Posts and Masturbation on Location

I've been threatened.  I know - strange huh?  But it isn't what you think.  There has been a demand for more posts - and since I admonished readers to check back DAILY, evidently I need to post something each DAY.  Well, the good news is that I had something ready to go today anyway, so despite a rather intriguing set of compounding punishments, it looks like I will forestall getting in trouble for at least one day.  Still got six more to go.  But seriously - Master Matt didn't even specify what KIND of posts I should make!  I could write "Hey guys!  This is a post!  HA HA!" and post it on the blog and voila - I've met the conditions of his assignment.  But don't worry.  I wouldn't be THAT mean.  Or petty.  So I'll leave it to you guys to make the determination.  Is the post sufficient enough to meet your definition of "post?"

So what happens if I don't make a post on day one, today?  Then tomorrow I'd be masturbating on a post, or more technically the gate that I had my first clitoral orgasm on.  And that would be the only way I could cum.  Good Lord, that sounds horrible now that I think about it!  I haven't done that in YEARS.  But what would happen if I went TWO days without posting?  Well, the punishments compound.  Day two would require one orgasm on the gate post, and a second on road sign post, bare breasted with clover clamps keeping me in place.  All till orgasm.  Day three?  Everything I did for day two, plus a fence post, my Core Driller and technically a wooden horse ride.  Day four?  Yep.  You've got it, everything before and then a bed post.  Day Five?

Let's not go there.  

So here ya go.  A new post.  Totally new.  

Have fun.

Oh.  And Master Matt?

Masturbation On Location

Ginger

                I climbed up into the bed of my white Ford F-150 pickup truck and sat down on the piece of padded foam I’d tossed in the back before I left home.  It was a bright, sunny day and the temperature was just right for being outside.  At just above seventy degrees, it was warm enough to get away with summer clothes.  Which is what I was wearing.  My bare feet were protected from the ground by a meager pair of flip flops, my legs were uncovered, and I was wearing a skirt and halter top and nothing else.  As I sat down the blue denim material covering my thighs rode up and had anyone actually been close enough to see, they would have seen my very wet, pink petals peeking out from under my skirt.

                Relaxed, at least for the moment, I looked around.  Winter wheat stretched as far as the eye could see, interrupted only by the steel and concrete of the freeway a quarter mile away.  Cars and trucks rushed by and I could hear the muted roar of their passing.  I was as alone as one could be when sitting in the bed of her own pickup truck in the middle of a field, and while I’m sure that I was at least visible to passersby, I knew it would take a sharp-eyed driver to notice that I peeled off my halter top, exposing both breasts.  And since I was sitting on a folded towel over the padded foam, I didn’t even bat an eye when I rolled my skirt up as well.  I took a deep breath. I could smell cut crass, wet earth, and to be honest, my own juices, which were now liberally leaking out from between my legs.

                I pulled the plastic bag out of my bag, which was sitting right beside me, and wondered what it would be like if someone from the road could see me.  Would they be entranced?  Aroused?  Irritated?  Disgusted?  Would a half-naked, totally exposed redhead girl in the bed of a pickup be a novelty?  I grinned.  This was the best sort of public exposure.  Nude, legs spread, the knowledge that just a stone’s throw away were hundreds of people who would have been able to see me, had they been standing still and paying attention.  Inside the small plastic bag was a strange looking root, looking something like a malformed hand.  It had six fingers, each tubular and misshapen, as well as a larger “palm” that also seemed more elongated.  I plucked a small paring knife from my bag, nothing to sharp and you can put away your fears that I was going to cut myself.  I’m excellent with knives and you should know by now that I’m not THAT sort of masochist.

                I put my left hand down between my legs, the fingertips slipping through my wet folds delicately, sending shivers of pleasure up through me.  It didn’t take me long to find the latex covered string. I slipped my finger through it and then began to pull, groaning lightly as first one, then a second golf-ball sized sphere emerged from my depths.  Known in the orient as ben wa balls, here in America they are frequently called “Kegel Balls” a toy that basically consists of two latex covered spheres, in which two smaller weights roll and rattle with every step.  I’ve owned a pair for over half my life and while not the sort of toy that will drive you crazy (except for the first few weeks you wear them), they can keep you wet, semi-aroused, and ready for practically anything.

                Experimentally I put one to my extended tongue, tasting my own juices.  I’ve been told any number of times that a good submissive cleans her own toys.  But usually I’m in front of someone doing it.  With a sigh I licked each ball, getting most of my own lubrication off the plastic and set them aside.  Then I picked up the ginger root, broke off a finger of the Asian vegetable, and began peeling.

                Ginger is an interesting plant.  Technically, what we think of as the root, is actually what is called a rhizome, or for you non-horticulturalists out there, an underground root.  The idea is simple.  Rather than just sprouting seeds, each portion of a rhizome can literally become a new plant.  Some grasses crow this way, like Bermuda.  But other plants do as well, like asparagus and bamboo.  So when you get a piece of pickled ginger, you’re actually eating a portion of the stem.  Cool huh?  This is what you get for reading porn written by a farmer’s daughter.  There.  Now I’ve taught you something cool.  How about that?  Filling our minds as well as our pussies!

