15 May 2021

My head was a fuzzy-wuzzy, spinning blur of supernova rockets and explosions all weekend and even though I've tried really, really hard I can't remember anything that happened once Candy's dandy and Candy's Mumsy's 'it's a surprise' strap-on dildo started rubbing their heads together inside my twin holes of pleasure-giving. Later, when Mumsy came round to take me home, I was a crumpled, broken ballerina slumped upon the floor and even though she said she'd best get me home to bed because tomorrow was my first day as a working girl for Queeny Bitch, she couldn't really leave without saying hello to Candy's dandy and inspecting the 'it's a surprise' strap-on dildo with her slippery snatch of sexiness. So it was nearly midnight by the time we got home. 

The first thing I learned as a working girl was that if handsies are grope-ey and fondle-ey when you're walking to school in your diamanté slave collar and 'drag me down an alley and give me a good hard shafting' Louboutins, they are a zillion, kerfillion times more grope-ey and fondle-ey when you're wearing the same things whilst being squished together on public transport.

Now I'm a perky, pokie, bouncy, jiggly, squirmy, teen-angel of promiscuity who understands that groping is a compliment, and who doesn't like a compliment? I enjoyed so many compliments on that journey; titty fondles, buttock squeezes, nipple tweaks, fingers thrust into my moaning drooling mouth as other fingers skewered my sodden-cuntedness, lips closed about my pokie nublets of sensitivity, suckling and sucking and slathering over their proud presentation, todgers and cunnies pressed onto my grasping fingers as wondrous man-muscles rubbed their way between the valley of my wiggly, wriggly buttocks and spurted their yummy cock froth all over my back. I received so many compliments that I missed my stop, so I was a rather flustered, cum splattered, sodden-cunted, teen-angel, working girly when I finally made it to the office. 

The first thing that happens when you get to work is Queeny Bitch inspects you. You stand with your hands on your head as she walks around and around, fondling and groping and tutting and sighing and sliding stiff fingers into your showerhead cunny and wiggling your princess plug and then standing before you and placing cunty-juice drippy fingers on your lips. But you're not to lick or suckle them; you're to shush even when she asks whether you've been organisming, and then you just have to shake your head which is when she tells you that you're a 'good girly' and you may cum. 

Organisms on organisms on organisms. Sparking, exploding, vibrating, pulsing, without beginning and without end. All those organisms that have been hiding away deep within the whimpering wetness of my cunty pleasure-centre cavorting and thrumming and gushing from between my trembling thighs to splash like a hailstorm between my shoes of sluttiness. Oh my fucking God, I was just a helpless, quivery, mindless, obedient, perky, pokie, teen-angel of compliance. And then Queeny Bitch told me I was a 'good girly' and the organisms went twat-tit crazy and I collapsed on the floor. 

Well, I thought Queeny Bitch would be angry, but she told me again that I was a 'good girly' and the bestest teen-angel condiment adult ever and that the organisms were to stop now because I had to do my pavlova training. So they did. 

Pavlova training is the scrummiest, yummiest sort of training you could think of and much funsier than boring olden-days pre-pubescent educating. Queeny Bitch has a bag of meringue bites and each one is a supery-doopery delicious flavour like cunty caramel or todger toffee or anal appletise or lactating lemon or cummy kisses and every time you're a 'good girly' you're allowed to crawl over to her moaning minge so you can lap and lap and lap until your tongue finds your pavlova treat. And just like when I was administering and polish dancing, I aced it. 

So, the first thing you had to do was kneel on the floor, and when Queeny Bitch told you you were a 'good girly,' you were allowed to organism. Now I know that sounds easy peasy, but you had to kneel in a very particular way with your back straight and your shoulders back and your breasticules thrust forward, and your pokie nublets had to be at full attention and your tummy pulled tight, and your spanky botty cheeks resting on your heels, and your thighs just so far apart but no wider and definitely not more closed and your hands in a very particular position on your thighs and your sodden-cuntedness displayed so Queeny Bitch could make sure that you're being a 'good girly'. Which is what she tells you you are once you've got everything just right and then you organism. 

This is when you're allowed to crawl between Queeny Bitch's thighs to lap and lap and lap at her moany minge to try and find your sugary pavlova treat. But every time you lap, the minge moans 'good girly', so you're lapping and organisming and pushing your tongue deep into her sloppy snatch to get your reward. So it's quite hard really. 

After you've learned to kneel, you have to learn to breathe and how to balance the switchy-hitty-stick. A 'good girly' keeps her lips parted and breathes through her mouth in trembly, whimpering little pants while all the organisms dance within your body like it's a warehouse party and they've taken all the ecstatic-cy in the whole wide world. Then Queeny B puts her hitty-stick atop your perky, pokie teatlets of elongation and you have to keep breathing and not organisming and definitely not letting it falling. Because if you let it fall then you are a 'bad girly,' which is the most awful thing ever. Even worse than when you were in Brownies and everyone realised that it was you who'd made the pee puddle on the floor and laughed and pointed and called you nasty made-up names. 

Every time my erectile nublets dropped the hitty-stick, Queeny B told me I was a 'bad girly' and all the organisms went d-i-s-c-o crazy at their warehouse party and my shower head cunny would squirt its embarrassingness down my thighs just like it did all those years ago in Brownies and I'd bite my lip as the tears trickled down my cheeks and close my eyes and wish and wish and wish to be the bestest obedient contrary adult teen-angel ever so that Queeny B could tell me I was a 'good girly' and reward me with a pavlova treat. 

And not any old pavlova treat but the one she was holding in her fingers right in front of my stingy-bee lips that was coated in all her moany minge jelly-juices. Then Queeny B told me I'd be allowed a single lick, but just one because the pleasure would be too much for a sodden-cunted, teen-angel, slave-bitch like me and that I would supernova organism again and again and again until Queeny B said I could stop. 

And because I was a 'good girly' I could have my single lick now. 

Though I've no idea what happened after that.