“You look pretty when you’re a struggling, desperate mess for me.”
The static nerves in my right palm, and fingers, have been on and off since penning a handwritten note to C.J. all of Monday night, and Tuesday.
I mailed out the Labor Day love note, on Wednesday, because it’s now been 11 years since meeting C.J.
Snapchat memories wants me to know, on the 4th, one year ago, I made a video. (It logs the app, and your phone’s independent camera roll.) I watched myself tell C.J. about going to the beach around every Labor Day since 2021, as a new solo ‘tradition’ of mine.
I cry in the video, and in real time, as I recall ‘mozzarella sticks’ from two years ago:
After Labor Day, parking is free at the state beach. Public bathrooms, gift shop, and food hut close for the year after the holiday. I skipped the beach for all of 2020 during peak times of uncertainty during the ‘plandemic’.
In 2021, it was day after holiday, I went, so all as unavailable.
In 2022, though, I decided “hey, what the heck, I’ll walk over the pier and get an overpriced snack. Live in the moment, ya know?” Something I hadn’t done since the 2019 season.
They take your name to call out at the register. I said my name, and a couple minutes later the dude behind me said his name was C.J. It was just us, ordering food, 15 minutes before they closed.
1,000,000 names in the world, and that was his, did I hallucinate?
I shut off the video, but I don’t delete it because I can’t bring myself to do so.
I have a free ‘scrub mommy’ sponge from my hotel trip on 4/20. I don’t use it, but I keep it by my kitchen sink. I’ll have to throw that away eventually, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able too.
Now, C.J. could text me after reading my thoughts, and say something like, “Look, even thou I don’t want a relationship, I don’t want to lose you.”
But will he? Hard to say, when the man thinks I’m not mentally well. He’s never known me in a state of peace and happiness.
2023, I was finally getting a grip on what it was like to be independent from soul-sucking jobs. Sober from escapism and happy. Chaturbate finally a reality. Yet, we never bonded during what was a pivotal 10-year turning point in my existence.
Conceivably, he could think his ‘purpose’ is past tense in my spiritual journey.
I don’t blame him for feeling a bit troubled about me, because I sound like a babbling moron “stuck in the past” when I try to write out my thoughts.
To make the odds worse for myself, after pages of my thoughts, I added a stupid ‘afterthought’ on the card art. It was too much. I was tired, and the devil was attacking my confidence.
Instead of sounding strong, and ready for my future, I sounded weak and pathetic.
I sounded perhaps, inconsolable? But I’m okay. How could I not be? Because a new place to live has finally just been secured.
After months of searching, and rejection, the perfect place has finally been found. I will have a new home October 1st after 9 years of illegal loft living.
It’s just a few minutes away from where we first met.
I pen C.J. some details about it, but will he ever see it himself?
This new beginning is so crucial to my well-being after one full year of true personal development in every way possible. This move completes my healing from all the lost years I spent miserable chasing escapism in pills, or edibles.
“Saved and Delivered,” as the pastor says.
Maybe God only sent C.J. into my life to heal my sexuality and raise the bar high. Bar so high that the next person who gets to touch me is the most wonderful man I’ve ever known. And I’m okay with that. I can find peace with this thought, finally.
Devine protection.
Girls on TikTok with positive affirmation coaching say, “Repeat after me: I don’t want what doesn’t want me.” That’s right, even the Chinese know I’m ridiculous.
I have grown to accept I’ll be okay now.
I’ll never be the same, yes, but that’s what growth is all about.
__________________________________________________
Being pursued by local men, of course, also helps the cushion the fall of the let-down:
Two months ago, I met a man running his own tent at a farmer’s market. He was a new vendor selling cat treats, and he gave me his number so I could share a video file of my testimony of his product. I thought that was the end of that.
I said hello to him again, friendly, a couple weeks/markets’ later, wearing a crop top as I was to enter a pie eating contest later that day. I was confident with ‘soon to be champion’ energy.
But I came in second place because the event was stupid. It was a blueberry festival, but they served freaking chocolate creme pie to keep cost down. What a disgrace!
I let a local father win for his kids, because the fake whipped cream was too much for me.
Later that evening, after too many drinks, he calls me to tell me that “he can’t stop thinking about me, or my crop top.” He later goes on to say, “he fell for me when he watched me, on camera, talk about how great his product was.”
