger than his were. He sulkily replied: “You can’t have him and me.” Wow. I guess he didn’t realize that I can fucking have whatever the fucking fuck I fucking want and that NO ONE will ever be able to lure me away from PG. Jackass. What a little bitch he turned out to be. (Honeytoes’ extra tip: Yo, guys, if you call yourself a Dom, please know that such self-classification does not make you one. You have to earn your title and respect. If being an asshole made a man a Dom, then they’d be everywhere! Submission is a fucking gift, you ill-advised, tiny-peen-having malcontents, and if you cannot appreciate me allowing you the perception of control, then please do go fuck yourself. #asshats #fakedom #wanker) So, for the few out there from FT who were excited for this new prospect, I am sorry to tell you it is a no-go. #idowhatiwant

Let’s get back to Master. He arrived and I showed him around the suite. We hung out for a little while admiring the view (save for the stupid Trump hotel) and then he asked me to turn over so that he could redden my big, pale ass with his hand. With each slap I felt my ass jiggle. While not generally a fan of spankings, I was happy to be spending time with Master again. Obviously, we quickly ended up in the bedroom. I went on my back, my head over the end of the bed so that Master could properly stuff his dick down my gullet. #iseewhatyoudidthere Again, throat fucking is not for everyone, but when in the right mood, it can be quite pleasurable. It was.

I then swung around and ended up on my back and Master’s hard cock finally plunged into my soaked pink bits. Yes, please! That’s the stuff I needed. What I was really craving, though, was some anal fun. You may remember that my last encounter with PG was #analicious, but it had been a while since I had had anal with PG or anyone else, for that matter. I flipped over and enjoyed a deep dicking in my naughty place. The feeling of grinding my ass against a man trying to get deeper and deeper into my very guts is exhilarating. It makes me cum every time, in case you were curious. Master pulled out and came all over my ass and then he cleaned me up with one of the 5,000 towels in the suite.

And then? Master fingered my pussy till I squirted like the fountains outside of my delightful 56th floor fortress of slutitude – I mean solitude. This, of course, necessitated a shower and a change of the bed linens. I hit the housekeeping button on the phone and when the lady answered, I said, “There’s been an incident. We need a change of bed linens.” I wonder what, if anything, she thought about the phrasing of my request. Master and I lounged around the suite (How many times can I put “suite” into this post??) in our white robes and watched the fountains and pretty lights. Again. As the housekeeper refreshed the bed, I leaned back against Master in the living room. He played with my nipples. The young gal who tended to our linen-ary needs was sweet and efficient. I tipped her a $10 and she was gone.

We were ravenous, but I didn’t want to leave the suite. We browsed the room service menu on the tablet and placed our order for a hamburger and spaghetti with marinara sauce. Our meal arrived quickly and was set up perfectly for us on the lovely table. I felt very special (I’m not) and like a queen (I’m a Princess, silly!) as Master and I nommed on the delicious vittles while wearing our bathrobes. #luxelife #assholesandcunts #clams4life


Oh, and?? The big bathtub was a delight. I love taking a hot bath in a deep tub (don’t have a big tub at home) with Lush bath bombs. I offered up a selection of various bombs and I let Master pick one he liked. I filled up the tub and dropped in a fizzy bath bomb and watched with glee as the water turned a most pleasing shade of orange. Then, for good measure, I added one-third of one of the bubble-producing bomb thingies. BUBBLES! We got in and relaxed. This is why I work so hard: so that I can have these moments of bliss and serenity. There was no tub sex. Water sex is highly overrated and dangerous! I’m not about that life, as my 18-year-old niece would say.

Again we ended up in the bedroom on the refreshed bed and talked and *sigh* snuggled up a bit. I can’t explain it to you guys. I’m not a cuddler or a snuggler, but I really do enjoy relaxing in the bed, up close and personal with Master. #dontyoujudgeme I feel safe with him. Again, I cannot explain it. It. Just. Is. He was hungry for pho. I would have loved some also, but I didn’t want to leave my cocoon. Master got his things together and was on his way to eat some noodles.

I will be back in Vegas in early December and will have a packed schedule!

  • Seeing Man Bun (blog update!)
  • Finally meeting a fabulous FTer (corky) for lots of tequila or champagne…or both (Yo. Where you at, CP?? Kisses to Puppers!)
  • Going to see the Michael Jackson Cirque show at Mandalay Bay
  • Seeing Master (blog update!)

As I sit here in the Centurion Lounge at the Las Vegas airport, I ask myself why men are such fucktards. I hate to generalize (no, I don’t), but it just seems universal. My friends have all been done wrong by many men after thinking that all was well. It is vexing. Maybe I am simply a fucktard magnet. I don’t know.

Also, I finally asked what the “reserved” tables are for in this lounge and was told that they’re for the Centurion Card holders – the famous Black Card. I, myself, do not have one. I’m not that special or rich.

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

Sluttily yours,
#notesfromaslut #honeytoes #hoislife

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