Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 137135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
So why don’t you hop in your car and go to the store to see if Dumpster Daddy is there, if you’re so… down in the dumps? the cunty voice cackles, and I roll my eyes, even though I know the dumb pun technically came from my own brain. Before I can respond… aloud… to my own thoughts—I let out a sigh at how crazy I sound even to myself—the voice speaks up again. Or why don’t you get your lazy ass off the couch, go shower for once, get dressed, and go to the club to see if Dream Daddy is there? Grow some fucking balls and approach him for once instead of standing on the sidelines watching some other ho get all his attention!
I’m shaking my head… at myself… before the voice inside it even finishes taunting me.
“No way. Dumpster Daddy, okay. He seemed more approachable if I happen to run into him again. His vibe was… cautious but obliging. Like he was telling himself he shouldn’t help me because I got myself into that whole mess on my own, but then he couldn’t resist, because that’s just the kind of person he is. But Dream Daddy?” I shake my head again, this time hastily. “That man, one does not approach unless you’ve received a written invitation. No, not even an invitation, because that would imply you can choose to decline. Nuh-uh. That guy… you don’t get to be in his close proximity unless you’ve been ordered to be there.”
Even though that makes him sound like either the biggest douche canoe on the face of the planet or just plain scary as shit, my body gives zero fucks. It still reacts the same way it always does when I think about the Dom at Club Alias known as Sir Jeremy. But I call him Dream Daddy nonetheless, because he’s who I imagine would be the Dom of my dreams. The way he speaks to the subs he plays with, the way his glove-covered hands move along their skin with such care, such reverence, the way he never gives up until he’s wrung every ounce of pleasure he possibly can out of their bodies…. That’s only the tip of the iceberg of what makes my pussy always begin to ready itself, clenching and growing wet, as if waiting for a turn to experience such a Master.
So, no. I will not be hightailing it to the club like a cat in heat to go proposition a sex god who probably wouldn’t even give me the time of day. Not to say he’s one of those Doms. That’s a rabbit hole I wish I would’ve never fallen down, because while I’m coming to terms with being a pleaser to a fault, Gorean Doms—at least for my own submission—take it too far.
Living the lifestyle 24/7 based on a science fiction novel from the ’60s?
Sounds a little too culty for me.
And from what I read—which could be completely wrong, seeing as I’ve never actually spoken to Gorean kinksters—they take it even further than a Master/sex-slave relationship, in which a true Master still respects his sub who has given up her ability to set limits. Those Masters know their sub’s likes and dislikes, what they truly enjoy and what they allow only because they want to please their Dom, and they keep their slave’s trust by not taking things too far. They love to toe the line, even go past the boundary on occasion as a test of their sub’s obedience, just to make sure the slave hasn’t gotten too comfortable in the idea their Master won’t still use their body the way it pleases them. But if they have that level of trust from another person, it’s very hard for a good Master to do anything that would break it, that would break the person who has submitted to them so fully. It’s the ultimate form of submission a Dom could earn, and it would be downright stupid for them to fuck that up for themselves.
From what I gathered about the Gorean ones though, all that trust stuff is bullshit. They don’t give a damn about their slave’s pleasure and comfort. The slave is there to be used however the Dom wants, and whether the sub gets any enjoyment out of it is of no concern to the Dom.
That’s a no from me, dawg.
Going back to what I was doing before my voices did their usual distracting thing, I click on the video I posted last, and I’m not even ashamed to admit I laugh my ass off at myself. Well, I guess it’s not me that’s funny, seeing as I’m just lip syncing to someone else being funny, but it makes me laugh either way.
The sound is a person saying, “I just figured out why girls call each other ‘sis.’” After a pause, they deliver the punchline. “It’s because they’re all calling the same dude ‘daddy!” And they let out a “gotcha” kind of laugh that’s contagious every time I hear it.