*sighhhh* Oh, the reality
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Posted:Apr 30, 2015 1:04 pm
Last Updated:Dec 29, 2015 10:28 am
6928 Views
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I got a sweet note recently from a young man who commented on one of my pics, saying that I reminded him of an older Taylor Swift. That is so precious and sweet.
Too bad he doesn't realize that if I'm saying "Shake it off, shake it off", I'm holding a can of Slim Fast.
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Should be a disclaimer posted on this site
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Posted:Apr 30, 2015 12:50 pm
Last Updated:Apr 30, 2015 10:46 pm
6769 Views
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I have been blown-off, re-scheduled or just plain forgotten 4 times in the last week and a half, and every one of them was due to a different guy from FriendFinder-x. Why the hell even make a plan with a woman if you have no intention of following through? Is this some virtual-reality game that's being played? Because, if it is, I'd have picked a much thinner avatar. People do have feelings. I'm glad I buried mine under concrete a long time ago. And y'all wonder why I act like a cold-blooded when it comes to sex. Even imagining a dinner out or a second "date" is beyond cognition. And any kind of commitment or valor---non-existent in this universe.
THIS PLACE IS A CESSPOOL, even if you're just looking for a simple good time.
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Beware~~Of Nair~~"Down There". A 's Horror.
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Posted:Apr 21, 2015 2:24 am
Last Updated:May 13, 2015 1:51 am
7654 Views
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This is a cautionary tale, one I pass along to any ladies looking for a fast way to have a baby-smooth pussy. This is especially for us large n' lovelies, who realistically may have some trouble seeing down there, and go the blind route with the razor. We're also often shy about getting anything more than our eyebrows waxed. Personally, I think it might feel like trying to remove pine resin off of a half-filled water balloon.
Along with being the prevailing trend in personal grooming, after a decade of serving Dom men, who almost all want it bare down there, I'm accustomed to keeping up the curb-appeal, but...
Don't let this happen to you!~~
One day, I had a date with my long-time FWB, Roy. He's been a staple in my life since we met, because he can FUCK, and fuck, and fuck and fuckkkkk. Seriously. I cum over and over and over, and he'll hold out until the next morning and the final minute possible. At hotels, we have to ask for a late check-out, and still have had Housekeeping banging on the door. He also likes to see me with multiple men, so sometimes lines up some "guest stars". On this particular occasion, he'd told me that two other men were going to visit. Kewlllllllllll.
I was preparing for the overnight at a hotel in Brandon, about an hour's drive from me. It had been awhile since we'd been able to get together, and I was excited. Knowing that others would be there too, I especially wanted to look super-perfect in the "nether-lands". Instead of doing the Braille-shave, with only fingers as my guide, I decided to try a more efficient method. I did what the directions clearly tell you NOT to do; grabbed a bottle of Nair for Legs and applied it to my moist and vulnerable genital region. Not only are you warned not to apply it to areas like that, but you're only supposed to leave it on for about 5 minutes. What can I tell ya? I'm a rebel. But in this scenario, I was a rebel without a clue.
While sitting on the toilet, I took a generous amount of the icky-smelling lotion and applied it liberally to my queen-sized entertainment center. I made sure to be thorough, so I didn't leave out the inner folds, or the anal area, or the area on the outskirts of Playland. A stray hair would have no chance of survival. It would be an apocalypse. Now, keep in mind that this formula is designed to DISSOLVE your hair. Chemistry is involved, with some evil ingredients.
After turning my fuzzy funhouse into what probably resembled a fat clam covered in greenish mayonnaise (I know: SO sexy!), I turned my attention to getting my suitcase packed. It was just an overnight stay, but I had to make sure I had shoes, a few choices of slutty outfits, my toiletries, and other items meant for smoking and drinking. I was hustling around between the bedroom, the living room and the laundry area of the garage, throwing things into the case. I was tingling quite a bit, but ignored the feeling that my pussy was approaching the Tropic of Cancer. After all, I have willingly submitted to men wanting to put a hurtin' down there. I was tough. "Yeah".
