Thoughts and fantasies of a submissive

I was round with Miss the other night and got groped just inside the door.  This was deliciously well done. One hand gripped my ringed knoblet, squeezing and pumping as i firmed in her fist. The other slipped up my shirt and grabbed a handful of my chest. Then she gripped my buttock, her hand slipping between my thighs. Heavenly sense of violation, my head forced flat to the wall,  panting breathless.  Then gripped by my knoblet and dragged in to see Danny, her grip too much.  I squeaked and squealed but it was just the right side of too much. My poor knoblet was crying out for relief, but when released i was firm and sore and happy.  Good evening Miss, i thought. So glad to be back with my lovely Miss, trousers about my ankles and knoblet swaying in the warm air, dripping and dopey like always...

Popped round to see Miss the other night, and we were just lazing about on the sofa, my legs draped over her crotch available to her wandering hand. I'd been wearing a cock ring to keep foreskin back during the day and do a bit of tenderising as i wandered about during the day. She found it and just lightly dragged her fingers over the head, through my trousers, scraping the head softly as it swelled and i moaned. Her music was on, another weird sample of Rutger Hauer's death speech on the middle (about every other track on her collection samples it). Then it went a tempo as the Italian would say and she just pinched the head between her fingers and pumped away to keep time. It was fast and slightly rough,  and heavenly. A shame a map argument developed and she had to slope off to check a fact I'd already proved. Come back Miss, the knoblet misses you! But that part of the evening had sadly passed. 

But the day must be faced and we prepare to face it together. It's a longish walk to the station we use to go to London and a pleasant day for it. We walk and talk and she occasionally lets her hand fondle my bottom. I love being felt up but have a horror of being seen or offending people. She just doesn't give a f**k. As she says, when will you see these people again? A fair point but i can't cope and so I'm forever begging her to quit it. But wishing she'd do it more obviously. We get to town and enjoy a lovely breakfast - well mine was lovely her eggs overdone and salmon scrimped. The market yields its usual bounties and before long we're heading back to hers on the train. She carries nothing and i carry all - a back pack and two shopping bags wrapped around my wrists. I sometimes lead in hopes she'll take advantages. Sometimes i follow, watching her bottom and thinking on when i will kiss it again. The weight of the shopping bags leave marks on my wris...