Posted by: littlegirlyone | May 5, 2010

Terrible, juicy self-objectifying fun

This post is dedicated to Murre, in response to her request for writing about something terrible and juicy Orlando’s readership has experienced, that they recommend he try. In essence, I propose that Murre pick some physical trait about Orlando, and make him objectify himself positively, using that trait. This is a scene where I had to do just that (and it will hopefully make this rather vague suggestion a little more concrete.)

I hope Murre is healthy, and pain-free. And of course, I hope she enjoys this.

“Set up the camera so I can watch you masturbate,” Daddy said. He was at work, and I was home, studying naked.

“Right now?” I asked.

“Yes, right now.”

“What do you want to see?

“I need to see all of you. You might have to move back,” he noted as I adjusted myself.

I set my laptop on the floor, and crawled up onto the couch. I had been sitting on the floor, leaning back against the couch, surrounded by pillows. But now he wanted to see all of me. So onto the couch I crawled.

I stood on my knees at the edge of the couch, bent a nearby pillow in half, and wedged it firmly between my thighs. Then I leaned forward, placing my hands on the floor in front of me.

“I like that view,” he said.You can’t come on your belly like that, can you?”

I nodded that I could, indeed.

“Good. Well, don’t come, just play,” he said.

I got to work, clenching my ass, and rolling my pussy into the pillow in a nice, slow grind. It didn’t take long for me to get into it. And I was close, so close to orgasm. but keeping myself away from the edge. This was about his pleasure, watching. And part of his pleasure was my frustration.

“Do you like grinding on those pillows? Let’s see it. That is a really good angle for you, piglet. All tits and ass like Daddy likes.”

I moaned, rubbed a little faster, then slowed my roll a bit. I didn’t want to get to the point of no return. That would be a disaster.

“No, don’t stop, don’t slow down.”

“But–”

“Don’t stop, don’t slow down. Just grind for me, baby girl. And don’t you come, either. You can do it.”

With a little whine, I upped my speed again. This wasn’t easy. There were too many things to like about it: the exposure, the camera, his voice, the little girl feelings I get from humping a pillow, the humiliation…

Oh, God.

“Come on,” he urged. “Now, make me forget those skinny bitches. Show me what a chubby bitch is for. A skinny bitch’s tits don’t hang like that, do they? Tell me why you’re better.”

His words sliced into me. They hurt, and at the same time they turned me on. I know what he thinks girls like me are best for: fucking. Girls like me, all lush and voluptuous, are for grabbing and pounding and stuffing. It’s so compelling to think that my best use is as a sexual object. And, at the same time, I’m deeply self-conscious about my shape. No matter how much I work on accepting myself, a part of me always wishes I were a size 4.

“Do you like watching me humping this pillow?’ I started. My voice was barely a whisper, my cheeks were burning pink. I wanted to close my eyes. It was too humiliating to talk like this. It felt too hard.

“Yes, good. Look at me,” he reminded me.

I raised my eyes to the camera lens.

“You like watching my tits bounce and swing.” I gasped. It was horrible. I hate the way my breasts hang. I hate the word tits. I was speaking softly, since I didn’t really want him to hear what I was saying. And I was still pressing myself into the pillow, over and over, quickly like he’d asked.

“I do,” he promised.”Now speak up.”

“Ooooh,” I moaned in frustration. “You like watching my round chubby ass. You like how it bounces. You like thinking about how soft it is, like a pillow of girlflesh. You want to spank it, watch it wiggle.” While my ass was a little easier for me to talk about, the words still stuck in my throat.

“Mmmhmmm. Yes. And I want to smack it with my belt. Tell me.”

“You want to smack my pretty, chubby, round ass with your belt. You want to beat it. Hard.” I pushed through my shame, my flaming embarrassment with thoughts of him. I focused on what this was doing to him, on how it felt for him to watch me do this to myself.

“Mmmm. Fuck.” His voice was getting rougher. I loved that, but the situation was horrible. And horribly sexy. I felt like I was selling myself. He was asking me to talk about my body in such a sexy, objectifying way. And it pushed right up on my self-image issues because while there’s parts of my body I like, I would never talk about myself like this. It felt ridiculous, obscene. I’m not the modern, western standard of physical beauty. I’m too soft, too wiggly. And damn it, he knew that.

I took another ragged breath, pressed harder into my pillow, and said, “You don’t want to fuck some skinny girl. You want to fuck me. You want to hold onto me, sinking your big hands into my curves, feeling me wiggle beneath you. You want to make me scream.”

“Yes I do. God, yes.” his excitement encouraged me.

“You want to slide your cock between my heavy, soft tits. You want to press them around you, all warm and  real.” I found some confidence. “You want to grip my round little belly, pressing your palms into my sides. You want me.” I smiled, small and slow. “You want me.”

“God, you’re hot. I do want you.”

“I know,” I said, as something broke, finally free. I was shameless. Open. “You want my ass and my tits and my soft pretty skin. You want to fuck me. You want to use me hard. You want to –” I stopped, had the catch myself, catch my breath. I had to concentrate on something not sexy. I had to put myself somewhere else.

“You almost came, huh?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“What were you about to say?”

“Ohhh, I was about to say. I was about to say that you want to fuck my ass.” This was a whisper. I didn’t dare say it louder, didn’t dare think about it. No mental images. I thought about cats and yellow school buses and any unsexy thought I could grab onto.

“Mmmmmm. Stop.”

I stopped grinding against the pillow, and bounced a little. My features must have twisted into a pout.

“Awww. What’s the matter? Do you want to come? You can come now if you want to, but that’s one of your orgasms for the week. Think about the week, all the way to next Saturday. That’s a long time. Do you want to come?”

I stared at the screen, dumbly. I couldn’t decide.

“I–I don’t know!”

“You want Daddy to pick? Save it for later, then. You’re going to want it. A week’s a long time.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I agreed.

“Good girl.”

And I curled into a frustrated, pouty, quivering, little ball, and closed my eyes. I felt juicy and terrible. And wet.


Responses

  1. omgosh, this was too hot. I’ll never get my mind back to work

  2. That might be your hottest post yet.

  3. That was HOT, Lg!

    Ps. junk in the trunk is sexy too! It’s an ASSet, I think 🙂

  4. My mind is swimming from this post. It is so terribly erotic! Wow….

  5. holy cow! hotness!!!

    i find it so difficult to say things out loud during sex. counting when it comes to spankings, asking for permission to cum in the throws of passion, it feels so impossible to me…yet i do it. again and again.

    i love how you started owning the words. gaining confidence as you spoke. so so sexy!

  6. Holy crap, that is hot.

  7. Thanks, guys. I can’t really take credit for the hotness, this was Daddy’s boat. I was just along for the ride, and trying my best to be a good girl. But I’m really glad you liked it.

  8. I feel like that about my body, too. But this post… too sexy!

  9. stunning, hot… made me hard without a touch… whew


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