Do That Dont Do That

Look, I'm sure some of you have filthy sluts for girlfriends. Good for you. Me? I have a slut who generally likes things to be clean. You've got your costs and benefits, and I've got mine.

I clean the bathroom. I change the sheets. I clean the couch.

I did it without fail for a year and change before everything clicked for my pretty little Sadie. When it did, though... man oh man. That's when she finally revealed what I'd suspected all along: that she was a horny, perverted -- but not

filthy

-- slut. It was one of the happiest days of my life.

Sadie pads into the room, wearing cute little white socks that further soften every footfall. You hate that shit, I know. You're sick of reading about women padding into rooms. Well, they do, and it's awesome, so fuck you. It makes a woman pushing thirty seem more like she's nineteen, complete with that perfect mixture of naughtiness and innocence. Her tits bounce more than they sway; her mousy brown hair joins in the fun. Her ass isn't thundering; it's flexing. Her hips aren't hitting a drum on both sides of a push-assisted pendulum swing, but they

could

. They hold back. They tease.

Her low-cut panties aren't showing off her lips and slit, but they're doing that thing they do. They create mounds and lines of their own -- hints and allegations of real bodies and real sex, landing on the surprising side of the uncanny valley. Legs and hips in motion make a good pair of panties even sexier. Whenever that fabric moves, it ignites both imagination and desire. You get the animation, and it makes you crave the live-action version, still hidden from view.

Move just a little bit more. Let me see just a little bit more.

You want to know why we use the word "padding?" Because that's what cats do. It's about grace. It's about being light on one's feet due to skill, not just the flatteringly low number on the digital scale. It's about a sleek predator who's so well-fed that she's become a pet. She doesn't need to go into full hunter mode, but can still flaunt all of those natural advantages. I'm not going around sticking my dick into literal felines, but cats are sexy, and they know it. You know it, too.

Sadie

pads

into the room, motherfuckers. She's sexy, and she knows it. She does it wearing those cute little white socks, those cute little white panties, and a barely-there babydoll shirt that's tight enough to cling a bit, but loose enough to be taken off in a hurry.

I'm already watching some stupid bullshit on TV. She plops down next to me, and her eyes light up -- just not for me.

"Ooh, snacks."

She's such a tease.

She leans over and grabs a gummy bear. They're her favorite. I've got some chips and dip out, too, plus some veggie sticks. The veggie sticks are another part of the mind games, by the way, right alongside cleaning the bathroom. I have a whole monologue about them. I'm sparing you. You're welcome.

She leans back onto the couch; she's close, but she's not crowding me. I can feel her body heat, and I can smell her -- shampoo, soap, lotion, and the hint of femininity they all somehow manage to accentuate. We were talking about the uncanny valley, right? She smells like a beautiful woman should, even though that's not really how people smell. I wonder if she ever whispers a similar

"thank you"

to the geniuses who invented my deodorant and shaving gel.

Even though I'm not touching her -- maybe a quick brush of my pajama bottoms against her hips, or our shirts near the shoulders -- she feels and smells soft. Cats are soft because of their fur. Sadie is soft because she's smooth -- except for the hair on her head, I suppose, which dares me to stroke it. The rest of her body presents the same unspoken challenge. I desperately want to, but I can be patient. When Sadie joins me on this particular couch, with the TV on and the snacks out, we both know it's time to play. For us, play is what comes before foreplay -- and I wish I could come up with some extra wordplay, because that combination has some potential, doesn't it?

"

My Best Friend Is From Another Dimension Where Waifu Pillows Are Outlawed

," I tell her.

"Irony meter?" she asks. It comes out clear enough, even though she's still chewing on the gummy bear. It's adorable. I love the sound of girls snacking, and how happy and satisfied they are when they're doing it.

"Eight," I reply.

"Which means six at best," she scoffs. "You're such a fucking nerd."

"Right now I'm a watching-TV nerd."

She glances over at me -- at my pajama bottoms, specifically. Something's already happening beneath them, though it's subtle for now. "At least tell me that's because of me, and not from the show."

"Why? You'll call me a horny pervert anyway."

"Because you are one. I'll be a lot less disturbed if it's because of me, though."

"Always."

"

Always?

You watch porn."

"I think of you."

"Bullshit." The transcription doesn't do it justice; she

stretches

it out -- both syllables. It's got goofy bombast. She knows her cliches.

