A Brief History of the toad

Everyone who has landed on my blog wants to know: Is toad your slave or your boyfriend? Popping into my blog midstream can lead to confusion. So let me make this 'crystallee' clear! Toad is a slave. I advertised for a slave on craigslist back in January and the toad hopped into my life. The toad is a 40 year old loser, who hasn't had a girlfriend in 8 years, and brief that relationship was, a matter of weeks. Before that, toad hadn't dated since college. He claims that, over the years, his family has tried to fix him up with desperate divorcees or unattractive, even fat Cuban women in hopes that they will snare the toad. But the toad can only be enticed by very pretty girls, who know how to use him for their financial gain.

But the most financial gain is realized from toad no longer wanting his family, friends or co-workers to think he is a fag or a loser. And he realizes that he'd have to pay, in an alternate reality, if he did have a real girlfriend. So why not cut out the pure bullshit, the awkward romance? And so for special appearance fees, I date him or attend a gallery opening, a film festival, or a family wedding, etc., to give the aura that the toad has a girlfriend. His private slave duties include cleaning my apartment, doing my laundry, fueling up my car, running errands.

His family are, of course, in disbelief. It would be easier to believe, if I were ugly or fat or older. But for him to be dating someone so much younger, and pretty, does not seem possible. They probably think I'm a hooker he has hired. Well, hired yes, hooker no. Wait, I am a hooker! I hooked toad.

A Sleepover at the Toad Hole

I went out clubbing Saturday nite w/ friends. I was amped to get out, I've been working or slavetrading too much lately. I need to balance that out, but not go overboard as has been my weakness in the past. At the end of the nite, I made my way to the toad abode for a sleepover, for which I was paid $500 to sleep in the same place, but not the same bed, and to be there in the background while the toad called his mother at 8am to inquire about brunch after mass, during which call I asked if toad had seen my birth control pills. "Momentito" -- "I think you left them in the bathroom". Mission accomplished. Mama Toad now has positive 'confirmation' that we sleep together and that I'm on the pill. And that I'm a sinful Catholic girl.

The sound of one hand typing



yes my OWNER i am not human my weekly PAYCHECKS for life?? my life life life life SAVINGS account? my 401K?? my condo on the golf course?? my SUV? my furniture and electronics and ALL ALL ALL of my ASSETS??? my ASSETS??? am i human??????? not my niteflirt too? my BANK account?? is my life DISPOSABLE? OMG your sweaty sweaty sweaty SHEER SHEER NYLON NYLON NYLON SOLES OMG your sweaty NYLON SOLES OMG your waste Your WASTE has more VALUE than my sad sad life

Obviously, the photos I sent him drove him into a frenzy, but such frenzy didn't get me any of the good stuff listed above. Why? Because, while one hand was typing, the other was wanking. These faux slaves tend to pop up, want to play for a few days, and disappear. Fickle and as short-lived as fruit flies. Or even more short-lived, for as long as their hand is stroking their tiny peen. I'm looking for one good slave who is serious about his devotion and financial commitment. Hello? Hello? Or am I only hearing my voice echo....

Wednesdays without fatfuck....

Wednesdays without fatfuck aren't good for my finances. But next week fatfuck shall make up for it as my sister will be coming down for a session 'A Deux'. And he shall pay doubly for the pleasure. And we shall also get the pleasure of a shopping spree. I want a new bikini and sandals.



Blog readers have asked what fatfuck looks like, since ff won't permit a photo of him to be posted. A walrus came to mind, which was why I posted the walrus below. But in person, to me, he most resembles the renowned director, Francis Ford Coppola, except fatfuck is shorter. My sister says ff always reminded her of the actor, Elliott Gould, except fatter.

fatfuck gets a taste of his own medicine

On Wednesday afternoon, I graced fatfuck with my presence at the hotel room. And, yes, I had a big surprise for him. Given my amped up G-spot, I thought it only fitting for dr. fatfuckenstein to see my G-spot in action. I begged Jesse to have the honor. Jesse is a great fuck, but he needs certain atmospheric conditions for a great fuck to happen, and having a hairy fat man in the room isn't the right atmosphere. So I had to go to another fuck friend who is a little more wild, but unpredictable. I couldn't be sure he would show up. But, wonders never cease, he did.

