It’s going to be that kind of day. The writing is on the wall, and as Yul said in that old movie, “So it is written, so it shall be done.” I’ve “done” myself four times already and it’s not yet noon. I’m not fighting it, I’ve given myself over to it. When I’m lonely (or sad or angry or frustrated or procrastinating, and sometimes even when I’m happy or content or…), I spank myself and finger myself until I have a good orgasm. (“Good” here is defined as not faint or fleeting, but rather intense and gut-wrenching.) I’m weak. If I was prone to guilt about it, I’d be unbearably burdened, but I’m not in the least! I’m reconciled to the fact that I’m the naughtiest of girls, one who deserves hard paddling and even harder diddling.
Remember about a month and a half ago, when I said that I would only be posting once daily henceforth? Take that as proof that you can’t put much stock in anything I say. To be fair, circumstances changed. I fell in love! I got a tantalizing taste of pure satisfaction, getting spanked and fucked just as much as I wanted, as much as I could take. And then, due to circumstances beyond my control, that taste was revoked, leaving me wanting. There’s a 1950’s rock ‘n roll song, “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to!” Well, it’s my pity party and I’ll paddle my butt with my hairbrush until my eyes water, then pleasure my pussy until it’s just as wet, and I’ll spend the rest of this rainy Monday doing it over and over and over again. (That makes a much better song lyric!) There is historical precedent for this. A Shakespearean play states, “Let’s sit upon the ground and tell sad stories about the death of kings…” The character wants company in being sad, wallowing in it. Does anybody want to join me (long distance) in what I’m doing?