ladies, it is ALL about that last inch, getting balls deep
MR
Look closely. You can see the lump in her throat at the last second.
Month: August 2013
Just because Slave 04 had been designated as a milk slut doesn’t mean we can’t fuck her holes sore.
What did I tell you girl?
Keep your eyes forward and don’t stop repeating your lines.
Every time you stop speaking those words,
or you stop staring that beautiful creature in the eyes,
I am going to continue beating your ass.
Now, repeat your lines.
“I am beautiful, I am special, I am His.”
Vulnerable.
Displayed.
Objectified.
Humiliated.
Exposed.
Fearful.
Trembling.
Then you see Him smile, and you know He is proud of His girl, and you are happier than you have ever been before…
Excited,
Wet,
and ready…
Daddy couldn’t help himself… He needed just a peek, just a quick one while his little girl slept.
Too hot.
I looove pretending to sleep while he pushes into me, completely ignoring any need for my pleasure & trying not to “wake” his little girl.
We’ve tried once or twice to make it a reality, but I am a really deep sleeper (past the point of fantasy enjoyment) so it hasn’t worked out… yet.
“things we hated as children: being spanked and naps
things we love as adults: being spanked and naps”
I swear I have heard my Babygirl say just this thing before.
I looked back to see if my Dad had shoved a table leg in me but it was just his big dick
More O face for you.
By Day 17 of her life in captivity, she learned that “Get back to it" meant without hesitation. Even if she was gagging. Even if she was sore. Even if she was fucked raw. Even if hours of forced orgasms had put her in a state of half-delirium.
Show, don’t tell. Tease, don’t ask.
Sometimes I get hungry for the simple things.
Like a nice, hard cock to rub up against. It seems like such an innocent fantasy compared to all the kinky filth that occupies my head, but it’s just as dirty. I don’t see anything innocent about wanting to grind my hips against the bulge in your boxers, or about wanting to climb on top of you so that we can tease our aches with rocking hips.
The fabric between us wouldn’t mean a thing. The only thing that would matter is the movement of my hips, rolling against your hardness for slow, sweet pleasure. Up and down, back and forth, nice and firm. It would hit me right where I need it, there on my needy little clit, and I’d be making a mess in the cotton. You’d get harder, and I’d get wetter, and we’d get needier, and there would be no kink required. That would be enough.
At least until you flipped me over and fucked me hard.
A hard cock through fabric can be a magical thing.