Arion is a cafe au lait hottie, you know a la Lenny Kravitz, that look. And hung. He always wants you to think he's busy, but busy means on the cell phone by the pool, yes, he's always working on these super-secret projects and things, I'm not sure what he actually does, perhaps it isn't quite legal, perhaps it is, but he's a species well-known in Miami, the playa. But this playa knows how to fuck. And I've known him since high school.

Fatfuck could barely endure our fucking and my seismic orgasms, he was jerking furiously to it, with his hand under the heaving slab of belly fat, gulping air like a walrus. Finally, I heard fatfuck grunt and spurt. Fatfuck left us to fuck without an audience, he said there was something for me on the bureau, this meant the cash. Oddly enough, Arion was like, hey it's been cool, but I gotta run. He pulled out without finishing! Wha???? How much of this is mine? he asked. $300 I told him, in a most annoying tone. Later, girl. He kisses me then leaves. Was this all about the performance, the cash, had Arion developed a drug habit and just wanted to score, was I not hot enough, was fucking me with the walrus in the room too much of a buzzkill? I was like wet, horny and didn't know what to do. I called Jesse, it was 3pm. Well, fatfuck left if you want to come over to the hotel. So you didn't find anyone? he asked. No, I didn't. Of course, I lied. Yeah I can ditch out of work early, he said, give me a half hour or so. So I took a quick shower and put the rest of the cash away and answered the hotel room door wrapped Roman-esque in a bedsheet. Was this cuckolding? Or mere deception. Or sweet revenge.

Toads are from Holes

Nicole was swinging around a pole stuffing the green into her g-string on Thursday nite, so she didn't catch up with me till Friday about the lameness of toad's list. But she didn't think I could have expected more from the little toad. Nicole: It is too much for a little toad brain. Even 4 things were probably really scary for him. But I do think he wanted you to read the list at dinner, because...maybe he wanted to do one of them that nite, maybe he came to dinner with a cash hard-on!

And you know, Nicole may be right. Maybe he wanted a kiss or to see my breasts quickly in the car or something. Or maybe he just thought his list was perfect, that I would love it and blow him a kiss and tell him on May 31st all of his dreams can come true. I don't know.

But he also told me as he was cleaning my apartment earlier today, that he was going to buy some 'relationship' books and read them so he could be better to me. He felt awful for overlooking our anniversary and for his list being rejected. Hmmmm, I don't want him wasting so much time reading when he can be doing more beneficial things with his time, as in beneficial to me, plus he might discover, in these relationship books, that we don't have a 'relationship' at all. But there was one book my sister thought of, one and only one book that I demand he read, an older book called: Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus. Because she said, the book was more about communication between men and women and expectations that women have of men blablabla. That the book will only confuse the toad, it's from the 90's, it's outdated, with his toad brain capacity, he probably won't finish it, but at least he will be more confused about relationships than ever!

The toad List

Giving toad an assignment...either he hops on it right away (hehe 'hops') or it takes him forever because he anguishes over it and complains till I lose my temper and yell at him. Maybe he likes it that way. Maybe the negative attention, my awareness and contempt of his procrastination is some kind of toad turn-on.

In any case, the assignment he had been 'dilly-dallying' with, my one grandmother used to love that saying, was to make a list of things toad would like to experience with me, with the dollar offer of how much he'd be willing to pay to make each of them happen. These indulgences were supposed to be actualized when his rental property went to settlement, meaning that he'd have a larger amount of disposable cash to play with then.

He gave me his list, in an envelope no less, over dinner on Thursday nite, a dinner for which he was paying for my presence. I do have to add that when I go out to dinner with the toad, I spend a lot of toad's money: appetizer, salad, entree, dessert, libation sensations, coffee, etc. But as you can tell from my size 0 - size 2 body, I tend to pick at my food. Nevertheless, I like choices to 'pick at'. For extra humiliation, I make the server doggie-box my scraps and give them to toad to take home. I tell him he must eat everything at lunch the next day, not to let the food go to waste, that if I ever catch him throwing anything out, he will be in toad trouble.

He promises he does. But I've never checked.

So he gives me the envelope with his list inside and asks: Aren't you going to look at it. Not now, I tell him. Later, when I have time.

So I collect my $100 dinner date appearance fee and jet. Call around to frends to see if anyone is out. I want to read the toad list, but I don't want to read it alone. Where are your friends when you desperately need them?

I don't reach anyone live, so I pull over in a supermercado parking lot to review the list and whaaaaa????? the fuck??????

