… on one single afternoon.

And four emails.

4:07 PM Can you force me to eat my own jizz?

4:26 PM Can you make me jizz in my own mouth?

5:05 PM I will call and you can make me jizz all over my own face.

[doesn’t call]

5:35 PM Can you make me eat my own cum?

……. ……. …….

Unfortunately, I couldn’t figure out what he wanted.

My very good boy, SlutR, delivered the goods when I told him to FESS UP, so that the girls and I could enjoy a bit of comic relief during our Monday Night Girls Only party:

This past week I was the recipient of an assignment from Your good friend Ms. Angela.  This was the assignment:

Answer this question: Why I must eat my own cum for Ms. Angela.

So why indeed?  Let me count the ways.  The first is rather basic – what Ms. Angela says, goes.  She rules the roost – she controls the cock.  But to leave it with a rationale that seems rather reductive.

If I do a more thorough bit of self-analysis, I think there’s a part of me that is grateful for the time she has spent with me getting to know me better, sharing her experiences, exploring my fantasies, and yes, penetrating my head space.  And in my kinky mind, that gratitude peaks  whenever she is feeling generous enough to permit a release.  Those moments usually arrive at the *ahem* climax following sustained periods of her expert teasing. As those precious moments arrive, my whole being (mind and body) become supercharged with emotions and sensations that wash over me.  I also become highly suggestible, and Ms. Angela, being the expert Domme and Mind-Fucker that she is, knows how to take full advantage.

One of the ways this manifests itself is the aforementioned requirement that I slurp down my own jizz.  I have a phrase for this — it’s an act of providing “kinky collateral” to her as a token of my appreciation.  I would be curious what the specific appeal to Ms. Angela has regarding this act (it may overlap with some of the material here — perhaps one of you ladies can ask her *big sheepish grin*)

I believe she is also a woman who like to probe my mind and push boundaries. In our time together she has cultivated the previously hidden slut in me, and I think that her further developing a cum fetish in me may be a part of that — another item in her tool belt, if you will.

Anyway, I have a tendency to get a bit verbose, so I’ll leave it there for now, not wanting to cut too much into the typical Monday night festivities.  Actually – that’s not entirely true – I am more than a bit greedy for whatever attention I can get from you fine ladies.

Hope all of you are well, and thanks for listening.

Sincerely, Slut R.

For those of you who don’t know, I have a regular Monday night party for my girlfriends. In reality, no man passes through my front door on these nights. Girls only, bitch boy! But for little exhibitionist it’s a great scenario on which to build a filthy fantasy.  Which I decided to do with R.C. a while back. I think he liked it.

I think he liked it a lot:

Good evening, Ladies. 

I have been instructed by our mutual friend, Ms. Angela, to write to all of you to introduce myself. My name is R.C. Over the past month or so, I have accepted Ms. Angela’s invitation to be her loyal pet. What exactly does that mean? (I’m glad you asked, rhetorical questioners.) In addition to engaging in some lovely vanilla conversations, I have submitted to her the control of my cock–erm, her cock, as she now likes to refer to it. How did this happen, exactly? Some kind of Don Corleone-esque “offer I couldn’t refuse”? I suppose we can in fact chalk it up to Ms. Angela’s estimable powers of persuasion. After all, in a sentiment in which I believe we may all agree: “She has the pussy, She makes the rules.”

I sure my Mistress apprised you of this, but I’ll recap anyway: a few weeks back Ms. Angela spun a fantasy about a scenario where all of you ladies were in Ms. Angela’s loft for one of your Monday night gatherings, the one major wrinkle being that I had been invited along by Ms. Angela for, in the euphemistic sense, “entertainment purposes.” The scenario did get quite steamy, not that any of us would be surprised at Ms. Angela’s legendary talent for spinning a naughty yarn.

I’m not sure how in depth Ms. Angela went in her recap on her end, but in broad strokes (and hard strokes, natch) she preyed on my prominent foot fetish to persuade me to spring into action, pampering all of your perfectly pedicured toes. She even permitted me to slide my throbbing cock in between here and there to get a bit of what I coined “foot pussy.” Because a deviant foot slut like myself could not hold out for too long with the combination of that visual floating through my imagination and a particularly wicked torrent of Ms. Angela teasing, I ended up shooting quite a load of jizz all over those wiggling toes. Ms. Angela — never one to pass up a moment to literally rub my face in it — prodded me to bend down and immediately slurp up all that sperm juice from those creamy toes. So, yes, to put it bluntly, I ate my own cum. I ate my own cum FOR REAL for Mistress Angela.

I would like to profusely thank each and every one of you for playing an indirect role in that particular scenario. Even though I believe it may be your second time hearing some of this, I hope you were amused to hear it from my perspective.

Hello Ms. Diana: I understand you were the one who requested a bit of posing last night. Hope you enjoy what you saw; I personally don’t think it will win any prizes, but I’ve also been told it’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Anyway, I think I’ll let you ladies get back to the other topics that are on the agenda for tonight, as well as the Monday night programming. I appreciate your taking the time to listen, and if any interest is there and it aligns w/ Ms. Angela’s wishes, I would be happy to keep the correspondence going in the future.

R.C.

Stay tuned for Part 2, coming soon  to a Zen Fetish blog near you.

xo, Angela