Addict

If I called you and instructed you to come to me now. I want to use that pretty mouth. That obedient tongue. I gave you my favorite mounting pillow—the one fluffed directly in the middle, leaving semi-filled sacks for my shins to rest on each side.

If I instructed you to wear your cock cage—the one that’s a bit too small, because it pleases me to see a fleshy bulge strain against the uncompromising material.

I don’t need to order you. You know your place. In the center. Your nose erect in a posture to ensure constant contact with my wet.

If I told you to lay still with your mouth closed so that I could pleasure myself with your face. Using every protrusion for my pleasure.

The robust nature of your lip, my very own whisper of pleasure. My downturned hips grind softly.

Your prominent nose a peak for me to savor. My nipples peek through latex.

The arch of submissive brows. A thrill to the folds of my body. I begin to feel a rise within me.

Sweet rain pours down your features. At the exact moment that I order you to open your mouth. 

You know. You drink me in, slipping your strong tongue inside. 

Would you cum?

Sometimes, out of nowhere, but mostly when I'd rather not be thinking about my problems I Hear a voice in the back of my head commanding "masturbate". It ranges from a low grumble to a fiendish whisper.

No matter the volume it always persistent. Masturbate, masturbating, masturbate!

The funny thing is I don't even like masturbating. I mean yes the feeling of orgasm is orgasmic. But after that I feel nothing and sometimes I feel worse than nothing. I feel disgusting and low. Like immature and undeserving of anything decent.

Is this what addiction is? I don't normally give in right away. Sometimes it's month and I'm just fighting to not do it. Even though I don't want to do it. Somehow eventually I always give in.

At this point I'd almost rather harp on my problem. The relief and distraction of a self-induced orgasm it's just too fleeting, too grunge, too cringe and just about overrated.

But still I hear it; masturbate, masturbate, masturbate!

Ugh what is wrong with me...

What do you think of this blog post

I've realized something about myself recently. It seems that I only feel like continuing my blog when I feel the near drowsy tip of ingested alcohol. Isn't that strange? It's almost as if the nearer to obliteration that I am the better my writing becomes, well, I should add only in some cases.

I do admire many of my sober jottings. Although I'll admit that I'm amazed at the coherence of some of my less sober quill spills. It seems that at those times I tend to become more playful with my words, inventive with my phrases and there's a more graceful flow through my sentences.

What are your thoughts? Why do you think this is?

I rather quite curious as I have no clue.....

The night was far from over. Although the clock on the wall in the kitchen read a quarter past three.

The group separated through the house. Jeff, and Lisa to his master bedroom where they had gone so that Lisa could escape her damp garment. Scott with them too took his pick of Jeff's graphic tees. Monet and Donna retreated to Donna's bedroom to change. 

"Sweat pants and any tee is fine" Monet purred walking through the threshold. Her voice as silky and as sweet honey. Making her request sound sultry. She stripped her top and skirt revealing nothing but chocolate panties. The tone of the underwear seemed to melt and meld with her skin perfectly.

Gliding  between her thighs and curving up the swell of her backside. Her body a delicious contradiction of firm yet supple, strong yet soft. Like melted chocolate in a bowl ready for dipped fingers.

Her her hips swayed like the ebbs and flows of voluptuous waves in a dangerous sea -Slow, deliberate, and dangerously hypnotic- as she strode to the spacious closet.

"Oh honey we must do something about these plastic hangers." She  murmured, her voice laced in playful critique, and not a hint of condescension "But they will do for now" she added with a soft exhale while placing her garments on hangers.

At Monet's decent from the shadow of the closet Donna felt her breath catch in her throat. She could only stare awestruck at the figure before her. 

Monet sauntered around the room with comfortable ease. Her breasts sat high, perky and proud, with delicate nipples teased to attention by the ambient chill. Below, her waist narrowed in with an impossible elegance, cinched tight by nature’s own provocative design.

Breaking her trance Donna moved quickly to the dresser. Beautifully carved from rich oak, the dresser stood as a testament to craftsmanship—its surface adorned with delicate swirls and intricate designs that danced along the wood like whispered secrets. A grand mirror crowned it, tall and graceful, reflecting everything with an air of quiet luxury.