His list consists of this:

1. Kiss you $300

2. Kiss your pussy $500

3. Sleep in same bed all night, no sex $500 (sorry if I snore)

4. See your breasts $200

I want to tear up this fricking list. I am so fuming mad. I am dialing out on my cell to reach the fucking squished blenderized toad twat when I see my sister's number is trying to ring thru.

She knew the list was in process, so I tell her I finally have the list and that it sucks the lameness cock beyond belief. She says, why are you so surpised? It's the toad. I tell her: First, he only has 4 things, only 4? And he is cheap on everything. And how can he even think I would ever sleep in the same zip code as him for the whole nite....

My sister laughs as I read the list. Well you just need to mark it up and give it back to him. My sister is right. I need a red sharpie marker! Luckily, the supermercado has a little office supply section, and I find a red sharpie as I continue to chat with my sister about everything that sisters chat about, including what I am going to do with the toad.

1. Kiss you -- I tell her my evil plan. It is really a suggestion from another friend who said to just spit in his mouth as our first kiss. And tell him that's all any man is left with after a kiss, so enjoy it. And also castigate him for the low price, that I am insulted, so a spit-kiss is all he gets.

2. Kiss my pussy -- With toad, one can never be sure if he means just a kiss or to lick me till I squirm and fake an orgasm, so I will just assume he means 'kiss' for this price, and maybe I should squirt some piss on him as he kisses it, telling him that's what happens when I get excited

3. Tell him there is no way I can sleep near a snoring troll who will ruin my beauty sleep. He can sleep on his sofa downstairs and I will sleep in the guest room and I will lock the door and break out my earplugs. This may not be a bad thing, because hopefully I can engineer that his mother or sister will see my car there in the morning somehow, to think that toad and I actually spend nites together. I will make him take me on a 'date' before the sleepover, so I'll get $ from the date too.

4. See my breasts. My sister said for that price he can either see a pic or see them for like 2 seconds. I said that if I give him a pic he will amuse himself with it or wank to it when he's unlocked and I don't want him to have such wankable material. The only pics he has of me are totally g-rated.

Also, I must tell him he is so pathetic, he must come up with more ideas or else. So I put the marked up list back in the torn envelope and tape it back shut and mark it PERSONAL. I drop it at his office the next day with the receptionist and ask if she can make sure he gets it. Who cares what she thinks it is or if she holds it up to the halogen light on her desk and tries to reach thru the envelope and can read my redlining and corrections.

Toad calls me in a few minutes and sounds very upset. I'm so sorry, he keeps saying. I tell him: You're goddamn lucky I didn't read your pathetic list in the restaurant, because I would have slapped you right then and there. Not only is your list a piece of shit, it is that lame, toad, but you completely forgot our anniversary! Anniversary, he asks?

Yes, we have been dating for 3 months!!!! Now I didn't do the math, it could be more that 3 months, but I was waiting for the right moment to spring him with yet another relationship sin.

MASTERbaterCARD

In toad's illusion of reality, I had broken up with him since he wasn't defending our 'love' and was letting The Witches interfere with our 'relationship'. Since toad had never been in a relationship, the silence a/k/a the break-up had to be devastating. Toad also knew my pussy was turbo-cized and that I was riding cock. He was probably questioning what I needed him for, if anything.

I wasn't answering toad's calls. If I felt like it, I would text him short, snippy, bitchy texts: Bizzzzy notime2talk -or- Have u fixed things w/M&M (toad's Mom and sister Mercedes). Toad's response to the latter: It isnt that easy. My response: guess u dont care @ our love. Sometimes I would ignore his texts, letting him stew.

I especially wasn't letting him unlock his dickie cage. When he came to clean my apartment, do laundry, etc., on Saturday, I made sure I wasn't home. All he could look at was pix of me on his cell phone screen and sniff my panties (surely the little toad does the sniffy-sniffy). My apartment was spotless and toadless when I returned. I didn't say anything about his toadly cleaning performance, I called and said abruptly that he had to fix 'it', at least with his Mother, on Mother's Day or else. He promised he would, and sounded like he might cry. I hung up. I can't stand when wimps cry.

Toad's rental property is going to settlement at the end of the month and toad has promised me tuition money. So the high of making up with me must be orchestrated, so I can maximize my take from the toad. I think the toad would have done A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G to get me back. But there would have to be a price for making up. And the price? Make toad give me a credit card. "For emergencies" would be the justification.

