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Tuesday, 3 July 2012

Really Real Reality

In all honesty, I could grind it out faster if I wasn't so busy molesting myself and/or sport fucking strangers.

Y'see, just as it has always been suspected, women with incredible breasts really do
spend the entire day feeling themselves up. Every day.

At work and at home, I have a wall of mirrors so I can see how awesome my tits are, no matter what I am doing. Because I work naked, or in panties/lingerie. It's the uniform at Literary Boner's Inc, too. Naturally that requires being an exemplary specimen of the human form as well as being good at whatever it is that you do. The French maid at the studio is entirely smoking hot, I'll tell you about her one day.

So, this is how it shakes down. When I wake up in the morning, to birds singing, I'm already touching myself so I generally run with it and start the day off with an orgasm. I do nude yoga for half an hour. The housekeeper sets me up with coffee, lays out my clothes, makes my breakfast so I can spend two hours applying hair, makeup and double sided tape and etc. Depending on my mood she gives it to me with the strap-on she keeps in the kitchen. She's so good that I just have to look at her and she knows. It's all rather distracting so I have a driver, to keep it safe. He brings me to the studio while I rub my nipples through my clothes and hangs out through the day to be the driver as needed. He spends the rest of the time watching porn on his smartphone. When I get to the studio I disrobe to be in compliance with the company policy. Lead by example, right?

I have a drawer in my desk that is filled with dildos and vibrators. There's another drawer for "other" sex toys. Variety is the spice of life when you come forty or fifty times a day. I usually start with the "polite" vibrator with the wireless remote control. Whoever comes into my office first gets the remote, until I come. All of my staff report very high job satisfaction. I knew that putting a fucking machine in the lunchroom was going to be a good investment. I mean, I know how to motivate people. It's a gift. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Nothing says instant bondage like thumb cuffs.

Depending who is there when I arrive (people don't tend to come early), we have a circle jerk. It's awkward to have a gay guy rub my clit but what can you do, it's unavoidable at times. A fairy comes around and writes cheques that make landlords and service providers, including but not limited to adult service providers, happy. We drink coffee or mamosas. I rub my nipples while I see what the inbox is all about for the day. That generally leads to more masturbating. Did I mention that there are cameras everywhere because we have approximately one zillion subscribers who love to watch. You guys are just so curious to know who's going to be on the receiving end of the gang bang this week. Riveting.

I've mentioned a few of the key players but my staff is huge. And I don't just mean the dicks. I have an intake administrator to screen sport fucking candidates. Aside from masturbating alone, in groups and online for leering perverts who would like to kidnap me and keep me as their sex slave, I spend a lot of time fucking total strangers. In parks, dark alleys, pickup trucks, abandoned buildings, parking garages, bar bathrooms, taxis, box seats, VIP lounges, BDSM dungeons, corner offices with the window shades drawn, store rooms and all manner of closet, movie theatres, on the highway in low cars with a sun roof. Without her... I actually tear up thinking of it. She makes it possible for me to be a part of the Sport Fucking Olympics. I suppose if I was getting paid to slut it up with strangers, she'd be my pimp. But I do it for the love of being a fantasy slut. Occasionally the guys I meet like to role-play that I'm a prostitute so I take their money to go along with the scene and stay in character. It's not real, it's just role-playing.

When I disappear for four or five hours in the middle of the day, it's usually because I am on a never-ending dick. They all kind of blur into one another. I stopped counting at John Dick #442. That was a week in, more than a few years ago. While I am at the studio, I try to document as much as possible but we honestly spend so much time sucking and fucking that I have considered making our office virtual, to save money. But then I realized that they'd spend twice as much time typing out their twisted fantasies than if they were in the office playing them out, so it is what it is for now. I can admit that it's partly selfishness because I know I would have to work a lot harder to end up doubly penetrated in every hole on such a regular basis. Work smarter, not harder...

For some reason, we attract a lot of attention from male slaves. I don't know what the fuck they want, they get the ball gag when they show up for their "interview". We make them sit in the waiting room for most of the morning. The ones who are still there waiting get put into stockades in the lunchroom and ass raped by whoever needs to let off some steam, until about four in the afternoon. We have staff whose sole responsibility is to keep the slaves asses lubricated. 

They line up for it.