Trying to pick out sex clothes, and not wanting to forget anything I needed, I lost track of time packing, and about 20 minutes went by. I was now parked on the Equator. I'd filled the tub awhile ago, so it would be ready for me to dive in when the time was right. Um, that was probably about 15 minutes ago. "Oh fuck me", I said, and it wasn't in a good way. My crotch was dialing 9-1-1 and I needed help badly. I sat down in the cool water of my manatee tank and began rubbing my hand over the wreckage furiously, but it was already too late. The water really didn't do much more than wash away the remains of the stubble of the past. It was now just a memory, but I'd end up having a much more dramatic one.
Whining inwardly, I washed the rest of my body and got out of the tub. My pussy was starting to feel like Mount Vesuvius, right before the people of Pompeii became a part of archeological history. Oh hell's bells!
Naked and in the bedroom now, I was channeling Jesus. I turned on the ceiling fan and flung myself on my back onto the bed. I lay there in classic -fashion, with legs spread wide and waving my hand to increase air flow. It looked like I was giving instructions to a plane on where to land. But, the runway was on fire.
Maybe it's the maso in me, fostered by those bald pussy-loving (now)-asshole Doms , or maybe I'm really as stupid as my blonde head implies, or maybe just because I was still so focused on the fact that I had action in my near future, I continued my quest for pussy perfection and assurance it would be enticingly as aromatic as a spring garden. This horny, dumb bitch decided that it was smart to throw gasoline on the fire and sprayed the inferno with FDS.
Ten seconds later....Um, I THINK there's alcohol in that. Bad decision! Like a back-draft that'd give a fireman a boner, the heat level soared. Stop, drop and roll, and get the fuck out of there.
Woe is ME. I went to the freezer and grabbed a bag of frozen corn. I shall never look at the Green Giant the same way again. He has now seen my twat; and said "'Ho, 'ho, 'ho". I shivered and my thighs quivered as I tried to remedy the burn, but didn't have much time to do so. I imagined that even in that short time pressed against my overheated love machine, the corn had probably been ready to put on a plate next to the steaming mashed taters. I think I heard somewhere that you could cook a grilled cheese on a car radiator. It's probably valid.
I had to get dressed, and put on my "civilian" underwear for the drive. No reason to spend an hour in the car with a torture thong sawing my ass in half like a fat ham on a logging camp conveyor belt. Maybe I should have chosen the ham route, or maybe just no undies at all, but refer back to the blonde reference. During the drive, which was achingly slow due to areas of construction and me being night-blind and trying to see where I was going, the elastic around the undie's leg holes was carving into my now super-tender outskirts region. I shifted in my seat continuously and prayed I'd get there soon. I swore a few times, too.
I finally got to the hotel, and called Roy to get the room number when I approached the front office area. I drove around to the room, and he was waiting outside. I flew out of the car while he stood there smiling, and urgently said, as I almost ran to the open doorway, "Roy, my pussy is on FIRE!" Roy, like every other man on the planet, thinks with his penis, and said "Ohhhh cooool".
I ripped my underwear off down my legs, flung myself onto the bed, spread my legs wide and said, "No, I'm serious! Come look at it!" He was puzzled as I panted an explanation, and proceeded to examine the wreckage. Helicopters should have been flying overhead. "Well, what's it look like?", I asked.
He gently touched my labia, and said, "Well, it looks like you've got a little brown down there."
"Brown??? What the hell?" For a second I thought it was remnants of hair bits, but realized that'd be impossible after a bath. I had to see what he was talking about. I went into the bathroom and turned on the tub faucet and wetted a white hotel washcloth. I wiped the area and looked at the cloth. It wasn't brown he'd seen; it was RED. Holy shit, I'm bleeding. I'd gotten chemical burns.
Oh Jesusssss. My crotch burn had relegated itself into a throbbing feeling of my pulse down there. I knew I'd damaged the exercise yard, and that only the elite inner sanctum of my cunt corridor had been spared from the Holocaust. I had to tell Roy how to work with me.
"Ok, look now. Just aim directly for the hole, and nowhere else. No messing around down there. AIM. Got it?" It was duly noted.