I 'Mother's Dayed' with my Mom and called toad when I got home. He assured me that everything was OK with Mama Toad. Are you sure? Yes, I'm sure. Are you really sure? Yes, I'm sure.

The timing couldn't have been better. Tropical Storm Andrea, the first tropical storm of the season had already made an appearance, and with a 'bad' hurricane season expected, I immediately dismissed the Mama Toad situation as if it were a fly that had been swatted in favor of conversing about the weather -or- the price of making up.

To snare the little toad, I confessed my hurricane horror stories: evacuation with my cats, clothes and computer stuffed in my car, running out of gas trying to get north to my sister's in Orlando. But most dramatic was how my Mom, sister and I had lost our home in Hurricane Andrew when I was 9 and that I still have nightmares about how the house peeled away around us while we were huddled in a closet. Everything is true, but I maximized it for the toad. I wanted him to feel responsible if anything like that were to happen to me again.

And so I told the toad 'we' needed to have a credit card together. That it would mean 'we' were 'involved', that our tenuous relationship was now superglued by MasterBATERCard. And I would have something I could use in case of emergency. Toad agreed, but he would have agreed to a hot poker being shoved up his peener if everything could be dialed back to the way it was. So the toad hopped over Monday during lunch hour and while I listened impatiently, toad called one of his credit card companies and ordered an extra card for me. I have no idea what the credit line is, but I shall call the # when the card arrives, to find out. I let him unlock and do his thing in the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet and flushing away the worthless spume. I didn't even watch, I couldn't be bothered.

FRANKENSTEINIAN?

I was too overwhelmed with FuckINgALS this week to indulge fatfuck, but fatfuck has a surprise in store for next week. I texted him: There will be a BIG surprise. He texted back: Is your sister coming? I texted: What u like her better than me? No no no, he replied, I assumed ...she said she'd be coming back soon. I texted: No this is an even bigger surprise.

The bigger surprise is that one of my fucktoys is going to do me in front of fatfuck, so fatfuck can see firsthand how well the G-spot puffery works. Poetic justice for the mad scientist? In any case, the view might be too much for the old tub-o-lard. I better take a CPR course.

Rockin' with Turbo Pussy


My pussy was upgraded to Turbo late last week. However, recovery time was needed from the Restylane G-spot needle point puffery. I made toad bring me aspirin and advil to the club on Friday nite under the pretense to my co-workers and boss that I had menstro-cramps. Of course, toad knew the real reason. The aspirin and advil didn't dial down the pain, but I feigned my affliction well and was sent home by the flamer. The flamer is always suspicious when one wants to leave early, thinking one is just trying to get out of work to go party at another club with friends. But he is also grossed out by the big bleed that girls go thru every month. And he heard that my slave brought me pills, this inside tip from one of the equally flaming bartenders. Boss is amused I have a slave and wishes we staff were all slaves, he told me, so that he didn't have to pay us.

Fatfuck had said wait 24 hours before launching the new Turbo model, but it took a little longer than 24 hours. I roped in Jesse on Sunday, hungry to test out my amped up G. All I can say is, the aggro is worth the 'fucking' result. I came faster more more harder longer. Jesse's cock and cock head just hit it in every position vs. before, when certain positions were better for vadge orgasms. He said that he saw my eyes roll back a few times, and there were a few times I felt on this edge, my whole body tensed up, and then I was just gone, transported to orgasm-land. Yes, I can understand why in some countries, an orgasm is called 'a little death', because I died and came back. I can absolutely say I don't want to go back to my regular G-spot.

I checked in with my sister on a refueling break and she sounded drunk, make that drunk on orgasms. She couldn't get enough cock now that her G was ripe, her fiance had a call out to friends for a Viagra pill. We both agreed that this G-spot bump was the ultimate and will take over the pussy world. Now all my friends want it. And you know hung guys will start asking if your G-spot has been done, so they know you are basically ready to fuck.



{{Thank you Jesse for all the BIG O's}}

MAY'S BIGGEST LOSER OF THE MONTH!!!

Slut Tamara!

Slut 'Tamara' is growing his hair long so he can become a real gay sissyslut. He already sucks cock at the gloryhole. But, he wouldn't let me post a pic of him dressed up like a Barbie. Make that a low rent truckstop hooker Barbie. He's not really passable, just freaky looking, but that would have been a more fun pic to look at than the boring pic which Tamara sent me of the slut hard at work, doing lard-knows-what.

