I recently acquired a "punk" skirt which, to me, looks like nothing so much as a schoolgirl skirt (ah, plaid). If I bend over in it, it shows off the bottom half of my ass ever-so-nicely, and it's such a sweet little view. I'm excited at the thought of wearing it for Killian Skarr, my hair in pigtails, my makeup dark and slutty, bent over sucking his lovely cock while he watches my ass in a mirror. Mmm. I love dressing up and role playing for sex, it's thrilling.
The website I am trying to sell the Killian Skarr shirts through is being a complete asshole and refuses to post them. So if you desire one with all your dark heart and withered soul, if you paypal me the amount I will happily send it to you. And, I feel I should mention this limited-time-only deal: I will also send you a large sticker AND masturbate while wearing the shirt (if you should so desire)! What a fantastic deal. When I mentioned this to Killian Skarr, he suggested I take pictures of the act to send along with the shirt. Hmm, pictures of me fingering myself? Perhaps I could be persuaded...
As I stated in the last entry, Killian Skarr got a second job, this one being night shift. I knew it would be difficult since the night is usually when we see each other; after I'm done with work he comes up to my apartment and we talk and listen to music and fuck, it's really lovely. But it's over now, at least until the Dirty Show in February. Some nights he is off from work, but he is usually crazed and frustrated and his mind is consumed by his art. Being unable to work on his art is not only killing him, it's killing all of us.
At any rate, Miette came on a Wednesday. I thought Killian Skarr would still be working those nights, so I was quite surprised to find he had taken off some time to accommodate her. At first I was upset; I had hardly seen him since he started this job, but he is willing to take time off for one of his other young ladies! But, I realize she is a guest and as such she needs special attention. On top of which, how else is he to overwhelm with his magnetic charisma or exert his influence unless he is willing to spend time with her.
I'm convinced that he is of the same breed as Rasputin and Charles Manson. However, he is too obsessed with his art to really work at being a cult leader. He has mentioned that perhaps my job should be recruitment...
At any rate, I found myself becoming jealous. Surely it's a disappointment to him, especially when I obviously have no issue with Beloved and, in fact, am rather fond of her. (I harbor a little dream of holding her hand and cuddling up to her when we are all together, but I would never be so bold.) My jealousy is a purely gut reaction, instant and sharp; it cuts me, and it drives me to try to cut someone else back. I end up saying mean and spiteful things, always regretting them later when I have calmed down and regained my own senses. I've discovered that private time alone, hidden in my closet, allows me to overcome these unwanted feelings, but it certainly seems pathetic to think of myself curled up in the dark corners under my skirts and dresses, sobbing into a stuffed animal.
The first night of Miette's visit I was awoken by a text telling me to come downstairs. Everything was dark and silent except for quiet strains of music. In the study, Miette was tied up artistically to the couch, her naked and slender little body only lit by the blue glow from the monitor. Killian Skarr--"Daddy" to me, especially during fucking--came and removed my dress and underthings, brought me to the couch. He had said before he wanted to fuck me in front of her, and so he did, burying himself in my wet pussy as I leaned over her; I gripped the back of the couch and listened to her without really hearing. At some point he produced a dildo and had me fuck her with it while she sucked his beautiful dick; it was fun to see the changes in her reactions with the changes of pressure and speed, it was a wonderful feeling of power.
We shared his cock, we both were obviously mad for it. Having been tested, I was allowed to experience the sheer decadence of bareback sex, while poor Miette had to have the condom, something neither parties seemed to relish particularly. Condoms are so unpleasant, and they leave the most peculiar rubber glove taste behind. I love the feel of every ridge and bump on his dick, I can feel it when he enters me slowly, and a condom must surely diminish that.
Miette begged for his dick, though, she begged for sex so sweetly, and he is such a benevolent master when in the mood, that he gave it to her. After some time he untied her and fucked her while I stroked his body; it turned me on to see him exerting such male dominance over another girl, to watch his ass pistoning and the muscles in his arms and chest clenching.
To end, he fucked me over her face before allowing her to swallow his cum. After all, my pussy is sweet and pink and tight, and I know my devilish prince loves it so.
The next two nights I was told Killian Skarr needed alone time with her, which hurt a little but I acquiesced. Interestingly, though, they went badly; I was not privy to the details of what happened, obviously, but he was in quite a foul mood and seemed agitated, restless. Quite impressively, while she slept he would end up in the basement working on his latest creation, a spreader bar.
Last night was perhaps the oddest of all. Miette was quite drunk which seems to have an odd effect on her; she becomes talkative and friendly, but her moods swing with wild abandon. She was to be branded again, touching up the last one on her neck, so she laid in the tattoo chair face down and tried to compose herself for the coming agony. Killian Skarr asked me to take photographs, which I was happy to oblige, snapping away at him as he talked and set up. It irritated him, though, and he quickly snatched it away from me and started flashing it in my face, filling up my camera with my little pixie mug.
After a time, Miette leaped off of the chair and ran back up to her room on the second floor, saying she needed to compose herself. Killian Skarr hesitated, then excused himself; he needed to make sure she was okay. In the midst of this, the most bizarre pounding sound came from her room. Curiously, it continued for quite some time before there was silence. Beloved and I were conversing, our eyes inevitably drawn to the ceiling. In the end, I retired to my room, feeling unwell and incredibly exhausted.
To my surprised, Killian Skarr awoke me at some point in the night with a kiss, saying he missed me dearly. We had spent so little time together it seemed, none of it really that personal. But it was business, in a way, his business, business of passion and pain, and I had no right nor desire to get in the way. I asked what had happened and he said she had gone insane, requiring him to physically restrain her, during the course of which she spit in his face. Then she broke down and cried in his arms.
I haven't seen her since she left the room, though. I had to whisk myself away to work the day of her departure, and I can't help but wonder how it went. Perhaps I'd rather not know, given my knee-jerk jealous reactions. I'm such a fool, sometimes.
My, what a long post! Well, I've finally finished this, I've recounted the visit as well as I could. It's late on a Thursday and Killian Skarr is off at work, doing whatever it is he does around midnight, and all I know is he is not here. Here to protect me, to fuck me, to tuck me into bed and love me. But at the same time, I don't feel any great distance, just a great longing.
Now, some pictures. The newest invention, a spreader bar that leaps opens.
Soon you will be seeing images of me--yes, ME--in my schoolgirl outfit, cuffed to this bar so that you might see that lovely hint of my shapely bottom... Ooo...