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..