"I'm not sure if I have anything that will fit you. Would you settle for an oversized t-shirt." She asked shyly. "Honestly that sounds perfect." cooed Monet.

Donna began to rifle through her drawers with urgency, fingers brushing past cotton and lace until they landed on her favorite t-shirt. Soft and worn in all the right places, it was a simple white tee, boldly stamped with GAME DAY in thick blue block letters across the chest.

It wasn’t just her favorite—it was her best. The one that held memories, comfort, and just the right cling. And still, without hesitation, she offered it—gladly. proudly.

Monet slid in to the shirt like water gliding over oil. It hung loosely on her. It's largeness exaggerated by her small frame. "It's perfect" she said spinning on her heels in front of the mirror. "Thank you, now, hurry and get rid of those wet clothes and join us in the kitchen. I'm hungry"

The interaction with Monet had dulled all of Donna's senses for the few minutes that she had been in her presence. So much so that the chill from her damp dress had simply evaded her. The silver tassels grazing her bare back seemed to bring her since back -Like a splash of icy water in the face upon waking- chilling her whole body. Her body that was much more plush than Monet's. 

Without thinking she turned to stand in front of the mirror and undress like she had done everyday for the past few weeks. Except this time it wasn't as enjoyable.

Her gaze drifted downward, catching the full swell around her thighs and the soft pouch that rested just beneath her navel. The subtle curve of her love handles peeked from her hips, tender and unhidden. She noticed the density in her calves, the delicate dimples just above the voluptuous curve of her backside—small details that suddenly pulsed with awareness.

A hush of disappointment stirred in her chest. It crept in quietly, as she realized she was the fullest of the three girls. Her body was more cushioned, her hips were more broad, her thighs and backside more plump. Her body was just all together more. A flush of shame crept in, quiet but sharp, curling beneath her skin like something she shouldn’t name.

The pride that she felt in herself before getting dressed all but dissipated. Whereas earlier she had wanted to show every bit of herself, now she just wanted to covered up. Turning from the mirror abruptly she again rummage through her drawers again. Searching with quiet urgency until she found the familiar fabric.

It wasn’t anything special—just a simple, knee-length cotton nightgown with long sleeves and a scattering of soft pink flowers that danced across the white. Lettuce frills around the hem and sleeve. Modest, ordinary… comforting. It was the kind of garment that asked for nothing and gave everything: warmth, softness, and just enough to hide what  she had been showing so proudly earlier that night.

Scott was the first to see Donna. He stood half-hidden behind the open double-door fridge, a sly grin tugging at his lips.

“You are the sexiest grandma I’ve ever seen. I mean, just look at those ankles—pure temptation,” he teased, voice dripping with coy mischief.

If not for the rich, warm caramel of Donna’s skin, the flush in her cheeks would’ve lit up the room. Still, her blood ran hot beneath the surface, spreading a viceral heat that made her toes curl on the cool kitchen floor.

Jeff stood at the counter cracking eggs into a large white porcelain bowl. An assortment of veggies and cheeses were spread about the counters around him. Behind him Monet busied herself at the opposite counter. Moving with focus as she worked. She held a large sharp knife in one hand the other she held firmly pressed to fragrant red pepper on a ceramic slab cutting board. The clatter of the knife made a sharp snap as Monet's nimble fingers moved expertly. Fast and careful at the same time.

Lisa sat on a high stool tucked against the raised part of the kitchen counter. Even slumped, her posture looked immaculate in a complicated sort of way—like a marble statue, sculpted with deliberate, meticulous hands.

She too wore an oversized tee accompanied by only her underwear. She too had a physique that could make envy rage. Long and slender, sleek but full in small ways.

Moving toward the kitchen sink, Donna asked, “Can I help with anything? What are you guys making?” She turned on the faucet and began washing her hands, already preparing herself to join in—eager not just to help but to be apart.

“We’re making omelets,” Lisa announced, her eyes bright as she watched the flurry of movement across the counter like it was a stage performance.

“You aren't making anything,” Scott cut in, not even looking up.

Lisa rolled her eyes, unfazed. “I’m the kitchen manager,” she replied airily. “I’m making sure you guys don’t set fire to the place--or chop off a limb.” “Sure, sure you are, sweetie,” Monet teased, flashing her a knowing smile.

