TELL ME, OR DADDY WILL HAVE TO SPANK

by: Miss Tuffet



   Ordinarily, I wouldn't tell...

   I mean really, when faced with such delicious choice, one's mind is
understandably torn.  Were it not for the genuine need to tell, I would
have happily settled for the spanking faith; but as things are -- I do want
to share.

   It all started with my mention of impure thoughts.  Abundance of them.
They were particularly inclined to strike me at the down times, such as bed
time.  In silence and darkness, with no one to interrupt my recollections of
Master's voice, sweet perception of his touch, the way he makes me
anticipate and tremble, my imagination would get into a habit of holding
rather loose and happy parties, totally unaffected by the lack of guests.
Quite easily, such parties could lead to an altered state of mind, which
certain kind of sLLutbabies are especially susceptible to.  As if by magic,
or by some perverse remote control, my skin would become warm and tingly
and my thighs would part almost in an inexplicable argument with each
other. Also, my back would arch in a peculiar manner, pushing the hips
higher (I suspect, in a perpetual need to meet the Master's cock).  More
often than not, I'd indulge and allow sticky fingers to do their dandy
deed, leaving me dazed and slightly hung over to fall asleep, uncertain
whether Master really visited his insatiable fuckling, or whether I managed
to seduce the Sandman once again.  And while all was fine when I was alone,
potential trouble brewed if those impure thoughts arose at less appropriate
times.  Like that perfect afternoon on the sailboat...

   There are times when your mind and body come to a perfect harmony with
each other.  Add the favorable outside factors to that, and there is a
memory in making; perhaps one that's worth sharing (even passing up the
spanking!).  The afternoon was warm, but not too warm; and even if it were
too warm, one wouldn't notice it as the sailboat was silently cutting a
breezy path through the air dense with heavenly Mediterranean aroma.  You
breathe in and you taste the salt and sunshine (it was just like that!). 
Perfection you can taste.  And in the distance you can see that patch of
light green surrounded with all blue, and you know that's the spot.  You
know you will drop the anchor there.  Brave amongst you will greedily jump
into the water, more cautious ones will immerse themselves slowly (you know
who you are).  You know, I cannot help smiling as I remember so vividly
what the feeling was like.  I hope I never forget.

   So, where was I?  Ah - impure thoughts.  Cooled off and a little tired
from swimming (no rest there; water must be 20 meters deep even though you
can see every pebble on the sandy bottom), I grabbed a hold of the little
ladder and slowly climbed out of the velvety embrace of the sea.  Kicking
my towel away, I stretched out on the warm deck, face down.  My heart is
still racing from physical exertion, beating against the highly polished
wood; I turned my head to the side and folded one arm under my cheek. 
Everything about me is slowly calming down.

   Sounds are different now.  Boat is large enough to stay relatively
still, but the sea is relentlessly beating against it's sides, producing
most peculiar sound effects.  Wood is creaking, something is scraping
against something else, and although sails are neatly folded, wind found a
piece of fabric to flap with.  Nevertheless, it all produces an amazingly
calming music.  Sonata for the sea and the sailboat; by Mother Nature.

   The wind is drying me off, the sun is warming my skin again..  and
that's when I become aware..

   It would appear that the breeze deliberately targets a couple of
droplets of salty water and then drags them over my skin in a torturous
pattern.  Sometimes slowly, over seemingly harmless part of my body..  like
my left shoulder blade, for example.  What starts innocently, quickly
becomes exciting as droplet is rolled down to the small of my back, and then in a sudden burst of
speed, it climbs atop of my ass cheek,
pausing, deciding whether to slip inside the crack, or just slide down the
side of my hip.

   And that's just one drop.  Others are sliding from my hair, tickling my
shoulders, threatening to slide all the way down the front to my nipples,
but then (rather disappointingly) drop off half way there.  There are some
on the backs of my thighs as well; those are particularly mischievous, as
they like to cling to the fuzzy hair peeking between my legs, tickling me,
exciting me to the maddening heights.  Sadly, there isn't a whole lot I can
do.  Just close my eyes and wish very very hard that I can feel your shadow
over me.

   My Daddy here.  I even suspended my breath, hoping to hear your
footsteps..  my Daddy here..