Jaycee's Blog - Mon, Feb 21

All right, so on Saturday, I did something that wasn't very nice and paid the price.

As you may know, there were people coming into Quebec City (where I live) to protest against stuff. Some say it's for freedom, some say it's against Trudeau, some say it's against vaccine mandates, and some...just wanted to party or something. All I know is that as a local, I was inconvenienced due to high traffic jams and a noisy environment. I didn't want a repeat of what happened in Ottawa, so I decided to let them know they weren't welcome.

I gave some of them the finger. Flipped the bird. Y'know, communicated. For about half an hour (the time it took my delayed bus to arrive), I stood by a street corner and gestured at them every time their light turned green.

Unbeknownst to me, Naughtybelle had snuck inside my backpack. She was originally planning  on messing with me while I talked to Francine (the barista at my favorite coffee shop, Maelstrom), but I never made it there because of the traffic. She was a little horrified at my gesture. She's also very sympathetic to the truckers (which strikes me as odd since they're very noisy and faeries tend to hate loud noises). Without knowing it—though it didn't take me long to realize it—I was in trouble.

The first thing she did was to magically conjure a powerful vibrating butt plug inside me. One that's bent just the right way to touch the male G-spot. She also rooted my feet on the spot where they were, so I couldn't go away. And since my pattern was: green light, give the finger; red light: put it away—she forced me to keep doing that as well. And every time my hand was out and my finger was up, the butt plug would vibrate like crazy. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't help it.

I'm not into anal sex at all, but my body doesn't know that. The kind of stimulation I got was as unexpected as it was pleasant. VERY pleasant. Thankfully, I was wearing enough layers of clothing and long enough winter coat, so no one could see my boner unless they looked for it. The problem is, the pleasure kept building up and up, and it was difficult to stand still. I fought it as much as I could, but it was—as I'm sure you all guessed—a pointless endeavour. When the first orgasm hit me, I  humped the nearest object (a trashcan) and rode it as silently as I could. Which wasn't very silent.

Needless to say, that made my whole body language even more offensive to the passing convoy. Many slowed down to tell me to choke on my mask (which, thankfully, I was wearing). Some took videos. Some said they "loved me anyway." One "citizen journalist" (a sympathizer for their cause) even came to "interview" me, asking me if I had a message to the population. I came hard while attempting to respond to him, which just made him angrier.

Finally, after twenty minutes or so, the spell (and butt plug) vanished and I was able to gather what remained of my dignity and get the hell out of there.

It's a minor miracle that no one beat the living shit out of me. Maybe there IS a god after all.

--Jaycee