Jeff chuckled as he cracked another egg, glancing up at Donna with a flicker of mischief in his eye. “What would you like in yours? I’m at your beck and call, my dear,” he said with a wink, voice low and playful.

Donna hesitated, feeling the weight of unseen eyes. She knew it was in her head—mostly—but still, she felt them noticing. The soft edges of her body, the extra softness she’d just examined with quiet frustration in the mirror not fifteen minutes ago.

“Actually… I’m not hungry,” she said softly, drying her hands on a dish towel.

Jeff paused, the smile still in his voice. “Okay,” he said gently. “But if you get snack-ish, just say the word. I’ll whip something up for you on demand.”

“Thank you, best friend,” Donna said with a shy smile, turning to him. “You’re always the best.”

“Always,” he replied, flicking an egg shell into the trash.

Their bond was easy, familiar. The kind of friendship built on inside jokes, shared snacks, and late-night binge-watching. It was deliciously real in all the ways that mattered.

After everything was said and done, the friends lounged jovially around the kitchen—plates half-full, laughter dancing easily between them. The scent of melted cheese, warm eggs, and herbs clung to the air, mingling with the crisp citrus bite of Scott’s freshly poured mimosas.

They chatted about last night’s half-forgotten moments, inside jokes resurfacing like old songs, and tossed around loose, hopeful plans for the rest of the day.

Donna sat with them, glass in hand. She sipped her mimosa slowly, letting the cool bubbles distract her from the gnawing at her stomach—not hunger, exactly, but the ever-present hum of self-awareness. She didn’t eat. She couldn’t—not with the invisible eyes of comparison pressing down on her, not after the way her reflection had made her shrink.

But she laughed when the others did, smiled when eyes turned her way, and leaned into the moment as much as she could manage even chiming in with an antic or two. 

The morning seemed to progress a bit more quickly now. Dawn was upon them, casting soft light across the kitchen, though a quiet tiredness lingered in the air.

Jeff was the first to excuse himself. Ever the perfect host, he gathered everyone’s plates and stacked them neatly in the sink, deciding they could wait until after sleep had its way with them.

Donna was next to retire. She hadn’t wanted to linger any longer than necessary. With a small, ironic smile, she offered a round of “Good night-slash-good mornings,” earning a few lazy chuckles as she slipped off to her room.

It wasn’t long after her head hit the soft, fluffy pillows that her eyes grew heavy and drifted closed—sleep overtaking her like a warm tide, quietly and completely. 

She wasn't asleep for long before she felt the soft caress of hands on her thigh. Playful, Smooth, taunting. 

Without fully realizing it, her body melted into the warm caress of a hand gliding along her skin. She didn’t turn to see who it was—she didn’t need to. The touch was gentle, reassuring… wanted. It was enough just to feel someone there. Their bodies eased into one another, limbs slowly entwining, breath syncing in the quiet. And like that, they slipped into sleep—tangled, warm, and wrapped in the hush of something tender.

One word. That was all it took to sum up everything Donna Curvilenlia had been feeling lately.

Light.

Her shoulders felt lighter, as if old burdens had quietly slipped away. Her mind floated, no longer cluttered with the weight of yesterday. Even her body, though her curves remained deliciously intact, felt as if it had been freed from something invisible. There was a softness to her—no, a glow.

A narrow slit of sunlight peeked through the white blackout curtains, casting a gentle beam across her cheek. It was warm, honeyed, and intimate—like a lover’s breath in early morning. Outside, thunder whispered in the distance, the air heavy with the scent of rain and heat. A single streak of lightning slithered across the sky, slow and sultry, setting the tone for the storm that hummed like a low purr.

It had been two weeks since she moved in, and the place had begun to seduce her.

The old library scent of her bedroom—leather-bound books, timeworn pages, polished wood—had become an incense to her nostrils. An aphrodisiac. Not the artificial kind. This was deep, exotic—almost holy. It curled into her nose and settled into her bloodstream.

The furniture was seasoned, yes—but flawless. Every corner held something intentional, something intimate. Then there was the bathroom, hers alone. Spacious. Tiled. Sanctuary-like. It made her feel like royalty. No—more than that.

A princess with privacy and power.