                Ahem… anyway…

                The oils in ginger, which are hard to say and even worse to spell, are the sort of fluids that cause all sorts of interesting reactions when used by a human.  First of all, they taste good, and if you love sushi you’ve probably tried a piece of the pickled ginger that the itamae, or chef, adds on the side as a pallet cleanser.  You’re supposed to eat a sliver between each piece of sushi in order to reset your tastebuds.  Since most sushi is moderately sweet, the acids in the pickled ginger prepare your mouth for a fresh bite.  Getting a piece of natural ginger really isn’t that hard. You can pick it up from the local grocery store, though I would recommend staying away from the mega-marts and if you can, find one of those Asian grocery stores.  Their ginger will be fresher, and that’s very, very important.

                The finger I was peeling was about the thickness of a banana and curved nicely.  I peeled away the skin quickly, and once I had a six inch long, slightly curved and tapered piece of ginger, I cut a small grove in the tip, set the knife aside, and laid the finger of ginger right on my clitoris.  My little protruding nub fit nicely into that groove and I held it there.

                For the first twenty or seconds I felt nothing.  But then a soft heat began building and my other hand went up to my exposed breasts and began tweaking, rubbing, and pulling on my nipples.  My hips began rolling and when my clit felt very warm, I pulled the ginger root off and slid it deeply into my sex. I thrust it hard with a cry of relief, my hours of arousal finally rewarded as the thick, all natural dildo slid in and out.  Again, it took a little while before I finally began feeling the heat of the ginger root, but when I did, it set me off.  Bucking like a wild stallion, I slipped downward, legs spread outward, bare feet touching the wheel wells of my truck as I masturbated wildly.  Heat and wetness and desire and need combined into a new dish as I stirred myself into orgasmic bliss.

           

     My cries weren’t audible from the freeway, and the rushing noise of traffic would no doubt have made them impossible to hear anyway, but the knowledge that humanity was nearby added its own spice to the mix.  In seconds I was exploding like a firecracker.  Gasping and twitching, the heat between my legs very noticeable, but not terrible, I worked the juicy ginger root through my petals with abandon, rocking my hips, one hand at my breast, squeezing away.  The rush blasted through me and the combination of heat, of movement, of the specter of humiliation did for me what it always has done.  Most women have orgasms, but they’re weak, paltry things compared to what I experience.  I know, because I’ve had those weak, paltry orgasms.  They’re nice.  But they aren’t mind blowing.  At least, not usually. 

                Coming down was easy.  Ginger roots generally lose their effectiveness over a fifteen to twenty minute time period, so as the heat receded, I tugged the rhizome out from between my legs.  Normally I lick my dildos clean like any good slut would, but I shook my head, grimacing.  I tossed the used ginger over the side of the truck.  It would break down into mulch eventually, or hell, maybe grow.  Who knows? 

                I climbed out of the back of the truck and slipped back into my clothing.  Satisfied, still warm, and quite pleased with myself, I couldn’t help wondering how Sarah was doing.  I knew that she was having her own fun with ginger, just like me.

Breanne,

As I am not as lucky as you and I don't have a pick-up truck, I had to find one first. My boyfriend/Master and I went looking around areas frequented by people with such vehicles; such as hardware stores and near construction areas. After a couple of hours I managed to find a fairly secluded car park not too far from a number of inner city building sites. Sitting in the car I gingerly ;) peeled my ginger root, remarking how unusual it actually is to be sitting in a car peeling ginger in the middle of the day. My Master agreed with me.

Getting out of the car I grabbed a beach towel since the bed of the pick-up truck wasn’t exactly clean.  But I admit, I didn’t want to leave a mess in some guy’s truck.

That’s when I learned that wearing high heels is not correct for climbing into the back of a pick-up truck. After nearly breaking my neck climbing in, I sat down on my towel, and removed my 8" dildo from my quite wet pussy and started to masturbate with the ginger root.  My Master stayed nearby, watching both me and being a lookout for the owner of the truck.

Ginger has an interesting effect for me, with it slowly getting hot and burning its way through my sensitive regions, within 5 minutes I was not sure if it was the thrusting or the heat, but I was quite turned on and getting very horny.

This only led to me furiously pumping the root in and out with greater vigor, ignoring everything around me. I managed to get my orgasm after a few more minutes, and worried about being caught, quickly cleaned up and vacated the vehicle before it's driver came back to it.

Once we got home my Master had his own needs he wanted me to satisfy, and I forgot to tell him that I was still quite gingered, and he was a little "surprised" sliding his cock in and finding it quite hot. Lesson learned, right?

Hope you had a good time with your ginger!

-          Sarah