Posted by: littlegirlyone | October 5, 2008

breaking the rule

i’ve written before about my “no touching” rule. it was a rule i really struggled with in the beginning. later, i learned something from the rule and found that my conscientious observance deepened my knowledge about submission. and, in my most recent libidinous valley, i found that the rule an easy default. afterall, i wasn’t really interested in that area, so why should i touch it? plus, i was used to keeping my hands out of the way. perhaps it was this sense of the rule suiting me, not me suiting the rule, that lead me to break it.

there’s a reason that i’ve come to see my sexual response as a hunger. you see, i’m sort of a 0-90 girl. last week, i was happily content while my sexual response fasted. this week, i found myself suddenly starving. on wednesday, i couldn’t take it anymore. i spent the whole day reading meg and deity’s backlogs. probably, that lead to my growing famine. somewhere in between reading meg’s description of her first date with antonio, her punishment in the basement, and deity’s scene where his girl called him an asshole, something inside me switched on. i wasn’t just a little hungry, i was absolutely ravenous.

i couldn’t work. when i went to lunch, i felt every single eye that watched me walk by, and i reveled in it, slowly melting underneath my dress. it was strange to go from complete asexual disinterest to seriously considering propositioning the vatos on the corner. and i felt a combination of empowerment and victimization. empowerment; so innately sexy, with my hip switching, booty swaying, breast bouncing walk. carnivorous, even. and victimized; as in completely at the mercy of my basest, darkest desires. by the time i reached the blessed end of my day, i had made up my mind: i was going to touch myself.

i realized that doing so was a total violation of the rule, but at that point, i really didn’t care. i was suffering. i hadn’t masturbated in months. i was so full of crazy, lusty energy that i couldn’t think. all i could see was being strapped onto a vibrator and forced to cum until it hurt. yes, a crazy, multiple orgasm, wipe out session was the only thing that would clear my head.

also, i was fixated on being hurt. i wanted to be hit. a LOT. so much, in fact, that i sought release during my commute by hitting myself. i’m pretty sure that sounds psychotic, and i imagine, if anyone looked over in traffic and saw little me, trying to hit her own tits with enough force to hurt, they would have laughed. or followed me home.

i practically ran in the door. i pulled my tights to mid-thigh as it closed behind me. i kicked off my maryjanes as i ran to the bedroom, stopping only briefly to admire the panties i had chosen that morning. gorgeous dark red lace in the front, hot pink trim, mesh, brazillian cut back. i seriously love those panties. (just because they are really that cute, here is a link to a pink pair that i also have. i can’t find a picture of the red ones with the pink trim.)

deciding they were really too cute to take off, and also, thinking that it would somehow be better, rules-wise, if i did it though my panties, i briskly whisked my hand across the closet floor. this is where, i thought, i’d last hidden the silver plastic shopping bag containing my favorite items: an enema bag, a buttplug, a ballgag, smartballs. and the little pink buzzy rabbit vibrator that has trustily pushed me to shivering, toe-cramping, sore-the-next-day multiple orgasms. (i could write a whole other post about how badly i want to use all of these things in the same sitting.)

i did pause, briefly, to see if i could get permission (that’s the only loophole). and, i thought about asking someone, anyone, for it. i thought about whether it would count if i texted mark to ask, or if i called a friend, or if i asked a stranger like the guy at safeway. “excuse me, do i have your permission to touch myself?” but, in my heat, i had no patience. i was seriously looking for the fastest ticket onto the orgasmatron. however, when i brushed my hand out, i didn’t feel the bag. i got on my knees and tilted my head to look at the closet floor. no bag. desperate now, i started to comb the closet from the top shelf down. damn! where did i hide my stuff? i rummaged through my lingerie drawer, even though i knew that wasn’t where i’d left it. and then, bingo! i found it.

triumphant, i grabbed the ballgag and the rabbit. yes, i grabbed the ballgag. i have an affinity for it that was somewhat unexpected at first. (i now think that it satisfies my oral fixation.) i didn’t strap it on because i didn’t want marks on the side of my mouth. i opened wide. clamping down, the familiar taste of the rubber made me sigh. it felt soooo good to have my mouth stuffed like this. i practically jumped under the covers and pulled the skirt of my dress up over my tummy at the same time. i spread my legs. i clicked on the remote control. the bunny buzzed in my hand, and for one brief moment, on my throbbing wet slit.

and then it faded.

confounded, i pulled the bunny back up for inspection. the light in the remote was on, but the bunny had stopped buzzing. curses. did it need new batteries? did i even have any AAA batteries? i tore out to the living room, and opened the drawer where i last remembered seeing batteries. fuck fuck fuck. no batteries. another drawer. no. in the third one down, i found two AAA’s. I flipped the remote in my hand, only to groan when i realized that the stupid thing had three AAA’s. i tried each possible combination of old and new batteries, but nothing worked. then, i remembered that my TV remote had batteries, but that failed, too.

the rabbit was dead, curses on his tiny plastic head!

there i was, on my hands and knees, drooling over the ballgag, shaking with desire. and not a thing i could do about it. i felt an instant rush of sympathy for all the boys i’d ever left on the brink. i’ve felt sexual frustration before, but never at this magnitude.

now, show of hands, how many of you feel bad for me, and how many of you think i got exactly what i deserved?


  1. i feel bad for you– i’ve TOTALLY been there. but i also found this to be incredibly entertaining! 🙂

  2. A wonderfully cute story lg, perhaps the dead bunny was your punishment for breaking the rule, and not getting permission? Accompanied by the frenzy.Welcome back little girl, what a treat and pleasure to be reading you again.Thank you

  3. My hand up, feeling bad for you . . .My hand is also up to volunteer for work at your Safeway.;)XO

  4. Clearly what you deserved. My opinion of the sadistic qualities of vibrators have summarily improved.

  5. Both. It was cruel, but also just. 🙂

  6. Yeah, both. I feel bad for you but karma and all that. -giggles- I could see it happening to me. I have that kind of luck sometimes.

  7. well, i’m glad it was an entertaining read. frankly, by the time i wrote this post, i saw the humor as well (although it didn’t make the frustration any better)in retrospect, i realize that there was a physiological reason for my frenzy: i was (most likely) ovulating. damnable hormones!i’m glad at least some of you felt bad for me. i love sadists, but i also love to resent them :)the moral of the story: don’t break those kinds of rules. duh. i should have known that already.

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