This was the start of something new; a fun ‘summer fling.’ The organic potential was nice at first…
He tried to court me, and he loved how my response time was always between 1-5 hours. The “chase” was real for him. I knew how to play cool, despite C.J. doubting my ability to be socially skilled.
Pup-chef never went past one date, or one hug, however. His voice didn’t tickle me like C.J. does.
I had to break it off last month, because after a few weeks of daily phone text/chat the mental spark was gone. Come to find out we were too different politicly -to put it nicely- and I’m not giving myself to someone casually ever again. He was a decoy. Not a real man from my perspective.
^About a week after that, came the return of Billy.
William, also known as ‘Billy,’ is a local CBD shop owner, and we met in 2022. He comes from old money, and also lives in a loft of sorts above his small business. He’s an advocate for legal cannabis, and as a girl who used to love smoking, this of course was attractive at first glance.
William noticed me, losing my mind at a ‘paint and puff’ night, in his store space a couple years ago, because I tried texting C.J. something heavy with wrong timing, after a strong ‘dab’ gone wrong. He tried to comfort me.
The eye contact from a distance was heavy.
Billy wanted to “make sure I got home safe,” and we exchanged Instagram handles at the end of the event.
It wasn’t until last August 2023, during the 14th anniversary of Coraline’s 3D theater re-release, that he asked me to “come over,” and “hang out.” There was a girlfriend in the picture previously, but they went thru a bad breakup that spring/summer.
I learned the hardest lesson of my life, earlier that summer, last year. A Chaturbate streamer with 30K conveniently hit me up when I was vulnerable to the thought of a new entanglement in order to fast track Chaturbate success. Another decoy.
The way I went about telling C.J. all about it, thou, was a crime. Immediate friction, and there’s not enough repenting to ever make up for it. I can only change my behavior forever, moving forward.
It’s not enough to renew your mind 80% of the time, and I let one moment of poor judgement cloud my ability to communicate healthy. I was so emotionally shattered last summer after said sinning, that it seemed fair to talk to a man, also recovering from a heartbreak.
I was wrong.
Billy, my soul immediately rejected, and we also never hugged more than once, because he wasn’t a man of God. It took me maybe 10 minutes of his loft tour to see that. My visit was brief as possible.
I wanted nothing to do with him immediately there-after. I used my chest pain as reason why I couldn’t get together again -indefinitely.
I never told him straightly that he was not my type because of religion. That almost feels unfair when my own identity thru Christ was buried for so long.
But I just don’t want to give myself to a non-believer. It’s that simple. I need a lover who will express joy and gratitude for a holy spirit larger than us. A big-picture faith. Blessings for both of us.
Matthew 5:8
So last week, during the 15th re-release showing of Coraline, Billy hit the DMs again, asking when we can see each other, and he “misses my vibe.” Blah Blah Blah.
I dodged the invitation, using my pending apartment moving as a deflection, and that I’m too busy until October. Boys love the “playing hard to get.”
He’ll be back, because duh, and when the time is more appropriate, I’ll kindly tell him the truth.
I want a man of God, or nothing.
__________________________________________________
So back to present day, September 6th, the end of the work week, the ‘labor of love’ card/note is out for delivery in Pennsylvania, but it’s just another of morning here, not being able to escape the bedsheets.
Please see updated blog disclaimer before the rest of this thought process*
Of course, I should be webcamming, but the refresh of fabric softener bedsheets newly washed has a 12-hour hostage lockdown of my body. I can’t entertain right now.
My mind slips away, instead, as I imagine what getting together with C.J. might look like in the near and/or distant future, as the crisp morning air hardens my nipples thru the open window, in bed this very morning:
- I hear Rihanna, in the distance, sing, “Yeah, I’ll be good in bed, but I’ll be bad to you ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬,”
2. I playfully imagine, sitting down next to C.J. singing “Yeah, I’ll be good in bed, but I’ll be bad to you ♩ ♪”
“I think you’re more bad, than good,” he scuffs. Pulling himself back away from me slightly.
I soften my smile, and say “Oh... sorry“
I retreat off the edge of the bed slowly and lower myself on my knees. Looking up at him, I try again, “Maybe if my throat was full of you, I’d learn how to do better, sir?”
