A quick pass through the room to check the implements, cuffs, chains, pulleys, ropes, hoists. All good – place the robe on the flogging pillory, then go back into the reception room to grab a cold beer from the fridge.
Wait … wait … wait …
Down by to the warehouse district, turn on that street, left at the convenience store – park by the red convertible. I make a pass back through the torture room and the sulfur is beginning to kick in perfectly with the spiced wood smell – very medieval and diabolical. I can’t suppress a chortle.
A knock at the door?
How sweet?
I told her it’s a fucking warehouse. Just come in.
When I get to the door, she is standing between the steps and my car wearing a laughing smile on her face and a cab is parked in the otherwise deserted parking lot. I understand the problem immediately.
I told her not to wear her favorite clothes, so she’s dressed kind of frumpy, and the cab driver didn’t want to drop off a woman he took to be a “fresh faced young rube” in this part of town without making sure she could get inside.
I can’t help but bark an enormous belly laugh and then stifle it as quickly as possible, waving to the cabby and nodding my head extravagantly, accepting full Texan-born-Texan to Pakistan-born-Texan, man-to-man responsibility for the young woman’s safety before leading her inside.
“He was adamant”, she laughed.
“He just couldn’t put the math together,” I said, kissing her and giving her a warm hug. “You look WAY sweeter than anybody else wandering around this district.”
“I doubt that I am,” she said, grabbing a solid handfull of my crotch.
Hissing for a moment though clenched teeth, I replied. “Ooooo… you naughty little girl!”, following it up by biting her lower lip and pulling her a few feet toward the main room before releasing and taking her shoulder. She dropped her purse and jacket on the floor as we went.
Leading her by the shoulders, we enter the dark faux torture room close the door behind us. The recessed lights in the cornice are a little cheesy, but they provide the proper level of visibility and gloom.
Even with all that, the din of the place hits her after the work-a-day normalcy of the warehouse district outside. There are a number of contraptions for trapping a human body helpless in a number of positions. An array of shackles, bondage gear, some of which I don’t have a clue how might be used, and various flogging devices hang from the bleak walls. The deep aromatic notes of woods and ancient spices, along with the disturbing sulfur, fill her limbic system with ancient themes.
“OK … ah … I’m supposed to go shopping at Neimans tomorrow morning… “
I can’t help but explode in a belly laugh. I know she knows who I am at heart.
“You’ll be there, sweetpea”, I tell her through chuckles while kissing the side of her head.
I take her near the station I have in mind, which is a hanging bar on a pulley from the ceiling, with adjustable cushioned leather cuffs along its length.
I wrap her lithe body in my arms and kiss her. She responds by curling into me in such an amazing way, like a cat draped on a wicker chair… it’s amazing how much of her she can press against me. We writhe together, my hands roaming firmly along all parts of her back while our torsos and legs undulate. Damn. This girl is so hot.
Even as we struggle against each other, I maneuver her perfectly under the hanging bar. I break and smile at her, my lips glistening with her saliva, and I extend her right arm and she offers no resistance as I slip it through a heavy leather cuff, which is lined with thick wool, at one end of the hanging bar.
She looks at her wrist and then looks back at me with a look that is a mix of quizzical and amused, but then I crank the cinch strap and the cuff grips snug around her wrist. Her eyes go wider at that point, but I pay no attention while I work the cinch into the metal loops and pull it secure.
Then, I smile, and calmly take her left arm and stretch it out to the remaining cuff. It does not come quite as easy. I don’t know if that is actual resistance, or subconscious trepidation.
Be that as it may, her sculpted limb goes into the cuff and the cinch is cranked tight.
Now, I admire her, essentially harmless, although she remains on her feet. She looks at me with that look. One of anticipation and an intense effort of divination – she wants to know, even though she knows that she will not be told, only exposed to what will come. She knows this is play, so she can always stop it with a word – but then she doesn’t get to find out where the rabbit hole goes.
After placing matching manacles holding her ankles just above her practical, ash-colored pumps, also not her favorite I suspect, I move behind her to hit switches and the room goes completely black.
Using memory, I locate the black Benedictine monk’s robe near a table and remove my clothing, before donning it. Cigarette lighter and book are there, then 16 steps in this direction … and … there. The background noise begins. I don’t know what sick puppy found this, but I love it. Nothing but moans and sighs of prolonged torment and the sounds of slowly rattling chains, punctuated by the occasional crack of the whip and a scream in the distance. Holy fucking shit!
Now eight steps over here. Find the knob and turn it until I hear gas escaping, then strike the lighter. Blue propane flames erupt inside a small metal chamber. It takes a couple of minutes, but then the tungsten alloy sheet, textured to look like a rubble of coals begins to glow red hot. An aluminum reflector focuses the red glow where she waits in her bonds watching me with those amazing large, wide-set, multicolored eyes ablaze in the hellish light.
With my face buried deep in the black hood of the robe, I walk past her to the far wall, placing the book down for a moment before taking a rope from a hook.
Hauling on the rope, a pulley system slowly hoists her body into the air. A little cry escapes her as the feel of her weight settles into the padded leather restraints. They are made nearly four inches wide to distribute the weight, but the sensation is unnerving.