Speaking of lubricated, there is a chick on staff who is there to take it in the ass when no one else is in the mood. There are a few glory hole providers who rotate around, I can rarely tell who it is. I have a booking agent for the inquiries about my availability for sex slavery. I could spend 16 hours a day filtering through the offers to be caged, without ever even getting to the ones who want to tie me to a cross, picnic table, bed, car, tree, or other available fixture in order to humiliate and defile me for their sexual pleasure. Again, not to say that some of them don't give me money but being a sex object is a labour of love for me. In true submissive fashion I am really just glad to have the opportunity to be hogtied and flogged, bound in a BDSM club and made to beg loud enough for everyone to hear, a part of an all you can eat buffet for diplomats and ambassadors, or however it plays out, at the mercy of the Master or Mistress using me. Like that time I ended up wearing only a hood, at a hunting cabin with twenty guys, suspended from the rafters, tied to a cross, a wooden horse, beds, couches, another slave, and pretty much anything else within reach, with no fewer than two cocks in me for no fewer than twelve hours a day for a week. I was bound and fucked in my sleep, too, so overall I'd guess that I had at least one cock in me for 95% of that week. That was when I learned of my love for double penetration in all three holes.

I get lost thinking of my humanitarian aid efforts in that arena. We all do what we can, right? Try to give a little back, y'know? Anyway, I became distracted from the aim of providing a window into a day in the life of... me. I was going to tell you about the egg and remote control. Whoever comes into my office first gets the remote. They also get three butt plugs that they can hand out to whoever they want. They usually give me one. The rules are the rules so I slide it in nice and slow, teasing my ass while they, and an unknown number of anonymous subscribers, watch. It's fairly predictable but this is when they turn on the remote. There are exceptions but generally they can't wait to make me come right away. And I can't either.

The exceptions are real sadists. While the egg is in, I can't otherwise get fucked or have objects inserted in my cunt. And they only have to return the remote when the egg makes me come. If I come from getting fucked in the ass or sitting on someone's face, it doesn't count. I generally don't get much else done on those days. Too busy trying to appeal to the remote holder to give it to me, so to speak. There are a wild assortment of other toys and we make good use of all of them. So, there are at least a half dozen people on staff who just run around cleaning toys and puddles of come. We can't have people slipping on the floor and shit, That's a liability.

Whether or not I am in the office depends on my sport fucking appointments. I may just go out for one and stay out for twenty. Opportunities seem to present themselves. As well as the constant texts I receive from the intake administrator, 'Bend over into the trunk. E corner of A3, parking garage on 11th and Elm. 2pm' or 'Seedy Motel Inn, #16, 2:20pm.' or 'White cube van, be in front of The Grocery on Boyd St.' That was the time I ended up in the hunting cabin for that week. Good times.

Finding opportunities is easy because I usually just wear an almost sheer black babydoll dress and heels. And I bend over a lot so the already short hem exposes my pussy. Flashing people as I get into or out of a cab. My nipples barely covered. I have a seamstress who tailors everything to make it look like my tits are always about to fall out. I've been fingered in so many check out lines that I've lost count on that, too. I definitely have no problem finding strangers in stairwells who would like to bend me over and fuck me senseless. To say nothing of the taxis, elevators and... everywhere. I fucked another rider on the subway one night. It was late but there were a few people enjoying the show. Actually, a guy who watched followed me off at my stop and offered me a wild night. And he delivered.

An unpaid intern who is "good to go" according to office legend.

When I return in the afternoon I usually have to interview people. Potential staff, people who pretended to get a foot in the door, people holding lame content hostage, the press, concerned citizens, and on and on. I pretend I am listening and type stories instead. I've mastered the art of seeming like I am paying attention. Sometimes a full blown orgy breaks out around us and I just continue to nod and say "uh huh" at the right times, while I'm getting fucked. Finally, I kick everyone out so I can edit before posting. We usually convene around the fucking machine to celebrate the day's success, smoking joints and fucking each other until the little hand reaches the five.

In the mix is lunch, laughs and more lovin' than I have time in a day to report on. We have a lot of fun and sometimes so does the courier. The driver returns me home, where I disrobe again, and find a beautiful meal laid out depending on the evening date schedule. And that, my friends, is a day in the life of Imma. Evenings are far less predictable and boring. Stay tuned.

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