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Personal Narrative-It's What It Means

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Without sufficient reason, my eyes pop open in the dead of night, my body unbearably filled with lust. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I try to focus my thoughts on nonsexual things like puppies and chocolate. Instead, my efforts result in thoughts about Liam smearing me with melted chocolate and then slowly licking it off. A quiet moan escapes me at the thought and I lick my lips, my hand creeping down between my thighs. After a moment of hesitation, I pull it back and shift to a more comfortable position; I just can’t touch myself, never have, never will. All attempts to drift back to sleep end in vain: counting sheep, humming softly, sheer willpower, everything. Turning on the lamp, I look over and see Liam laying on his back, mouth slightly …show more content…

Does that mean you like pain a lot? Like, making yourself bleed, and whips and stuff?” “Yes, that’s what it means, and I think a lot of people are like that, just in varying degrees.” “I don’t understand.” He paused, searching for the right way to elaborate. “Well… you like whoopings right? And when I scratch you? That’s a degree of masochism; a very light one, but nonetheless. Then there are some people who like more extreme things, like actually getting cut or even emotional abuse.” “That sounds terrible, Liam,” I remark, frowning my face up. “How can anyone like that?” “Everyone has different preferences.” He leans down by my ear. “Now, how about we discover some more of yours?” He chuckles and nips at my earlobe. “Lay on your back for Daddy now, okay?” “Okay.” Lying flat on my back, I ponder what would occur next. He pulls the covers off of me to reveal a dark purple bra and a pair of black panties. “Aren’t these your favorite colors?” He asked, climbing on top of me. “Yeah.” “You’re not attached to this particular pair, are you?” “Not really… …show more content…

“I was hoping for something a bit more specific than that, mama; perhaps the question should be: Where do you want me?” Groaning in frustration, I struggle to play along. “I want your mouth on my breasts, I want to feel your tongue on me and for you to feel my nipples grow hard at your touch. I want you to lick me all over and feel me shudder in pleasure beneath your warm body. I want you in me, stroking, pounding, pulling me closer to the edge. I… I… ” I can’t continue, for I’ve driven myself delirious indulging in my own fantasy. Desperately, I look to him, wondering if the description I gave would suffice. There’s a pained look on his face, as though he wanted those exact things. I wiggle beneath him in impatience and whine a little. “Daddy, please… “ Jerking out of his daze, he turns his focus back on me. “Alright, Precious, alright.” As he leans down to take my breast, I arch my back and meet him halfway. Despite the enveloping warmth, my nipples turn hard as his tongue circles and flicks, first milking, then nipping before turning his attention to the other one. I long to touch him, to get my fingers tangled in his beautiful shoulder length locs, to claw at his back and leave marks of my own, but my hands remain pinned in place by his

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