Clit-Orations

One piggy was tasked to write Me poetry — a lot of poetry this past week, including limericks. This was one of My favorites because he unwittingly touched on one of My favorite things, entertaining Myself with piggies in the dirt.

There was a man near DC
Who groveled on his bruised knee
Please let me squirt
Right here in the dirt
And i’ll OINK the praises of thee!

No Comments | Tags: dominant female, piggy tales, Poetry, sex fantasies, submit to your mistress, trailer trash

So many, in fact, that I’ve decided each loser attracted to them should help build My charm bracelet. As usual, I am specific in My wishes: I want a bracelet with nothing but Juicy Couture “When Pigs Fly” charms.

How do I tell one piggy from another?

First of all, do I even need to? Such unremarkable losers, who really cares!

But if I did need to know for some reason, I just crack them open and read the loser’s name inside each little piggy locket. It’s the same way I do it in real life — only then the identification lies in their ass-pussies

No Comments | Tags: bitch, dominant female, gifts, jewelry, phone sex, piggy tales, shopping, submit to your mistress, trailer trash

I like to dress losers like you up in stockings, garters & panties and have you entertain at My parties; you know that.

And you know the trailer park tradition of making Jack & Coke’s by taking a swig of each, mixing ‘em in your mouth.

But sometimes prissy, sissy losers sissy-out & need a little something to help them make it through the party…

So that’s when they go bottoms up and we give them a little liquid courage.

Of course, the alcohol is just a primer, a base, for the other sorts of liquid courage they’ll have to take. *evil laugh*

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Ha!

Via Misanthropoet.

No Comments | Tags: piggy tales, smoking

Wear a piggy shower cap.

It probably won’t get you laid; but then you’re a loser and weren’t getting laid anyway.

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Well, actually, it’s more like me dressing you up in your own lust, piggy.

(Man wearing pig nose via Getty Images.)

Get the look with the McPiggly Cop Sunglasses set — it has a pig nose attached to the sunglasses and even has a piggy tail for you to wear.

Or, for you sissies, how about the Miss Piggy set? It includes the long wavy blonde hair, tiara, pig ears, and a pig nose.

Either way, you’ll have the look. …And don’t worry, I’ll help provide the squeals *wink*

No Comments | Tags: piggy tales, submit to your mistress, trailer trash

In response to a piggy who wonders why he oinks upon my command (and to those who find themselves oinking at the thought of me)…

Little piggy balls are like my very own — miniature — crystal balls; I see everything I need to in them to control you.

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His name is Stuart, but he’s a submissive piggy boy, so I get to call him what I wish.

Me: I will now call you stew-y d. moore — that’s how you’ll sign all your messages to me, from now on.

stew-y d. moore: Yes, Mistress.

Me: And don’t call me “Mistress” — I am now The Celebutaunt. One part “celebutant“, one part “taunt.”

stew-y d. moore: Yes, Celebutaunt. May i ask you a question?

Me: you may ask; I’m not certain about the answer…

stew-y moore: Why did You name me stew-y d. moore?

Me: Are you questioning The Celebutaunt?

stew-y: No, Celebutaunt. Just wondering.

Me: you are stew-y d. moore because you have a little bit of meat, just like stew, but it’s so small that it must be “dinky,” not Dinty. And no matter what it’s called, I’m not going to eat it.

1 Comment | Tags: bitch, dominant female, piggy tales, small cock

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

Quite often the piggies block. It used to be upsetting. But now I’m not only used to it, I’ve come to expect and predict it.

Like a candy dish on a co-worker’s desk, or cake left on the counter, they fear that every time they pass me, they’ll sneak a piece. All those pieces add up. Since they cannot control themselves (and who can blame them? they are weak piggies), they use the “block” feature to keep me hidden.

Acting like their own cock-blockers, they actually compliment me.

It’s their way of saying, “It’s not you, it’s me,” as they protect themselves from the addiction.

About 1/3 return anyway; the rest I see addicted to some other sweet at NiteFlirt — for a short time, anyway.

Only two have made their apologies or justifications before blocking. Which was rather sweet, really; but they then hit block so quickly that I could not thank them, or warn them of their folly.

Image from Daily Mail’s article on Kira Reilly.

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