She shifts around, offering up her feet -- though not before artfully rearranging the snacks so that her favorite will still be within easy reach. "Make yourself useful," she says casually, turning to gaze disinterestedly at the screen. It's the second episode, and... oh, right, nobody cares.

I do make myself useful -- off come the socks, in preparation for the foot rub -- but I also take the opportunity to stare at her panties, because they're

really

doing that thing they do as she gets comfy on some pillows and rests her ankles on my lap. She can't call me out for it, because she just called bullshit that I'm always perving on her and only her. She's smart like that. So am I.

When I start rubbing her feet, she releases the cutest fucking noise in the universe. My heart melts and my cock swells. It's the grand balance of my love for little Sadie Brown, who's actually of perfectly average height and weight. I just like calling her 'little,' among other things.

"So what do you think about?" she asks. "If you confess all your pervy sins, I might reward you." She's teasing, but there's none of it in her tone. She's snacking, not-really-watching TV, and acting more like a frat bro than a girlfriend. I love it.

It's my turn to scoff at her. "You couldn't handle it."

"Bitch, I handle you all the time."

"You handle what I let you handle. You're asking me what's in my head. They say the brain's the biggest sex organ."

"I mean, compared to your dick..."

"Compared to your tits..."

"Fuck you, bitch!"

Sadie loves her tiny tits. I do, too. We're fucking with each other, and everything's okay. She still kicks at me, obviously, because that's what frat-bro fuck-friends do. I had a "no hitting" stage earlier in the relationship. I needed it then, but I'm glad we're past it.

"No sex today unless you confess," she declares, turning the carrot into a stick. "Submit to my authori-tay!" We both ignore the fact that we sucked and fucked right after we woke up. Mentioning that would ruin the fun.

"Lots of sex if I do," I counter.

"I need to be satisfied."

"With how pervy I am?"

"And the foot rub."

"Game on."

I squeeze one of her favorite spots. I get another cutest-ever noise. "You're really good at that," she begrudgingly admits. "Love you."

"Love you, too."

"Game on, you said."

I can't help but chuckle. The stuff nobody cares about keeps playing on the TV. The volume's down pretty low. How convenient.

"Blowjob face," I begin. "Full eye contact. Smooth transition into a skullfucking -- a gentle one, though. Huge load of cum right into your tummy."

"Pffft, do that," she replies. Just in case you're confused, that's short for

"I do that in real life,"

,

"we do that in real life,

" or whatever other variant makes the most sense.

"Sucking on your titties all day long."

"Lame."

"You love it so much you cum from it -- long, smooth, rolling orgasms, nonstop."

"... Okay, that counts as a fantasy. Milk?"

"Yeah, sometimes."

"Fair enough. Still lame, but no, don't do that -- well, not all of it. It

tickles

the perv scale, I guess."

I lift her foot and lean down at the same time. Her toe and my lips meet in the middle. It doesn't do much for her physically, but I know she likes it. I gently lower her foot again and continue my work. Her muscles and tendons down there are warm and relaxed; I'm good at what I do. Over on the other side of the couch, she's still pretending to be bored, save for the snacking.

"Man," she says, "I really don't want to move, but I wish you had that lotion I like."

Out comes the lotion from behind a pillow. I play it up. I'm a genius!

She rolls her eyes, but then rewards me with a smile. "Thanks, babe," she says. "Love you."

"Love you, too."

It's mild -- aloe and lavender. I'm very thankful she doesn't go in for the intense stuff. I warm it up with my hands a little bit, then resume the enhanced foot rub.

"Mmmm," she says. "See, I'm not a pervert like you. This is the kind of stuff I fantasize about -- foot rubs, back rubs, innocent hugs and kisses, slow-dancing, you cleaning the house..."

"And those are your

sexual

fantasies?" I tease. "So lame."

"They set the mood," she says prissily, "and the tender lovemaking afterwards is

implied

-- not like your dumb porn and your dumb anime."

"I don't watch that teasing shit," I remind her. "I hate it just as much as you."

"They never fuck!" she exclaims, and I say it right along with her -- though in a soporific deadpan, mocking the outburst we both knew was coming. Then I let her take over. "Schoolgirl outfits, panty shots, giant titties, and nobody ever fucking

does

anything! Nobody needs to see it, but for fuck's sake, have somebody actually get a boyfriend or girlfriend and

have some sex

. Maybe they'd stop randomly shouting about bullshit all the time if they just got laid."

I chuckle and give her foot another squeeze. "I love you," I tell her again.

