Fan mail: healing of her Yoni by MissBehaviour

So a fan read my Eva story and decided she’d do her own version based on yours truly (i’m very flattered). Her name is MissBehaviour and this is her story.

It was almost a blur, and I say that in the sense of my eyes rolling back into my head, where I was able to see an astral plane of immense pleasure, bright stars, masterful galaxies and acknowledgment of being at one with the grand universe.. centered through the pulsating walls of my moistened vagina. I sh*t you not. My loins seem to know the meaning of life! My waves of orgasmic pleasure, intrigue, heightened sense of adventure and sexual expression has not been invigorated so profusely until as of recent, and I am one to have experienced a number of adventures, but nothing quite like this…

Clearly the universe has pulled me into a deeper notion of healing by drawing me under the wing of a secret erotic society that I had only ever truly fantasised about when engrossed in one of my ‘Zane presents…’ or ‘EJD’ literary titillations, chocolate in one hand, eyes wide with intrigue, p*ssy pulsating, the page turns and a smile of mischievousness that nobody else is privy to. It seems that I may now know what Marvin Gaye meant by ‘sexual healing’; although he may not have necessarily alluded to the kind of treatment I have subjected myself to… I say subjected but really I should say submitted, because I am kneeling to the mercy of a mysterious sexual deity in the form of a UK based writer, and I must say the UK based element alone is one of the more fascinating and attractive aspects of this, feeling so close to home..accessible… risky..seductive. This is so sexy to me as it is that much more relatable and catered to me. Rooted in an environment familiar to me, an important element that always seemed to be missing for me when indulging in too much American erotica. So I made it a point to sought out UK discourse that could cater to my (sexual) needs. Not knowing that I would be getting into something more then I had ever imagined!

He goes by the name Mr. E. I would extend the name but for added interest I myself will protect this almost sacred mysticism that surrounds this sexual enigma. As the mystery is what reigns supreme in all this, it is namely where the intensity of my intrigue and pleasure is rooted from, due to the fact that I was drawn into this scenario in the most unconventional way, being unconventional myself, this just seemed right up my street! (Almost literally lol)
Having been following the blog for some time, I had always indulged in the artistic and poetic beauty of it, the vibe seems right on my sexual frequency and I felt compelled to delve into (t)his world even more.
Who is this person projecting such beauty through sensual art?
Who is this person drawing in my intrigue and spiritually tickling my clit, and making me unapologetically wet?

I needed to know!

Having rejoined the recent BBM hype, I had decided in my mind this time around I want my socialising with new faces to be a bit more interesting, I even had a flash thought in my mind that the figure behind one of my favourite blogs would too jump on this hype, and as it goes the stars were aligned with my thoughts and my desire were granted. I swiftly added and waited for new adventures to come my way.

As pleasant as I found the vibe of Mr. E’s page, I found him even more so during our one to one interactions, a gentleness, a cheekiness and the very same classy sophistication I amassed via my perception of his blog.

I didn’t think I could be drawn into the intrigue anymore but the banter exchanged between us was alluring in ways that got me unable to deny my thoughts of his fictional art imitating (what would soon become my) reality. This all became heightened when I read one particular blog: ‘Eva Okah’s story: Submission pt1’. I could go into a whole other literary break down of this story and how it made me feel but that is a entirely new post in itself. I felt compelled to share the excitement my p*ssy felt with the author himself. Submission. I loved it. I love the idea of domination. Being dominated. The idea drives me wild, but unfortunately was never anything I had experienced before in my sexual experience. I had always thought about it and fantasized on the possibility though..
So I mentioned to Mr. E how sexy this was to me, little did I know he was taking a mental note of my many nuances, tastes and desires. A personality analyst of the pedantic kind. He knew what I wanted before I had even known it myself, well I had never imagined it as a tangible possibility…