Fortunately, and ironically, the substance that had added more heat to the fire, alcohol, turned out to be somewhat of a remedy. When not applied topically, and ingested instead, it had more of an opposite effect. I began power-drinking and smoked some pot in preparation for Roy having me before the first guest. Things went fairly well throughout the evening, blessedly. The Russians and the Jamaicans had combined some good medicine. But, when I woke up sober in the morning, I did have a reminder of my folly. I was especially tingling in the inner regions of Clam Central.
It's with that learned information in mind, that I tell all who may be thinking of short-cutting their way to pre-pubescent glory:
If you ever decide to use Nair where it does not belong, set the kitchen timer and FROST the cupcake, but do NOT fill it!!
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Unbelievably, I have on occasion still used this method to silkiness, although I'm more cognizant about the time allotted and the application of Satan's Solvent. If you're brave enough to try it, just keep it on the outside and pretend that the tingle is just something kinky.
One other day, in prepping to go see a Dom that I was really into, I sat in my bathroom talking to Him on the phone. His words were really turning me on, and I was anxious to get there. I hadn't played with anyone in a few weeks, and knew I needed some maintenance. Again, I wanted to make sure I was sporting a pristine pussy. I reached into the cabinet under the sink next to the toilet, grabbed the bottle, squirted out thick white lotion and applied it to the kitty. For the next 15 minutes or so, I was enraptured in talking to Him, and didn't pay attention to much else. At one point, my hand glanced by my nose, and I noticed that I didn't smell the telltale unpleasant scent that every woman that's used Nair knows. "Have I developed an immunity to the scent?", I thought for a second. Then, I turned my head and grabbed the upright, flattish bottle off of the sink vanity.
Oh HELLLLLLLL. It wasn't Nair. It was PANTENE conditioner. I was that distracted that I did not even notice. DUHHHHHHHHH. Another blonde moment. Oh well, trying to look at the bright side of my stupidity: While it didn't remove the hair, it did leave it silky, shiny and full of incredible volume.
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Fantasy vs. Reality.
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Posted:Apr 18, 2015 4:32 am
Last Updated:Apr 23, 2015 2:56 am
8326 Views
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This is a story about what really goes on when you call a woman--well, THIS woman, at least-- and say you'll be right there, an hour before you'd said you'd be in your last e-mail. It was me very recently, when a guy from this site was nice enough to say he'd bring over a mower to cut my overgrown lawn. I'm currently low on funds, due to being downsized out of my corporate sales job, and had offered to be "very grateful" in return. He'd given me a time that he'd be over, but was close-by when he gave me notice that he was on his way. I had 15 minutes to be ready.
The fantasy versus the reality:
Mens' fantasy about this submissive slut~~
I have huge, perfect tits and a smokin' hot body. I am, of course, always horny, and constantly fingering myself when you're chatting with me or I'm home alone. My day is not complete until I can watch you jerking off on your web cam, and it makes me desperately crave it inside of any of my 3 holes. I'm wearing down my dildos and desperately craving your cock. My hair is styled, and my make-up is always perfect. I am always dressed in thigh-highs, garter and sexy lingerie, while I click-click-clack around the house in my stripper-shoe platform stilletos, vacuuming, dusting or doing laundry. My house is always immaculate. The thin silky material of my thong brushes against my baby-smooth pussy and reminds me that I'm primed for cock at all times. Please hurry up and get here, Sir!
My reality, when I get the "I'm- on-my-way call" from a man, an hour before I expected his arrival. 15 minutes prep time.~~
I'm busy working on a website to start my own business, and had been chatting in between for longer than I should have been. I haven't had to go out in a few days and realize I'm wearing the same "not-for-human-viewing" comfy home-alone clothes since yesterday. Thinking I'd had about an hour-and-a-half before his arrival, I've not yet showered, my hair is twisted up on top of my head, held there by a hair-claw, and I haven't a speck of make-up on. There are a couple of dishes in the sink, a frying pan from last night still on the stove, and I regret not earlier attending to the wispy tumbleweeds of fuzz that my now-exploding Siberian husky has poofed all over the place. I usually wait to pick them up until they gather into a cohesive group. My bed is partially stripped, strewn with pillows, with only the fitted, pink leopard sheet covering the mattress, because I don't like to sleep under the sheets, and prefer just a plain, unobstructed fucking platform. The comforter is folded on top of a laundry basket in the garage, to protect it from inevitable love-squirts, along with the top sheet.