She gets a little bashful. "Yeah, okay, dead horse. I know. I get up your ass about that, so I shouldn't be a hypocrite."

"I love it," I say with a shrug. "I love that passion. I love the ranting. You know, there's something special about it when it's a girl's voice. It feels... real, I guess. Girls hold back. It's refreshing when they don't."

"Huh," she says. "So you don't mind it when the stupid girly-girls in the anime start shouting and whacking the stupid boys over the head or whatever?"

"Ugh, no, that shit is awful."

"Good. I don't have to break up with you then."

"Surely you'd have waited until after the foot rub."

"Well yeah, obviously -- and until I've had my fill of gummy bears. Girl's gotta eat."

"And hey," I say, "you can get up my ass anytime. Pegging. Fingering. Your tongue. Sex toy."

"Do that," she replies. Notice what she

doesn't

do or say: no scoffing, no

"Lame,"

no pooh-poohing noises. There's also some squirming on the couch for the first time -- a little bit of delicious discomfort. Her panties do that thing again, just for a moment. It draws my attention like a hawk spotting a mouse -- or perhaps a very small house cat. I also catch her looking at me, and see a hint of lust in her hazel eyes. She doesn't pretend she didn't look, but she shrugs it off and retrieves another gummy bear.

"Got a little off track there, champ, but you're actually doing okay. Keep going." She punctuates the demand with some foot action near my half-swollen cock. It responds, of course, which prompts the followup. "Footjobs?"

"Not really, no. I wouldn't turn one down, but it doesn't make the cut."

"Huh. Good to know."

"How so?"

"Well now that I know you don't obsess over them, we'll definitely do it sometime."

That doesn't make any sense, but that's the point. She's teasing by way of knee-jerk contrarianism. I don't love it as much as the ranting, but it's all part of our play. She's being a friendly, casual bitch to me -- and she can take it as well as she dishes it out. That's huge for me. It's right up there with her being a slut.

"Mind control," I say next.

"Oh? All the usual boring and lame stuff, right?"

"Right."

"Say it, though."

I sigh. "I fantasize about turning you into a sex slave that feels nothing but happiness and pleasure all the time, because your entire existence is about serving, pleasing, and obeying me."

"And that loves you and everything about you unconditionally."

"Right."

"Meh. That's just every man in the world being pathologically insecure and needing intense psychotherapy. Whatever. Do you turn me into a cat or a dog or anything?"

"Nah."

"Oh well. That'd be less boring -- only just. A bird would be a lot less boring, though... don't know why. Whatever. Moving on." She lazily waves her hand. It reminds me of that robot from

Futurama

-- the one who's always on the couch, or who actually

is

part couch. I think he's the pleasure bot or the hedonism bot or something, which is strangely fitting. I like it. It's not merely funny; it hooks into that whole thing about girls being sexier when they let it all hang out. I imagine my little Sadie lazily demanding snacks and sex from slaves. It works for me.

"What are you thinkin' about?" she asks.

I give her the recap.

"You are

so

fucking weird."

I cop to it with a shrug.

"... You wanna be my slave?"

"Only for the sex stuff," I reply.

"Boooooooo."

"Well, that includes foot rubs and back rubs and whatnot."

"... Okay, slightly less 'Boooooooo.' Doesn't include chores, though, so still a fair amount of 'Boooooooo.'"

God, I love her.

With another round of lotion, my foot rub has turned into a leg rub, and Sadie's happy to accept it. Play gets closer to foreplay, just like my hands get closer to her pussy. There's still a ways to go.

"You know," she says, "I'd have respected you more if you'd started with butt stuff. Too late now. Say it, though."

"'Butt stuff.'"

She kicks me lightly. "Say it better."

I take a breath. It's one of the big ones for me. "Over my knee, panties down or off, thermometer or a finger. Maybe I spank you first."

"Okay," she says, "that's something. I'm sensing some age play in the mix, you filthy pederast. Am I wrong?"

"No."

"Mmmm. That's why you like my pussy all smooth, too. You're such a pervert it's practically criminal." All of that's still with the same casual frat-bro tone, by the way. I honestly don't know why that makes it okay, but it does. I'm completely okay with my twenty-nine-year old girlfriend, of perfectly average height and weight, whom I fuck all the time, casually calling me a pedophile, and telling me that I need intense psychotherapy.

"Okay, what else?" she asks.

"Well, there's really no other way to say it: I fuck you in the ass."