Tamara is a faithful caller and also a faithful blog reader. He keeps promising a confession for my blog and hasn't cum thru yet. Tamara, this is a reminder for that sissy confession! I shouldn't have to work so hard cumming up with blog material, especially around finals.

Tamara has given up dating girls, but would like girlfriends to hang out with and do girlie stuff, y'know like shopping. Maybe trannies, Tamara! You're too boring for real girls to hang out with. And Tamara, without your freaky pic, you don't bring down Stinkbob in our ongoing Loser of the Month competition.

UPDATE: SLUT TAMARA ASKED THAT HER PHOTO BE TAKEN DOWN. What did it make you torque your panties that your photo was on my blog. You gave me permission to post it, you worthless little twit!!! But I will take it down, because I didn't like it anyway!

The G-SPOT UPDATE



Imagine Dr. fatfuck's surprise, when the mystery friend who was to get her G-spot plumped along with mine, turned out to be Nicki. I thought fatfuck was going to pass out, his guess was that G-spot #2 was going to be Nicole's, who he had encountered when she joined me on a few 2-girl punishment sessions. We spanked fatfuck and paraded around in black stockings and heels, trampling his turkey gobbler parts. Anyway, back to our G-spots, which really do look like raspberries.... Fatfuck melted in Nicki's presence, it was nauseating. All he could talk about was how he was so busy injecting G's and doing Botox and other facial pricking that he had to hire another physician. So this will mean you'll have more time to see Sara, Nicki noted. Oh, uh, oh, yes, he said, knowing that he was now painted into a corner.

I don't know what was worse, the anesthetic needle or the Restylane. After the anesthetic wore off, it felt like a snake had bitten the inside of my pussy. But my G did feel magically engorged, as if I had just been fucked, and the friction had made my G-spot more pronounced. But I didn't feel like humping yet, I was too sore. Fatfuck said to give it 24 hours. I was definitely planning on at least that, based on my discomfort. I had Jesse, my stud cock, on 'fucking' alert.

After our injections, fatfuck said the occasion deserved a drink, so we headed to a martini bar, fatfuck downed 2 doubles to our 1, which wasn't surprising, given his weight, he probably needed more alcohol to feel a happy hour buzz. My sister was taking my Mom out to dinner and I was due at the club in a few hours, ugh. I felt like calling in sick, but I knew the club had been busy lately, and that I should go to work at the very least, and then pretend like I had the worst cramps ever. Since my boss is gay and Jewish, he hates hearing about periods, all you have to do is talk about cramps and gushing red geysers, he will get all grossed out and send you home. Something like: "The unclean women shall not touch the food or drink!"

Nicki had moved in with her fiance, and was now 3.5 hours away, and with SoFLA traffic being what it is, more like 4, so I didn't get to see her as much as when she was in Boca. Nicki remembered how to pluck! Haha, she lifted fatfuck's wallet and took some cash, "to pay for my gas and for dinner with Mom". "Oh yes, yes," fatfuck agreed. "It is so good to see both of you, I wish we could do this again." Nicki said, "for a price and a shopping spree". The stores weren't the same up around her new place. He said to text him and let him know, Wednesdays were still the best day to get together.

Nicki had gotten stuck in Friday traffic getting down to Miami and didn't get a chance to do a panty check on the toad. She did call him though and told him to grow some balls and be the man in his family and stop letting the witches rule over his love life. He agreed, but what else could he do, but agree? I could picture him in his office, a little bobble head toad, bobbing his head up and down in agreement, but later, utterly helpless in the presence of the powerful coven, Mama Toad, Mercedes the evil sister and Tia Maria <---- if they plied her with bebidos. I had blamed my need for a G-spot injection on toad's wimpiness destroying my libido. He knew I was going to be sexing it up, and I think it was making him feel the most inferior he had felt in my presence or absence, locked up, in panties, while I was cavorting with cockmaster Jesse. While I was so far successful in focusing the toad on his gayness, cuckoldry did not seem to appeal to him at all. I think toad was holding on to the delusion that he really was my boyfriend, and that our perfect relationship involved neither of us having sex.

So, dear reader, I leave you with a pic of Jesse. Finals are cumming up, so I will not be blogging as much till they are over.