Lolita Wolf's Predictions & Predilections

As a BDSM Sex Educator and Author, I don't just talk about it. I do it! And then I write about it.

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At his house

November 17th, 2008 · 19 Comments

21 At his house

Bobbi Starr on fuckingmachines.com

“Get naked and then put some of these candles around the living room and light them.”

“How many is some?” I asked  If Don Quixote was giving me orders, I needed him to be specific.

“Five,” he answered as he left the room.

I quickly set out the candles and grabbed a lighter from the bowl of lighters.  I tried one after the other, but none of them worked.  Broken?  Out of fuel?  Flint?  Or maybe I was just too stupid to figure out those fancy cigar lighters worked.  I did not want to flub an assignment that was supposed to be so easy.  I looked around some more and found a book of matches.  Okay, I could do this.

“Good!”  He had returned, inspected the candles and approved.

He sat on the couch and gave me the next set of instructions.  “Go into the kitchen, pour me a bourbon – two ice cubes, three fingers – and pack a pipe.”

I went into the kitchen.  A glass, a pipe and a bag of tobacco were on the table.  I was relieved that I did not have to be searching for things.  But how was I supposed to pack his pipe?  He had shown me months ago but I had never done it.  I strained to remember the proper way.  Was it tight/loose/tight or loose/tight/loose?  I made a quick guess to the latter and carefully prepared the pipe.

Next, the bourbon.  It was three fingers and how many ice cubes?  I scolded myself for not paying more attention to the instructions.  I went with my first instinct and grabbed the ice from the freezer.  I looked at the bottles he had, picked a name I recognized as one of his favorites and poured.

I brought him his pipe and bourbon.  He lit the pipe and was pleased. “Good girl! Now go get your Hitachi.”

For the record, anybody that tries to say “Good Girl!” to me is really playing on the edge.  But DQ knew that this was the right circumstance for it to be a hot thing to say.  So, yeah, it was hot.

I came back with the Hitachi and he motioned me to the other end of the couch.  “Play with it.”  He sat calmly drinking the bourbon, smoking his pipe and watching me get myself off.

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