"Do that," she says in that same dismissive way -- sing-songy, but almost atonal. "But really? 'No other way?' Come on. Be creative. I know you're a wordy-nerdy little freak. Put in some effort. Pretend you're a little schoolgirl confessing to a priest that you're actually trying to seduce."

"Or a nun with a huge strap-on."

"Okay! Yes! Here we go!" She kicks her legs again, but only to signal excitement -- still a stark contrast with the upper part of her body. I sneak a peek anyway. Her shirt never fully hid her nipples, but they're obviously taller and stiffer than they were ten minutes ago. I think her tiny tits are a tiny bit bigger, too. Call it a trick of the mind, but I feel more heat from her pussy, and her smell has shifted ever so slightly. We're getting even closer. I love playing with Sadie.

"'Hot semen enema,'" I tell her. "That one's been on my mind a lot. I imagine us out somewhere -- some cocktail party or get-together -- and at some point, after mingling like perfectly civilized people, we find each other again. You lean back into me in your fancy dress or pantsuit, and you whisper it in my ear:

'Let's go home. I need my hot semen enema.'

My cock swells and presses into you, near your ass. Maybe it feels a plug -- one that I didn't know was there until just then."

"Plugged in public. Sneaky sex talk in public. Anal. Cum enemas. Okay. This is pervy shit. Sister Sadie is pleased, you filthy sinner."

"Obviously I give it to you, too."

"Obviously. Say it better."

"Prone. Bent over. On your side. From behind, almost always, though. Nothing against missionary anal, but from behind does something extra for me most of the time. I stick my hot, throbbing nozzle up your defenseless little bum."

"From behind, because I'm taking it like a bitch."

"Taking it in the ass like a bitch," I readily amend.

"And I cum from my ass like a bitch, because your cock and your cum are just so amazing. And you've mind controlled me to love anal, and to

crave

my hot semen enemas. I turn into an orgasm-zombie, and that turns my whole body into your vibrating, squeezing cocksleeve. I'm a drooling, incoherent mess of sexual pleasure."

"Almost. You can still talk, sort of."

"And what do I say?"

"Well, at the beginning, there's 'I'm your bitch, and you own me,' to which I reply, 'That's right, baby girl. I own you, and I love you.' That's before you really start to lose it."

"And then?"

""''Yes, Daddy.' 'Love you, Daddy.' Lots of cooing and babbling, too, though."

"And eventually, you fill me up."

"I fill you up

completely.

I fill you up with so much cum that it reaches your stomach and becomes a meal. Sometimes I plug you. Sometimes I don't."

"Sounds like an awfully big mess if you don't," she says.

"Well, sometimes there's someone else there to clean it up."

"Oh? Some other girl, right? Never a man. Too insecure for that."

"Does a caged femboy or sissy count?"

"No," she says flatly. "Core concept."

She's right, of course.

She leans up for the first time in ages and grabs the remote from the table. "If we're going to watch dumb shit, we might as well watch your dumb porn."

I keep my mouth shut. She works the remote like an expert -- gee, almost as if we've done all of this before. She finds some girl-girl stuff. That's how it starts, because that's where we are in the script.

Now

we all care about what's on the TV screen.

Two girls are in separate rooms; we cut back and forth. They're casually naked or near enough, picking through piles of clothes, clearly dissatisfied.

"These two?" my little Sadie asks. She's back upright, and crowding into my space. She's in full-on hypocrite mode, paying attention to 'dumb' things that only I care about because I'm a pervert. Her heat and smell are undeniable -- absolutely not my imagination. Her nipples are poking at her shirt, and her left hand -- the one not dedicated to snacks -- is getting far too familiar with the crotch area of my pajamas for somebody who's

only

looking to extract confessions, and not, say, semen.

"The auburn-haired one, maybe," I answer honestly. "The other one, well, the blonde hair works, the petite body works, but the face... I dunno."

"Mmm, new sins," Sadie says smugly. "Hyperjudgmental. Body shaming. Reducing women to nothing but sex. You're the absolute worst."

"It's porn. They're porn actors."

"And you don't have to watch it in the first place."

She has a point. It's a damn good thing she doesn't actually give a shit. Remember what I said about her being able to take it as well as she dishes it out? Well, here we are, at ground zero -- or maybe the Chernobyl -- of relationship conversations. She's totally fine. She uses it as pre-foreplay, while watching girl-on-girl porn with me. The porn doesn't actually do much for her, granted, but it's not grossing her out or turning her off, either.