“Yea?” -he gets up, and growls- “Since when do slap-sluts decide their own punishments?”
I hear the bedside table drawer open, and the sound of metal handcuffs.
C.J. swiftly grabs the back of my hair and pulls me back up/over the bed. “Hands behind your back.”
I do as I’m told as I feel his hands underneath my sundress, pulling my panties to the side. I hear him spit, and I instantly feel the touch of cold metal between my ass cheeks. I shimy my legs further apart as I realize it’s a small metal buttplug.
The handcuffs are attached to the plug, and I bring my hands down to the sides my ass as the plug slides in. I whimper a bit as my wrists are next cuffed, forcing me to keep my hands behind my ass.
“Get back on your knees,” I hear, as he regrips my hair to help me keep balance.
I expect him to stand in front of me and instead he sits himself on the bed with another dresser drawer accessory in his hands. This one is a few inches long, attached to black leather.
It’s the dick gag I never finished training myself with on Chaturbate.
“Not another word from you; now show me who’s a good fuck toy.”
He pulls my head up and back, then let’s go of my hair, as I whimper lightly adjusting to the plug in my ass.
“Ready?” – he says rhetorically with direct eye contact.
I shake my head and open my mouth. “I’m always ready to be your fuck toy, sir.”
He straps the gag into my mouth, and my whole body instantly quivers on it. It’s much more intense than a ball gag. I’m immediately gagging lightly but trying to resist my body squirming.
C.J. watches my struggle, as I shake my head lightly and whine muffled. This gag toy accessory is not for the weak. The dribble quickly begins to fill my mouth, and drip down my jawline.
‘A drooling slut, is a good slut,” he says in a low hushed tone noting my gag response.
He continues, “Now, when the gag comes off, the only words you may speak are, thank you, yes, please, and sir.” He gets up and leaves a moment.
Getting himself water, or a drink, perhaps?
My real punishment is not being able to even look at him while the spit starts to form around the silicone cock strapped into my mouth. My pussy is starting to ping deep down inside with every new inhale thru my nose.
With every light gag reflex, I can feel my asshole clenching the cuff plug. My whole body is quivering, and my eyes are watering as the gag strapped inside my mouth is too much to bear for more than 30 seconds at a time. I’m squirming, as my mind slips into sub space.
The base of the dildo gag is a waterproof leather, as the dribble continues to form and run off my lips, from underneath… I swallow what I can, while silently screaming to be free from this punishment.
I feel my tongue fighting the weight of the gag, as I’m not trained yet to handle this mouth full sensation for an extended period of time. I lay the side of my face on the bed to control breathing through my nose. I start moaning for mercy, meanwhile, despite being muffled.
Suddenly, C.J. turns me around, by my hair, to face him standing. I feel his other hand on the back of the gag straps. Keeping me held up with a grip on my skull/hair, he pulls the gag out of the mouth and let’s it dangle from my neck.
I close my mouth, to swallow a moment, before catching my breath. At the same time, I open my mouth for air, I get a firm slap across the face with C.J.’s free hand.
I squeak, and watch his hand come back to slap the other side of my face.
C.J. wipes my drool off my mouth and goes in for a harder slap. He can’t help himself, keeping me still with his other hand in my hair, holding me in place. The sound of the spit now on his hand is satisfying to him. His glittering eyes meet mine with intensity.
I belong to him with every ounce of my soul, but my knees can only handle so much.
“Please, sir, I need my hands, uncuff me, please,” I beg, aware I’m breaking rules and repeating my manners for mercy sake.
Maintaining my balance while my hands were cuffed to my backside was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
Maybe I needed his harder slaps in order to divert my attention from the growing discomfort in my knees.
“That was a lot of talking,” he asserts- “but fine.
Gripping my hair firmly, he goes in for a fourth, wet, face slap, then a quick fifth on the other side of my mouth with his free hand. The sounds tickle him.
“Tongue out,” he sharply says, before I could react.
I have no time to think, as my face stings, and the gag goes back inside my mouth.
I plead/moan, muffled, for no more of it, while C.J. after adjusting my straps, finally unzips his pants and gets them off to indicate that I’ve almost proven myself.
His cock was rock hard, and I could see it thru his boxers.
