16.0213-0900 I'm not emotionally attached to my garments
@25.0905-1339.99 by Atx
Dear Marla,
I did something crazy today.
I should not have done it.
I stumbled upon the old sleveless bodysuit with the double dildoes. This was made from 'natural' color latex and probably one of my favorite garments. It's the one I wore on the day James interviewed me at the liibrary for this job. It was old and patched with black tape repairs. It looked like hell.
I started to put it on. And , yes, I did put condoms on both of the phalluses. I always do. It's a hygeine thing. Then I started to pull the suit on. Carefully. This was old, fragile rubber. I could tell by the feel and smell of it that it was nearly ready for the trash bin. The shoulder strap ripped. Shit! This is a stress area, so the tear could not be repaired with tape. Shit!
This may surprise you. I've never had any sort of emotional attachment to my garments. They are not living things and my heart knows that. They are commodity items that I pay money to obtain from other people I have never met. I have never given them names. Well, I suppose there is Tom, Dick and Harry, but they are just a convenient, generic references to all phalluses and gags in general. Yet, I have had particular fondnesses for various garments I have had over the years. This old sleeveless bodysuit with Tom and Dick glued in is one of them. I have always felt sorry when it was time to take it off after a day of being deliciously slow-fucked by it. I think what made it really special is that Dick is just the right size to tickle my fancy and remind me it is there all day long, but usually not quite big enough to get me to orgasm. It was great for doing housework in. You'd be amazed at how much housework I can get done when I'm crazy-horny!
Shit! I would miss this garment.
I was just about to take it off and put it in my trash when my eyes fell on a roll of black tape amidst all my other junk on the table.
Hmmmmm....
What the hell. Maybe I can get one more shot from this old suit, after all.
I encircled my waist tightly with the tape. Bam! Instant chasti-stim belt!
The lower half was still intact. I trimmed off the upper half with scissors and discarded it. There was nothing left to salvage there. And now I was 'trapped' in the lower half because the unelastic tape encircling my waist prevented me from removing the pant except by cutting it off. It had become a 'sacrificial' garment. I would just have to suffer in it's encarcerating empalement as long as I could until I reach my limit, then cut it off.
I've never figured out whether I do crazy stuff like this because I am a masochist or because I am, somehow, wired to enjoy endurance games, and especially because I have grown to really love the really long, really, really long, slow fuck that Tom and Dick give me.
This would be the 'last hurrah' of one of my favorite garments. I was determined to give it some Meaning before I discarded it. I would stay trapped in it until I could no longer stand it and would 'kill' my favorite suit off with scissors.