Then there was Jeff. Sweet, attentive, and strangely reverent. The way his eyes lingered just a second too long. The way his voice dipped when he said her name. He was gentle, but she sensed the edge behind the softness. She liked that. Even began to crave it.

The scent of freedom clung to her skin now. It was thick, ripe, and intoxicating. It aroused her in quiet, startling ways—kept her on a constant edge of delight. Like something was about to happen. Something warm. Something wet. Something wild.

And now, this evening, Jeff had graciously invited her out—with him and his friends.

An introduction. A step forward.
She smiled, slowly.

Light, yes.
But nothing about her felt small.

Donna had spent the past few weeks falling in love—with herself. Each time she stood naked before the mirror, she did so with growing reverence, running her eyes along the gentle slope of her waist, the bold swell of her hips, the curve of her thighs. She no longer sought perfection. Instead, she craved allure—an image of sensual power that would linger in the minds of those lucky enough to look.

And tonight, she had the perfect dress.

Sheer yellow fabric that clung to her like a secret. It was barely there, as if conjured by magic and willpower alone, held in place only by two delicate silver rhinestone chains that glinted as they fastened behind her neck, swaying down the crest of her back. Against her bronze skin, the silver shimmered like liquid temptation. The strands dangled, seductive and brazen, daring wandering eyes to follow their trail and get lost in it.

She descended the stairs just as the doorbell rang. The Uber was here.

The ride felt effortless—like gliding. The Uber XL was spacious, enveloping the five of them in velvet darkness and soft streetlight. Donna slipped into her seat with feline grace. Behind her sat Scott. He was rough around the edges, in all the right ways—long legs clad in black distressed jeans, a worn Metallica shirt stretched across his frame. His hair was tousled in that accidental way that could never be truly accidental, and his beard—short, thick, unruly—spoke in a low growl of danger.

Lisa sat beside him, pale and sharp and enchanting, like a vampiress on the verge of a hunt. Her black silk dress hugged her in places that invited fantasies, the soft red of her lips making bold promises with every curve of her smile.

Beside her sat Monet—tall, elegant, divine. Her skin glowed, deep and flawless, a rich contrast to the glimmering tangerine halter top and skirt she wore. Her coily tresses framing her face like a crown, the light dancing across her every movement, as though even the night wanted to worship her. An onyx goddess.

Together, they filled the car not just with bodies, but with heat, charm, and a quiet anticipation. The kind of energy that made everything—laughter, glances, breaths—feel just a little more electric. 

The night unfolded like a slow-burning dream. Donna slipped seamlessly into the rhythm of her new circle, as though she'd always belonged among them. There was no pretense—only laughter, low conversation, and the warm buzz of sweet, artfully crafted cocktails. They began at the top of the street, where sleek, dimly lit bars shimmered with crystal glassware and the soft hum of elegant nightlife. One by one, they wandered through the heart of downtown, following the pulse of the city, their laughter trailing behind them like perfume.

Everywhere they went, the world seemed to bend around them. The city buzzed and bloomed, but they were the center—the main characters in their own sultry urban tale.

As the evening deepened, so did the energy. The last stop was the most unforgettable: a glowing, golden-lit lounge pulsing with live salsa music. A shared round of tequila sparked the boldness in them all, and soon, they dared one another onto the dance floor. The space was electric, teeming with couples, with swaying bodies, hips in fluid conversation. It was effortless to fall into rhythm with stranger after stranger, the music guiding each movement like a whisper in the ear.

Donna found her final dance in Lisa’s arms. The vampiress.

Their bodies found each other easily—like magnets, or like a secret shared through skin. They moved together in a sensual blur of rhythm and intention, fingers trailing down arms, hips brushing, chests close, eyes locked. Lisa’s hands were soft, confident, teasing. They slid along Donna’s bare back, barely touching but igniting every inch they passed. Her breath hitched as Lisa’s lips hovered near her neck, not quite kissing—just close enough to make her ache.

Donna was mesmerized by herself. She hadn’t known she could move like this—so fluid, so sure. Whether it was the gaze of strangers drinking her in, the warmth of alcohol in her bloodstream, or the intoxicating touch of Lisa’s fingers drawing circles on her skin, she couldn’t say. All she knew was how good it felt—how alive she was in that moment.