Yet, I turn myself back facing the bed, as the only thing I can do to keep balance is bend over. The buttplug starts to feel warmer -as my tight ass is stretched to its size by now.
I start to wonder if there’s a larger one, coming next?
My pussy feels with static warmth, as I’m dripping wet at the thought of the unknown.
The drool is off my chin as I turn to the other side of my face while gasping/gagging with a mouth full of silicone.
How much longer must I be mute on plastic? It’s starting to upset me while I know there’s a perfectly good real cock, I could be sucking off instead.
The stinging on my face is distracting me just enough from the slow suffocation of the gag-toy, as my mind goes numb.
A good Dom knows when a Sub has reached her limit.
I finally feel his hands, from behind me, letting the cuffs off my wrists. He keeps the buttplug in thou and unchains the cuffs from the plug.
Relieved to have my hands back I immediately adjust myself, and hold the bed while trying to breathe, still gagged.
I get spun around again, this time by my hands, instead of hair.
I move my hands from the bed, onto his left thigh, as I bow my head into his right thigh. My body shaking from the gag toy. I’m silently asking for my punishment to be over. He knows this.
I’m whimpering louder now. Begging for him, muffled and wet.
“You look pretty when you’re a struggling, desperate mess for me,” he coos, while assessing if I’ve had enough punishment.
Submitting, as the spit continues to run off my face, I choke a little bit needing the gag released. I can’t breathe anymore.
He graciously takes both his hands and removes the gag straps off my skull. It gets thrown to the side as I quickly chirp “thank you sir,” with gratitude.
“Yeah, put your wet mouth to use.”- he grunts.
I eagerly move both my hands to around his dick, take it out of his boxers, and start sucking.
His warmth feels so good after the plastic dick gag. I feel myself instantly intoxicated on his perfect girth, as I glide my mouth up and down his shaft with steady pace.
My throat was so primed, and wet from the gag, I slide his cock balls deep into my throat and choke again.
He moans notes of pleasure and pushes me off him. “Lay on the bed, head over the edge.”
The true test of a wet mouth is the upside-down face fuck. I obey and lay but forget my words. Excited to have my hands no longer pinned behind me, it was time for me to enjoy all of his length, as he uses my throat like a fleshlight.
I put my hands back to adjust my hair, and he instantly pins my wrists down with a grip.
I cry out a little, surprised by this.
“What did you say?” as I feel his heavy cock on top of my face ready to pump into my mouth.
“Thank you, sir, thank you.”
“Good girl,” – I hear before getting all of him slammed into my eager throat. He let’s go of one wrist to hold where my neck meets my chest.
He then let’s go of my other wrist to place his hand on one of my red face cheeks. He’s tenderly gripping where the slap stung prior.
Both his hands on my face/neck makes me so happy inside. It’s such a strong feeling of belonging on his cock. Especially, after toy teasing.
I gag, and slurp, and suck, as we listen to the noise of me suffocating rhythmically. All the spit put to good use, indeed.
My pussy is soaking wet, as my ass remains clenched onto my butt plug with every deepthroat body spasm. He pushes my head over to the pillows and hops up on top of me, letting me have 1 big breath before pumping back into my face.
……………….
I snap back, to reality, I have work to get done ….and maybe I’ll never see C.J. again.
We never poured our souls into one another, and for him I was “just another rough fuck.” (?)
He was my only good sex, rough or not. My eyes well up with grief, while my pussy is wet from my imagination of it all.
I have to get out of bed and report to the office. I wipe the tears off my face, per usual, and get ready for just another office day without Chaturbate.
……………….
You may be thinking, how could she say -“I want a man of God,” and then imagine being used so roughly?
To that, I say, being cleansed from sin was one of the roughest experiences of my life. Spiritual awakening is a process. An uncomfortable one.
“You believe God looks at us from above, but He actually sees us from the inside” – Rumi
I didn’t renounce poor ideology overnight, C.J. was always ahead of me, correcting me, guiding me.
I think a true Dom has a deep connection with God, and a strong sense of the world around us.
My soul was saved and delivered. My ideal lover has character and an origin story that matches this concept. I never learned how C.J. saw the light, but I can rest comfortably now knowing that God worked thru him to save my life.
He rescued my testimony.
It was an honor, and nothing prepared me for the privilege of special selective submission. ♥
