I am like a cat…

It is true… I really am.

I love things that make me feel good. I actively search them out.

Now you are saying… well who doesn’t? But for everyone, pleasures are different. Some people derive immense satisfaction from a job well done. Some people get off from a good workout. Me? Not so much.

I am like a cat. Do cats work hard if they don’t have to? Not so much! Will they lay there and let you stroke them and adore them? Oh yes!

Prior to the beginning of this post, I had a shot of rather delicious Polish vodka in honey flavour. I doubt you can get it outside of Poland… the entire label is a wide world of C’s, Z’s, Y’s and W’s…. As the alcoholic ambrosia slid down my throat, I had that… feeling… you know… its like every muscle is turning into jello… the tension ebbs away… and then the tingling starts… down the front of me… my breasts almost feel fuller… my nipples harden… and then down… down… down….

And all that is missing is… the one who owns me…

Because I am so ready to be stroked. To be touched… to be used.

I am pleasured and I want to give pleasure.

Was that too explicit?

It is decidedly warm where I am… my windows are open… I am laying on my bed au naturel and gentle puffs of wind trail their fingers across my back and buttocks. They could almost be the fingers of a lover… but they arent. I could almost imagine that the man I am looking for is in the doorframe… looking down at the prostrate form of his muse… He is considering… evaluating. Gazing with pride of ownership at her large, round posterior… wondering if he lays his hand upon it, if he will be welcomed… if he can run his fingers up the inside of those thighs and find the nectar which means he is invited and she is ready…

I am his Odalisque… and I am waiting for him…Image

Of course I am ready… but without an owner… No one to stroke me, pleasure me and care for me.

Image

I am a poor little cat… without an owner… all on my own…

Feral… but dreaming of a lap, an owner and pleasure…

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