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Gossamer

I’ve been grounded for bad behaviour. I let my phone run out of charge, stayed out late without permission, and didn’t wake up early enough to report in and receive orders. It turns out if you want to convince a sceptical 40 year old slut that she’s to go straight home from work on a Friday evening rather than sit out in the sunshine, all you need to do is call her ‘little girl’ immediately after telling her to do it. That works. Fucking hell, does that work. Who even knew.

A lot of chores will be done today. Rather than hanging out with buddies I will be tidying my room, vacuuming, cleaning the bathroom, repotting plants. I won’t be touching my cunt, because, well, punishment. Last night I was allowed to play with my dildo- and as long as the dildo was inside me I could touch everything else. As soon as it lost contact I was to stop. Hands off. No touch.

I lay on my back, fucking myself slowly with the dildo, feeling it slide in and out, an inch and then an even sweeter inch, lifting my hips and pressing my butt into the mattress so I could fuck my cunt hands- free. One hand pressing against my clit, the other pulling at a nipple. I edged 4 times; sometimes I was so close it almost felt like I’d ruined. Sometimes the difference between edging and ruining an orgasm is no more than the flutter of gossamer wings. There is an almost invisible line, and I dance along it, like a tightrope walker in ballet slippers. It’s a halting dance, a wobbly- legged dance, it’s no dance at all. It’s me, on my back, in my bed, on dampened cotton sheets, with my finger on my clit, seeing how far I can push myself before I have to jerk myself back.

I slept, with the dildo held in my cunt by teal lace knickers. I dreamt I was at a play party, half naked, giggling and fooling around with various men. In my sleep I could feel their hands on my belly, their cocks against my cunt, their breath on my neck, my face, in my mouth. I dreamt that I looked down at myself and suddenly my feet were shackled and my hands tied. The shackles were light and beautifully crafted, and only really limited my gait, slowed me down as I moved, forcing me to be more mindful. I was clothed, wearing several random layers that hid my shape; there was cum or lube in my hair. I felt graceful, and used, and so happy.

When I woke up I pulled my underwear down too quickly, and the dildo slid out. I lay there, legs spread, desperate to touch myself, desperate to obey. My cunt is drenched, and my breathing won’t deepen, and I have to do chores. I am being punished. I haven’t cum for a week. I am so happy.