This piece was created for Exhibit Unadorned’s Sinful Stories competition. The goal was to take one of several images from Molly’s Daily Kiss’s Sinful Sunday from April 27th and create an erotic story around that image. Thank you to happycomelucky and Eva St James for use of your images in this piece. 

Dear Sir,

As per number six of the list of instructions You left for me this week, I’m detailing you the success (or lack thereof) at winning The Game over a twenty-four hour period.

For those who are reading along with this on my blog, The Game is a mental game where the objective is to avoid thinking about The Game itself. Thinking about The Game constitutes a loss, which, according to the rules of The Game, must be announced each time it occurs. (Source)

But of course You couldn’t leave The Game as just a simple win or lose scenario. Rather than just losing, You upped the stakes. When I lost, I had to masturbate with whatever I had in my hand at the time. If I had nothing in my hand, or what was in my hand was inappropriate for fucking, it had to be the most immediate object to my hand that was indeed fuckable.

7:35am – I had only been awake for about half an hour, getting myself ready to go to work. I had managed to last all the way until I was putting on my makeup before I had thought about The Game. I was holding my blush brush at the time, with its long, tapered, skinny handle. I could have fucked myself in the pussy with it, but I remembered number three on that list – continue my anal training – and decided it was slim enough to fit inside my untrained ass. Two birds, one stone, one orgasm brought on by my fingertips as I was slowly pressing that brush handle into my back side.

9:45am – I was stood in the stationery closet at work, waiting for my photocopies to get done. I looked out the window and saw some of the guys at the office next door kicking around a soda can on their break. That’s what triggered the losing thought – a silly game of Pepsi-kick-about. While I was proud to see I lasted more than two hours, I was slightly freaked out when I realized my hand was on the copy machine. It was one of those old kinds that does a lot of wiggling around when it’s turned on (kinda like me). So, I closed the blind, locked the door, and set it to 100 blank copies before I lifted up my skirt and pressed myself into one corner. (Of course no panties, as per number two’s rule of ‘no underwear all week’.) The plastic corner of the machine felt a bit odd, but it did the trick. I think my fear of getting caught make me cum faster, if not harder than the first loss.

12:35pm – This one scared me the most. I was cutting up leaflets when The Game came into my head. I had scissors in my hand. Would You really want me using a pair of scissors to get myself off? Even closed they’d be pretty dangerous slipping in and out of my cunt. Luckily, my creative mind got to work. I flipped them around to the rubber-coated handle. That wasn’t going to fit inside my pussy, but with a bit of spit as lube they’d do a decent job of getting my clit off. I slid the scissors inside my purse, made my way to the ladies’ room, and spend the next fifteen minutes running that cold handle over my swollen clit as I fingered my own pussy to orgasm. I hope this didn’t disappoint You.

5:25pm – I had somehow managed to not only not think about The Game until after work was done, but also was able to not think of masturbating which would have then triggered a loss. You had arrived home from work, kissed my lips and pulled my hair. When you whispered “You’ve just lost The Game” into my ear, my hand was holding yours at the time. This happened to be the most pleasurable fuck I had given myself all day, with my spent and tired cunt riding your fingers for one final orgasm of the day. Can you still smell me on your fingers, Sir?

Since You had used me for the remainder of the 24 hours, my mind was on other things than The Game before You left on your business trip. I do hope this letter pleases You while you’re on that long flight. I’ve enclosed a picture for Your imagination that I somehow managed to take without You knowing. I do hope this doesn’t get me into *too* much trouble when You get home, Master.

With love,

Your Little Girl

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