Clit-Orations

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I like summer; most people do. But summer’s where the money is for a trailer trash girl.

In winter there is the occasional, by comparison, crunch of tires on icy gravel, announcing the arrival of little piggies who come to view yours truly. But they stay in the car, with the engine off so as not to arouse suspicions while they arouse (and hope to relieve themselves of their arousal). But if breath-frosted car windows don’t block the view, my curtains drawn to keep heat in my trailer do; and then, of course, there is the matter of mittened-hands working zippers and what is inside them.

But in summer, piggies park elsewhere and sneakily creep (or so they think) into the bushes where they can (& quite often do) spy upon me. Exposing themselves to the summer environment is more comfortable, and it sure must be OK with them for they are rarely alone… It seems to me there are far more piggies in my bushes than the proverbial birds.

And the birds would have much better luck being in my hand.

From the bushes they peep, looking for signs of me. More than my comings and goings they see me in the windows — and at my favorite place, the screen door.

It’s one of those “half & half” doors; the top is screen and the bottom is that tin sort of metal. I use it to my advantage, standing before it, removing my panties and holding them up for the bush-pigs to see. They wank on their wee willies and dream.

They cannot see me, which only makes them pine more. And sometimes, when the mood strikes, I’ll toss my panties out the door onto the dirt before the steps to see what happens. I can hear the absence of the piggy pants — they freeze, including holding their breath. Will one of them run out to claim them? Will they fight for my panties?

Well, not yet. At least not that I’ve ever seen.

I sometimes call, “Sue-y!” to alert them. But they don’t need alerting; they know my worn panties are there. What they need are the balls to come forward. But balls they don’t have. Wee willies to wank, yes; balls no.

So I’ll retreat to the shadows of the trailer, where they cannot see me through the screen, and I wait. Eventually, if I do not get too bored, one of them will endeavor to come and get them. He will try to act nonchalant, strolling by, trying to act as if on a walk — and wait a minute… what’s that spot of red (or yellow, or white…) on the ground there? They squint and make like they will casually investigate; but they always chicken out.

My calls of, “Here piggy piggy piggy,” taunt them as they nearly run back into the bushes or down the drive which likely leads, somewhichway, to their car - and escape.

Other times I get bored waiting. When I remember to look for my panties I sometimes find them still there; other times I do not. I have found them behind the bushes, or on the steps to my trailer — and once, on the seat of my car — freshly laundered and delicately, reverently placed, like a rare offering. Other times, they hang soiled and used in the bushes, or, like the gift of a cat, dirty and abused, outside my door. But if the panties have been taken, returned or not, there is always a gifty for me.

Sometimes it is jewelry, or a gift card for clothes or DVDs, maybe cash, or a bottle of amaretto (my favorite, especially on ice on a summer night), perhaps, rarely, a card or note (most piggies are too timid to leave their names, especially with a pair of panties); but it’s always some little gift.

I do love summer.

No Comments | Tags: financial domination, panties, piggy tales, trailer trash

Hey, loser, hand your my money over.  …All you’ll be left with is the despair.

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When I was a little girl, do-gooders would give me pieces of candy. It was supposed to be a nice thing to give the poor kids. I took it, and enjoyed it. But as I got older I noticed the look in my momma’s eyes — the look in all the mommas’ eyes when their kids were given candy. It wasn’t just the shame that comes from knowing others have decided your kids are poor and needy, but the fact that they’d rather that the well-meaning person would hand out bags of rice or otherwise give something that would help more than the five minutes of sweet sugar.

I continued to accept the candy.

As I got older, I also started to notice the ways giving candy changed.

My short Daisy Dukes weren’t a fashion statement — or a sign of promiscuity either. They were shorts that were too short but there was no money for better fitting shorts. But I saw the looks. And while I didn’t, at first, understand it; I knew there was a wistfulness, a question, a begging in their eyes…

And that’s when I began to feel the power shift. Shift to me.

Now I had something they wanted and they quickly became the needy ones I could hand out sweet stuff to.

Like the do-gooders who gave me candy, I gave out small pieces here and there, but never enough to really address the full hunger.

Trailer park girls are smarter than you think. We know we can’t say, “Give me a computer and I’ll give you a blow job.” The average guy will automatically believe there’s never been a blow job worth that. The trick is getting him to believe it is. So you tease and deny, increasing the desire and then the value of the blow job. The blow job becomes nearly unobtainable, and suddenly, just seeing your pantyhose-covered ass is worth a pc.

Even when he knows what you’ll do with that pc.

And when you’ve got the pc, you dump him. Because now you need the cable guy to get you hooked-up for free. The computer guy, who’s been wanking to his mental images of your ass all week, sees the cable guy leaving, and assumes he’s gotten a blow job — his blow job. He begs that he deserves one. But you laugh at him, tell him to email you pictures of his wee willie to impress you first, and shut the door.

Now you’ve got two men vying for you and the value of the bj increases wildly.

And you’ve got photos of pathetic penis to leverage into who knows what else.

Like money.

No Comments | Tags: financial domination, no angel, power play, trailer trash

A conversation with IC, a piggy whose tail I put an extra kink in (even tho he denies it).

Me: Is that why I got a 60 cent tribute? lol

IC: Would you like more? (That was the 20% for the 3.00 pic).

I know it seems cheap and you deserve more so I’ll tribute you $10.00 simply because you have that dangerous persona about you.

Me: Ah, I see. Cheap was the automatic info filled in, not your doing

I honestly laughed out loud — I mean who tributes/tips 60 cents? (After NF fees, that won’t even buy a pop from the machine! lol)

IC: Sorry Mistress,

Ya, It is funny… But Hey, you wanted a tribute… Okay, I righted a wrong. Now can you please get out of my head?

Me: But I like it in here :pout:

It’s cushy and strange and sometimes… (check to see that no one’s looking) sometimes there are naughty, sexy, piggy thoughts to enjoy :p

IC: Oh, now thats so unfair. Now I’m losing it (control that is) are you playing with any of the buttons up there?

Me: …not yet. But it does look like a large vending machine… wonder what will come out when I push the pretty buttons…

No Comments | Tags: financial domination, piggy tales