It was only natural that my curiosity would peak, the more I engaged with him in conversation. Is there more to this man that I could experience? How much will he give me? I mean he teases me enough through messages. But I wanted him to tease me more. I also wanted to know what he sounded like so I could click more pieces together in the Mr. E puzzle.
We spoke and my p*ssy tingled instantly because it was husky, mysterious, eloquent, clear and attractive. My emotions when he requested my number was one of nervousness, I am very much socially awkward, and I always feel a little anxious when I step into new territory. But my curiosity and sense of adventure overrode such emotions. I slipped him my digits.
I did not regret my decision, it was refreshing to interact with somebody in the most unconventional of ways, I felt giddy, it was nothing I was use to.
I cannot even recollect when or how it happened, like I mentioned, it was almost a blur. I could just suddenly hear myself panting, my breath was shortened my mind completely relaxed and my finger circling my clit.. Errr, when did this happen please? Was I not just talking about Eastenders, and you not chastising me for such a ridiculous choice in viewing? Clearly I was being punished for my poor taste in UK TV, punished in the most delicious of ways…

It all seemed so familiar, I was becoming a manifestation of my fantasies, I was becoming Eva.

Mr. E was taking me on a journey that captured my very desire, by just using the command of his voice. I was at his mercy.

And I loved it.

He commanded me.

His command was my wish.

His command, was my pleasure.

I submitted my pleasure to him.

I relinquished control of my orgasms.

My submission to climax was now my submission to when Mr. E wanted me to climax.

Do you know how sexy this is to me?

The sultriness of his voice, the firm execution of each command got me freaking out with excitement, my clit was engorged, super sensitive, my walls were pulsating at every word filtering through my ear and translating itself into waves of pleasure I had never truly experienced in such a way before.

Who was he?

How was he doing this to me?

With every instruction I felt absolute obligation. The command had to be fulfilled with obedience. My pleasure was his priority but his control of this was a necessity. Complete submission and trust that he could reach me to inexperienced heights was a risk I don’t recollect saying yes to, but it seems I did. I bowed down to this sexual authority in what felt like a whim.

I marveled at the precision of each instruction. It seemed aptly timed at each interval, as my pleasure peaked, he seemed to know exactly when to get me to speed up, when to slow down, and most excruciatingly, when to stop, just before I climaxed, to remind me that I was not in control of this sensation. He was. Mr. E reminded me that I was wet on his command. My clit was engorged because of his command. My p*ssy walls were convulsing because of his command. Not for one second was I to claim my orgasm at my own command.

Who owns my clit?

Mr. E

Whose p*ssy is it?

Mr. E

Who makes me wet?

Mr. ….E….

And don’t I know it.


My legs were shaking uncontrollably, my back arched into a sensuous bridge, my eyes rolled all the way back.

I relinquished my ability to restrict my moans, or did I even have a choice? Too overwhelmed with the intensity of this new experience I could not even compose my self in any capacity as I tried to grab onto the wall, the bed sheets, the bed frame, to restrict my fear of flying through my own ceiling as my vagina exploded with orgasmic intensity.

Structured vocality was a new challenge for me- pushing myself to fulfill the command even when I felt it was beyond my control. How could I recite the alphabet with this sensation overwhelming my inner thighs? How could I remember the sequence of the English language when my clitoris was about to explode? I could barely even remember what language I was capable of speaking; all I could hear myself do was moan, which made much more sense to me at that moment. The vigor of dedication I felt to please him in fulfilling his command was exciting to me. I didn’t always succeed and was subsequently punished for it, to my delight..well an ambivalence of confused delight and frustration.

I was torn, on one hand I wanted to be punished and on the other I was frustrated at him not letting me climax because of my inability to follow instructions when my mind was clouded with uncontrollable pleasure. It all added to the intensity of the experience. I was being pushed in more ways then one. My pleasure principles were being challenged in ways I had never felt. All of this was running through my head ‘who is he to tell me when to cum?’ to ‘Please let me cum Sir’… the reality was, I was at his mercy..F*ck.

How is he subjecting me to this?

Since when was such control and submission of will such a deliciously, salacious act?

Since always.

It is never wrong, if it feels so right.

It is never wrong, if executed with decency, class and erotic intensity.

It is unequivocally sexy to me.

My sexuality has been taken to new heights, and I love the journey.

I am open to the healing.

It was in the last point of the session where I truly understood that I was no longer in control.

The moment I scribed his name on my clit with my bullet with no hesitation, I knew I was in full submission.

Whose p*ssy is it?

Mr. E

And I love it.

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