She wouldn’t forget the look in Lisa’s eyes, those slow-burning embers urging her closer. Nor would she forget the feel of thunder rolling through the air just as their dance ended, the first burst of summer rain crackling through the night sky. The scent of the downpour, earthy and electric, filled Donna with a kind of euphoria. She felt untethered—weightless—like something inside her had been released.

Back in the Uber, slick with rain and laughter, the decision to stay at Jeff’s was unspoken but unanimous. His place had space for them all, but more than that, no one was ready to let the night end. Not yet. They were still riding the high of it all—skin warm, eyes bright, hearts open. The city had given them something that night. And none of them wanted to stop feeling it.

Hey, my sweet puppies—
I know it’s been a while. Life has been a whirlwind lately, especially with a big move to a new state. But through it all, this story has stayed on my mind, tugging at my thoughts and dancing on the edge of my fingertips.

I want to thank you all for your patience and support. Your likes, comments, and quiet encouragement mean more than you know. The story still tastes delicious on my lips and burns through my fingers, and I can’t wait to keep sharing that fire with you.

I’ll be honest—the first part was a little rushed. But I’ve finally had a moment to sit down, breathe, and craft something that I’m genuinely proud of. I want to give you my best—something immersive, something seductive, something unforgettable.

Part Two is on the way… hopefully very soon. I’m working on being more consistent and intentional with every chapter. Just stay with me a little longer—because it’s only going to get better from here.

With love and fire,
Mistress Lolli

My mother once told me not to go into the woods with strangers.

How it wasn't safe, wrought of untold dangers

Curious as I am, I asked that she name them

Instead she refused and rebutted in anger 

Do as you're told and no harm will befall you

I heed her not, and in rebelion I drew

Nearer to that which I had never knew

And the stranger that I happened to be with is you.

We follow Donna Curvilinea and her sleek transition. A new state, a new city, a new home. Jeffery a friend since highschool. The short, geeky, hippie type. They'd managed to stay in touch. Somehow through distance and the space of time. They'd graduated their relationship from friends to best friends. Platonic.

They'd known each other for only the first two years of high school. After which Jeffery's parents thought it best to move their family for the sake of his father's career. 

Upon turning 18 his parents had deemed it fit to bestow upon Jeremy his own abode. He'd chosen a spacious two story colonial home in an active suburb. The house was that of a little girls doll house on the outside, Well almost. 

Donna stood beside her jalopy that she'd worked very hard for oogeling the house. It was covered in white siding with big charcoal shutters adorning the windows. The house had five large windows in the front. One on each side of the door and three evenly spaced above it. 

The door was the oddest thing about the place. It radiated a dandelion yellow. The yellow door felt like a middle finger to the normality of the neighborhood. Oddly comforting to Donna.

She hadn't much time to take it in before her good friend was beside her. Having heard her car from half a mile away. He'd greeted her by sheepishly kissing her cheek and soon after making for her bags in the trunk. They were few but very heavy. He'd have to make at least two trips. 

"Follow me! You'll have to forgive me. I have time to show you to your room then I have to run. I'll be back in just a few hours"

After heaving a large pink tattered duffel over his shoulder he headed quickly into the home and up the mahogany stair case almost directly in front of the door. Down a wide hall two doors to the left was to be her room. Jeffery stepped in ahead of her huffing from the weight of her bag. 

He'd dropped the bag just inside the door and hurried outside for the rest. The room was immaculate. It was furnished with a wide dresser accompanied by a mirror atop it, an armoire two nightstands and a desk. Everything solid oak. In the center of the far wall rested a high queen sized bed topped with fluffy white bedding and a mountain of pillows. 

It was all hers now. Her fresh start. Before Jeff could get the last of her bags in, Donna had began to eagerly unpack. She figured that the sooner she could complete this task the more tangible it would become to her.

"Feel free to roam around, make yourself at home, everything here belongs to us now so get familiar". Jeff's last words before skating off. 

Donna had never had a whole room to herself. She decided she should spend time becoming aquatinted with the feeling of having her own space first. She'd tour the house on Jeff's return. 

She made quick work of unpacking her things. Her next item was to stretch out on the bed. She'd never slept  in a bed so big. 

