i wanted Master all day; every single minute, every single second, i craved to have Masters cock or lips or fin­gers or hands or tongue. i wanted it all. i woke up drenched, Masters cunt leak­ing, caus­ing a puddle between my (Masters) legs and soak­ing the sheets. Masters clit was swollen and His cunt was con­tract­ing, des­per­ate to be filled.

i spent the after­noon in a slight haze as i could not think of any­thing other than Master and being His pleas­ing little bitch slut slave whore. While con­vers­ing with Master, try­ing to focus on the top­ics in which Master was dis­cuss­ing, (none of which were sexual but rather travel arrange­ments) i could not con­cen­trate on His words as all i wanted was to spread my (Masters) legs, bend over and be used by Master completely.

i sat shocked as i des­per­ately tried to listen to what Master was say­ing. There was a con­stant spin­ning in my (Masters) mind and every time i made an attempt to answer Masters ques­tions i felt as though i was watch­ing each let­ter float up over my head in a little bubble just like a char­ac­ter in a cartoon.

What was hap­pen­ing to me?

i could not longer endure the struggle and so i turned to Master, ask­ing Him for His help. i explained that i felt as though i were turn­ing into a sex addict; that all i thought about was suck­ing His cock or being fucked or used or raped or tor­tured or played with or _anything_ that involved with fuck­ing. i tear­fully con­fessed that all i want is to be Masters sex slave and to be used all the time by Him, (i even dis­closed that i was feel­ing like Masters sex bimbo).

i was full of insec­ur­it­ies until i heard the tender tone to Masters voice fol­lowed by pride for His slave. Master explained that what i was feel­ing was pos­it­ive and that i should embrace it. Master also reas­sured me that being His bimbo from time to time is a good trait and that i should wel­come my feelings.

As i heard Masters words, His cunt star­ted to leak again and i did not wish to remain empty. With slight nervous­ness i asked Master if i would be gran­ted per­mis­sion to fill His juicy cunt hole with the fake dildo used for throat fuck­ing and much to my delight Master gran­ted me per­mis­sion. i slid Masters toy deep into His cunt and it remained there until bed­time. Masters cunt is very tender and stretched ; how­ever, i love the sen­sa­tion of being filled for Master and i hope i will be allowed to stuff His hole again.

i am Masters sex slave; His bimbo; His property.

How lucky i am.

~Masters little sex addict whore fuck beast

Tactile:

Function: adject­ive
Etymology: French or Latin; French, from Latin tactilis, from tangere to touch — more at TANGENT
1 : per­cept­ible by touch : TANGIBLE
2 : of, relat­ing to, or being the sense of touch

i have come to real­ise that i am a slave who yearns for touch, whether it be a gentle hair strok­ing or a sharp smack across the cheeks; body to body con­tact is a neces­sity for me. i also believe that through touch a slave can express to her Master a rain­bow of emo­tions; emo­tions that might be chal­len­ging to share with words.

When i am feel­ing affec­tion­ate and play­ful, want­ing to suck Masters cock, i can simply rub my (Masters) head across His lap, nuzz­ling in close like a kit­ten and Master knows imme­di­ately that i desire to drink from Him, to please Him. In the moments when Master desires to have me close, all He has to do is tug on my (His) leash or yank on my (His) hair rather than hav­ing to use His voice.

In today’s world of rap­idly grow­ing tech­no­lo­gical means of com­mu­nic­a­tion: cell phone, Internet, black­berry, i believe people are for­get­ting how to engage in hands on communication.

i remem­ber a report i read many years ago where a study was con­duc­ted on babies who had been aban­doned and left in an orphan­age where they were never touched. These babies most often per­ished and the ones who did sur­vive did not know how to respond to touch other than by cry­ing. Doctors who examined the pre­cious angels stated that due to a lack of phys­ical con­tact the babies were unable to accept touch as any­thing other than pain.

i can not ima­gine a life where it hurt to be held, caressed, loved phys­ic­ally. i crave Masters touch — i want it every day. i do not require con­stant phys­ical intim­acy; how­ever, being able to reach out and hold His hand or caress His cheek or suck His cock (with per­mis­sion) fills me with a sense of belong­ing that i have never known before.

i believe in the heal­ing power of touch and i beg Master will per­mit me to touch and be touched by Him forever.

~Masters tact­ile bitch