"Um...ohhh..... you said you'd be here at 4:30 and were only going to call at 3 for the directions. You're where now? Oh, that close, huh? Um, I thought I had more time (as I'm ruefully looking down at a hole in my t-shirt) and I'm not quite prepared yet." He's nice about it, and says that he'll get started outside when he gets here. T minus 15 and counting. I pray for long, red traffic lights, and possibly the turn-over of a semi full of tomatoes on U.S. 19 North. I call my best friend, Tabby, and give her an update on my current nightmare, speaking an entire paragraph with no punctuation.
1. Hustle to the bathroom to turn on the shower.
2. Mutter "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckkkkkkk".
3. Strip off the comfy clothes.
4. Pick up the discarded laundry from the floor in front of my nightstand, stuff it into a drawer, grab napkins and papers off of the top of the dresser, throw the pillows into some kind of order based on pillowcase pattern, and try to make it look like hippos hadn't been sleeping there.
5. Rush to the garage to grab the top sheet for the bed, and try to find something slinky. In a Martha Stewart-jag, I'd organized lingerie and clothes out there in plastic stacking drawers, due to lack of dresser space in the bedroom. Rifle through the drawer and find black lace trimmed in pink edging. Hope it fits ok and hate that I'd lost weight last year and some of it had crept back on during "I-lost-my-job-and-now-my-life-is-hopeless depression, in bed" for too long.
6. Jump into the shower/bath. Had plugged the tub to let water fill from the shower.
7. In minutes, hear the telltale sound of a lawnmower. Cling to the slim hope that it's a neighbor.
8. Get hair wet, and sit down in the manatee tank. Massage in shampoo and rinse in one minute's time. Apply Pantene conditioner to smell like I have money.
7. Squirt bath gel into the water and do some rollover flips like Shamu doing a show at Sea World.
8. Lay on back with one leg in the air. Feel pussy bristles coming in. Grab razor from the edge of the tub and scrape labia faster than Jeff Gordon at Daytona. Visually do a "Sasquatch-potential" check on legs. Thank God they're passable.
9. Turn off water, rub body with sudsy loofah and pause to see if mower sounds were real.
10. They were, and getting closer to the front door.
11. Fuckkkkkk, Fuckkkkkk, Fuckkkkkkkkkkkk. Shit!
12. More Shamu flips followed by immersing head in water to rinse out Pantene.
13. Jump out of the tank and wring hair with a towel. Notice lipstick on the vanity and apply quickly. Bend over at the waist to blow-dry hair.
14. Turn on blow dryer and aim at hair, holding it in right hand.
15. While blow drying, grab can of air freshener and spray with left hand.
16. Hair half-dry. Pour cheapo, lavender-scented Fabuloso into toilet and swish around until sudsy. Regret not peeing beforehand.
17. Take a quick look in Mirror, Mirror on the Wall. "Bitch, you're getting OLLLLD", it says. Resolve to buy new mirror. Quickly brush teeth because I'm such a classy that I brush my teeth BEFORE the blowjob.
18. Wrapped in a towel, still hearing lawn mower outside, carefully unlock door and turn doorknob quietly to sneak it open to get a peek at the guy and see if he looks like Fabio. Relieved to see he's an average dude, and has his back to me. Sneak door closed silently.
19. Back in the bathroom, apply body makeup to trouble-spots.
20. Head into bedroom to dress. Pass mirror on the dresser. Swear that I'll never eat a carb again from this day forward. Inwardly cry over sandwiches. Toss flat sheet over top of fitted sheet to look civilized.
