Sep 3, 2011

Love comes in the strangest forms

I do not know what I enjoy the most: The creamy soft feeling of the inside of your thigh or the look, the redness and humiliation painted on your face as I violate what used to be your most private place.

Although I love you, I am not making love to you now. Even so you might say that the way, that I reach my hand up under your skirt, is an act of love. That the way my hand brushes up your thigh, My girl’s thigh, is ultimately because I love you. You may also say that the way you first, reflectively, start closing your legs just a bit and then open them to me, the way you submit to my violating caress, is an act of love too; that your need to feel, to be, owned, is love more than anything. Love comes in the strangest forms.

The laughter in my eyes, the delight with the situation and the power you give me, that we share, transform to a chuckle as my fingers grace My slut's cunt, finding it both naked and drenched even though you have just been among strangers. Somehow it is abundantly clear to us both that – even though you are naked under your skirt on my instigation, even though I have not exactly shielded you from things to make your cream your cunt – it is you who is the slut; it is the most natural thing in the world that it is only you who is blushing with sweet guilt. Perhaps it is the unfairness of it, of My putting My poor love in such a predicament, or perhaps it is rather the opposite, the fact that we both know I’m right to make you become what you already are, that makes it so delicious.

“Fuck my fingers… I know you want to” I smile, enjoying the utter humiliation on My whore’s face as my fingers have already found her opening greeting my finger with the need to be filled. And it is filled, and you only realize just how wantom you have been bearing down on me, after I am inside of you to my knuckles as you are already bending your knees to fuck my hand – not even allowed a cock, a caress, anything more than my fingers acting a surrogate for the throbbing bulge in my pants, to take care of your need. Yet we both know already that they will do just that; that you will have to bite your lips in your orgasm in an attempt to remain quiet, flushing in humiliation and the fear of being heard, while your greedy hole spasms around my fingers in orgasm.

After that I think my slut will have to serve my need with her mouth. After all it is she who got me so hard and it would be undignified going out in public with such a hard on. I think I will have my slut kneel on the floor while I empty in her throat and make her lick my fingers clean of her juices. I will be leaving her thighs covered in her juices though, leaving her marked with what she is, her cunt bare and seeping under her skirt as I open the door from the public bathroom and discretely lead you out, back in the crowd, your identity as slut secret – or perhaps now not quite as secret – among normal people.

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