Crushing it til I cry... repeatedly

Had another wonderful day with Miss, back to normal with usual mix of day out and day in. 

It's interesting how life advances. When we started regularly hitting the market I used to let Miss carry a little bag of pastries or the like home so it didn't look weird that I was carrying all the groceries.

I was very worried about how things looked in those days.

On the way back this time I had all the groceries, on my back and in a shopping bag, with brolley on other hand, Miss on that arm to keep her close and out of the rain and with my fly open with my PALE PINK active wear flashing slightly through the gap. 

How times change. 

Lord knows what anyone looking might have made of it all. It's a big city, no-one looks or cares. 

We had good times and good food, and at end of the evening between dinner and me having to go we sat on sofa for a bit. I was still in my stays and stockings and Miss was sat next to me on the sofa just gripping the knoblet and crushing it in her fist, because I asked her to, nicely and politely. Just crushing it and feeling it throb while I stroked my chest and she watched YouTube. 

After a few minutes a tear would trickle to the tip and Miss would rub it across the head, til I was unsatisfyingly dry again and unsatisfied.

It was so lovely to be squeezed and crushed, to the rhythm of the music on the box or the rhythm of the beat of the pulse in my knoblet. While I watched just the head twitch and throb, exposed outside her fist, periodically shedding a tear.

Which was beautiful. Just quiet time together, unwinding from a busy day, intimate, controlling and very Miss. Making my knoblet twitch, sore and dry rubbed and crying one tear of frustration at a time. To be rubbed into my supersensitive glans and make it more flushed and red and controlled. 

A physical manifestation of our relationship Miss.

Please keep me in your fist Miss, held tight and with no escape. Held in frustration til I genuinely want to escape. Til all I can think of is my want for a sweet release to assuage the ache. To the point where I genuinely beg for an end, even if it must be a brutal rough climax, with a hard palming after and final abuse of the knoblet's cowardly friends to finish.

Make me beg for that, and when I genuinely want it no matter how tough it's going to be, then laugh in my face and give me what I have always asked for... denial.

Maybe I'll cry real tears from the other end? 




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