21. Pull thigh-highs out of drawer and shimmy up half-damp legs.
22. Grab never-worn pink garter belt out of drawer and squeeze down body, barely making it past the boobs.
23. Hook front strap of garter belt to stocking. Grab rear one and pull too hard, and fastener rips right off. Take 3 seconds to absorb that it's not reparable. Mentally begin composing scorching product review to Hips and Curves.com.
24. Scrounge around in dresser drawer and find a black garter belt instead. Look up, and say "fuck you" to the mirror. Decide I have a future as a model at Pillsbury.
25. Hear the mower turn off and a knock on the door.
26. Continue saying "Fuck", followed by "Shit, shit, shittttt."
27. Answer door naked except for stockings, wrapped in the towel. Regret that towel is purple, and feel like Barney. Greet guest without opening storm door. Avoid direct eye contact to prevent his noticing that without make-up I rival the Sea Hag. Exchange greetings, then ask if he'd gotten to the back yard, knowing it wasn't likely because the gate is falling apart and is very difficult to open. Tell him that yes, it is necessary if he's going to get my goodies in return. Instruct warning about difficulty of opening gate and the importance of making absolutely sure it's closed when he's done, to avoid escape by husky. Briefly imagine a life free of fuzz. Allow him to come through the house to get outside to the back yard and open the gate from the inside. Make hand gestures at my body and ask him if I'm too planetary-sized. Seems it's still a "go". Explain that I brush the husky on the porch, to justify the pile of fur out there that in itself could be another dog.
28. Hearing lawn mower in back yard, apply foundation, mascara and eye shadow at same pace as labial shaving.
29. Spray pussy with FDS to smell like the morning dew in Finland, apply antiperspirant to underarms, curse the bingo-flab waving above (imagine old lady-arm when she's waving a bingo card in the air), and spray on Calvin Klein knock-off perfume.
30. Notice that lawn mower sound has stopped. Panic when he re-enters through the front door. Frantically say "Please, no, I'm naked and need a second here". Express inner gratitude that the fuzzy husky is now charming and distracting him. Feel remorse for imagining her running away.
31. Slip on lacy lil' thing and sigh, remembering when it fit better. Then notice that although clean, being stored in the garage has made it smell musty. SHIT. Grab Febreeze from closet and spray garment while I'm wearing it. Look in the mirror again and decide to act like Jews sitting shiva in the near future.
32. Keep bedroom curtains drawn and lighting low. Pose on bed a few times to find position that least mimics pizza dough in the sun. Cover lap with Barney towel. Breathe deeply. Tell him I'm done now.
He enters the bedroom and says I look beautiful.
Suckerrrrr!
Nahhh. Not really. I'm touched. And flattered. But..... whewwwwwwww!
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Word to future dates, if I ever get one after posting this, "If you're going to visit The Princess , you'd better call the day BEFORE."
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Makes me wonder
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Posted:Apr 17, 2015 11:56 pm
Last Updated:Apr 23, 2015 1:52 pm
7814 Views
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I wonder why men list their hobbies and favorite activities on this site. Does it make you any more fuckable? "I like fishing, camping, boating, walks on the beach, snorkeling, travel, good wine, restaurants, quiet evenings cuddling and blah blah blah..." None of that crap matters when all you're looking for is a booty call and an available hole. Are you going to take me fishing and camping, or out to a nice restaurant? You coming over to make popcorn and snuggle while we watch a movie and plan a cruise? I DON'T think so. You'll be gone 10 minutes after you cum, and that's assuming you were wearing shoes that had to be tied and a belt that needed buckling. Come on now, look at this place, and what it's about. It's a jizz-filled cesspool. Call a spade a spade. Doesn't matter if you "like to cook, listen to blues and read sci-fi" when you're banging me and looking at your watch at the same time. It's not going to benefit me. Save it for eHarmony, or actually do something more with me than bend me over or shove your cock down my throat. Men on here aren't looking for a date or a long-term relationship. Whether you're a Renaissance man, an athlete, earned a Master's degree or are kind to animals is irrelevant when you're actually just a penis in the end. JUST SAYIN'!
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To link to this blog (ThePrincessWhore) use [blog ThePrincessWhore] in your messages.
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