The bed was high enough for her to have to bounce a bit to sit off the edge. It delighted her. Laying in the middle of the bed she had enough space to stretch out her arms and legs and still not be hanging over. This quickly brought her to tears.

A range of emotions flooded her. First excitement, then anxiety, then happiness, then arousal. The softness of the blanket beneath her heightened her arousal.

Her hands being thirsty for her began to explore her body. The only familiar thing to her in the last few hours. Encircling her nipples atop her soft cotton crop top. She'd neglected to put underwear on because she'd been in such a rush to leave that morning. The smell of fresh air, of a fresh environment. It did something else to her. 

Her wet was wetter than normal. Her nipples were more firm than normal. Her body was more ready than normal. 

Donna had finished unpacking in this new place. A strange room, in a strange house. Yet it felt so normal, so natural for her to reach beside the bed into the unblemished nightstand beside it that was now hers. To retrieve her favorite vibrator, that she had just put away moments before. 

One firm touch on a small round impression on the side of the small vibrator made it buzz to life. The low buzz it made somehow enchanted her. Made her clit ready for it. Ravenous for it. She'd recently learn to tease herself, and that's just what she did. Smoothly and methodically hiking her skirt up over her voluptuous hips; She, aiming to delay her pleasure for enjoyment placed a finger right beside her clit and begin to circle. Slowly. Her fingers gliding easily around aided by her wetness. The small purple vibrator following closely behind. She'd pressed the impression two more times by then. Ramping the vibrator up to its highest intensity. 5 seconds. That's all it took. 5 seconds before she had exploded her cum on her skirt herself and the fluffy white blankets  beneath her. Her orgasm so intense that the only thing able to follow it was a deep sleep.

Her first taste of ecstasy in her new home.

..... Meanwhile from Donna's closet; that she had visited  earlier, stood a gorilla. Not an actual gorilla of course but a tall slender Man in a gorilla suit. Pleasuring himself. He had watched her climax while stroking his ten inch cock from the closet. Stroking quickly to her exuberant moans. Holding one hand over his mouth to quiet himself. He had not wanted to give himself away. Had not wanted to frighten the girl. He'd watched her nipples rise with every breath. Heard the wetness between her legs. Witnessed her squirt across the room. 

He had managed to cum at the same time as sweet Donna. This somehow connected him to her. Intertwined them together. Her ecstasy was also his. But only he would know it....for now.

Want to hear the rest of the story. Want to know who the gorilla is and why he's in the closet? How he got there... How did Donna get to this place in her life? What's going on with her? What's up with jeffrey? Well it's all in my head. If you would like to see the story unfold, like and comment.

I remember laying next to a redhead whose name I hadn't known. His room filthy. Covered in years of dust. Engulfed in neglect. I remember clothes thrown about. Cat hair in the air. Dog fur with it. I remember thinking how strange it was to have fur floating about but no animals to inhabit this home. Whispers of little pals long gone. I remember the ashtray's overflow of cigarette butts and tiny roaches from anorexic blunts.

I remember how my skin felt on the scratchy sheets. How disgusting and satisfying it was to be laying in filth. I remember this squint of his eyes beneath his glasses, beady and unfamiliar. Judging.

 I remember admiring his mother's collection of national geographic magazines and overgrown plants. I remember her. A quaint tiny woman sitting on one end of a couch. Connected to a breathing tube while smoking a cigarette. She was beautiful. Pale, White haired, sweet. Dying and lively at the same time. Her eyes, full with the dust of what was. I had fallen in love with her the moment I laid eyes on her. 

I can feel the grief that my body computed into lust before tears could form. The feeling for wanting to be dominated. I remember the feel of his wide slimy tongue filling my mouth. Stubby hands with rounded nubs stained green. The smell of marijuana wafting from them as he roughly pawed and my nakedness beneath him. 

Laughter clawing its way free from me, replaced only by moans of disappointment. 

I remember shoving a pale freckled 7 inch cock into my mouth to suppress the sobs. I remember the salty smell of it, As thought It hadn't been washed in a day or two. I remember the delicious shame and regrets that it washed over me bathing me in something other than grief. How wonderful it was. How delicious.

a rough write for someone who likes a rough read. Perhaps I will return and tell the story properly. Perhaps not.