If, in my fantasies, I live in a seraglio, a shuttered little jewel of a house filled with books, objets d’art, cushions, sinuous women, perfumes, rouge, and large baths, Robbie’s alter ego almost certainly inhabits a lair.  On the floor there are coins and precious metals, jewels (for tempting sheltered young ladies?); on the walls glitter torches and instruments of torment; the place is labyrinthine.  He can plot and plan there, as I can dream and dawdle in my place.

And just as I write him letters, he writes to me.  An email from Robbie this morning turned me on so much—he got under my skin so precisely, with just the exact mixture of objectification and love—that I can’t think of any better way to show him how much I appreciate it than to share it.  And—well—to show him off a little.

He wrote:


Gifted Sera,

I recall that this is a long-time, long, long time original fantasy of yours that we have discussed on more than one very hot occasion (and, early on, been close to being on the brink of once or twice). It seems to be largely the objectification, partly the service and usage, partly the multiple cocks that excite you so much.*

It is obviously a very hot fantasy for us both.**

Getting to a suitably excited, willing and safe and trusting place is the part to work out, one day in the seamy, sexy, slutty everything-you-ever-wanted future that we both say we want and can foresee.

I have lots of fantasies like that–you serving drinks dressed like an exhibitionist slut maid, putting various signs on you for public display or our private pictures, kneeling with a bag as a semen receptacle like in the above picture, glory holes, etcetera–delicious someday corruptions plotted and enjoyed together.

My signage for the blowjob queen bag would, however,  likely be somewhat different.

Something like:

World’s  very best  blowjobs.

Try it and see.

Exclusive offer. Satisfaction guaranteed.

See owner for handling instructions.

And I do think that you are that good. And more.

Love and lust and fantasies galore,

~ R

I keep reading the sign for the bag, and smiling.  That’s exactly what I’d want it to say.  As long as you’ve learned basic instructions for using the toy, you can certainly playing with it for a few minutes.

And I’m curious–if this is your type of thing, what would you want your label (or your lover’s label) to say?

* * *

Note: the above photograph is not a picture of me.  The tempting slut depicted is the lovely and deeply twisted kinkerbelle.  Were I half as brave as she . . . well, I might cum just from thinking about what my life would be like if I were half as brave as she is.

I’m borrowing the picture—and if kink prefers, I’ll happily give it up—because Robbie has seen it and has drawn considerable inspiration from it on multiple occasions, as you can tell from his letter.

* Actually, me + multiple cocks excites him so much.  One is enough, two my limit.

.** Poor man I have hounded him for years, explaining that many things that are hot for me in fantasy terrify me when it comes to living them.  He’s clearly taken that comment to heart.