When her feet are about ten inches from the floor, the rope is tied off and book recovered.
Approaching to stand before her, I, rather imperiously, make the sign of the cross over her body and open the book. With as much timber as I can summon in my baritone voice, which reverberates wonderfully in the room, I begin reading Latin text tossed together from the Inquisition. I know a lot of the roots, so my pronunciation is decent, but I have no idea what I’m reading. Latin verb conjugation? Please. I just have to hope she doesn't speak Latin. I like it because it flows with the theme and sounds ominous.
“Exigentiae bonum commune tuendi correspondet nixus ut propagationem coerceat modorum agendi qui hominis iura atque fundamentales laedunt. Legitimae publicae auctoritatis ius est et officium ut poenas gravitati delicti proportionatas infligat. Cum poena voluntarie a culpabili accipitur.
“A societate humana condiciones famis tolerari, quae mortem afferunt, quin nisus fiat ut eisdem remedium afferatur, scandalosa est iniustitia et gravis culpa. Negotiatores, quorum usurarii et mercatorii usus, suorum in humanitate fratrum famem et mortem provocant, homicidium. Hoc illis est imputabile.
“Homicidium moraliter imputabile non est. Sed si quis, sine rationibus proportionatis, ita agit ut mortem adducat, etiam sine intentione illam apportandi, de gravi non excusatur culpa.”
The book is snapped shut dramatically then set aside.
I boom her name into the room and she can’t yelp out a tiny squeak. It always amazes people when they go to a concert with me and find out just how loud my voice can get *chuckle*
“You have been brought to this place as you have been charged with wanton fornication, witchcraft, sodomy, and fornication with the devil.”
“First, you will be searched for the marks of the devil.”
And with that, I focus my mind, summon all of my strength for one movement, grab the collar of her top and blast it apart in one ripping spray of fabric and buttons.
“Fuck!”, she cries out in surprise.
“SILENCE WITCH!”
She yelps again. Her ears are ringing very lightly with the memory of the amplitude of my yell. I know because mine are as well. The acoustics of this room really work well for my frequency range.
Smiling under the hood, I walk to the glowing brazier of “coals” and grab an insulated handle, pulling a steel rod from a hole where it has been heating in the propane fire. The end glows an evil yellow in the gloom as I hold the straight rod near her face, letting her feel the malevolent radiant energy flowing from it. She instinctively moves her head back and to the side, but I follow with the glowing metal.
“The witch will speak when it is directed to speak, and only then.” I move the iron closer. “Does it understand?” She gives a staccato nod and I return the iron to the flame.
The gleaming steel of my knife blade shines red in the light as I carefully scrape the wicked edge up her adorable tummy and guide the tip between her tender flesh and her bra. It’s a strapless design, so with a flick of the wrist, the garment falls away from her body, leaving her naked torso for me to admire.
Her breasts are not overly large. They don’t need to be. They are perfection. Some breasts are interesting because of their presence or eccentricity – mass or nipple size – these are consummate works of art that fit nicely in the hand.
In fact, they feel so good in my hand, and are hanging tantalizingly mouth high, that I have to break character and give each one a languid sucking in turn. Her soft moans also supply me with knowledge of her current psychological state – which is apprehensive, but quickly receptive.
To reestablish the mood, I scrape my blade up her side in a slow shaving arc, gliding the edge that could cut so easily into her defenseless skin as she hangs very still. Then I carefully travel the edge up the swell of her breast, lift a bit so as not to cut any of the tiny bumps of her areola in its erectile condition, then settle the edge against her wet, firm nipple.
I apply just enough pressure for her to know that the blade can cut that beloved little nub of flesh. Any further pressure and it will cut. Any movement to one side or the other and it will slice. I can only take in her widely open eyes and parted lips through peripheral vision, as I must concentrate to hold this perfect moment without causing injury.
The menacing edge falls away and the moment passes.
Snaking the tip between her adorable tummy and her light slacks, a small cut is made through the top front hem, then repeated at the back and the knife set aside. With the garment structurally weakened, a series of tugs split the crotch through and the pant legs and shoes are removed from her sleek legs.
Damn. Commando. But GOD is her pussy ever beautiful, even though there are no panties to cut away. I have got to get a better look at that little jewel.
Unfastening the rope, I haul until her sex is eye level. She gasps as she rises, but does not speak.
Without fanfare, I spread her hairless sex open by pushing the outer labia aside with a thumb and two fingers. Her labia minora open like delicate petals to expose an expanse of glistening pink.
“What is this?”, my stentorian voice resonates in the grim room, soundly overpowering the hiss of the propane burners and the soft wailing of the torture soundtrack in the background.
I begin sliding two fingers into her and she gasps, her knees bending slightly at the sudden penetration. Although she is wet, I can’t go too far too fast. She’s got a snug little pussy, even before using her muscles. Wow. I continue using her juice to wriggle just a single finger inside.
“There is FILTH flowing from your womb, devil strumpet! Have you no shame even here in the HOUSE OF THE LORD’S PAIN AND PENITENCE!”
Curling my my middle finger up, I hook her G-spot flesh at the front roof of her pussy against her pelvic bone and softly stroke her labia and clit with my thumb.
“Look at this disgusting whore spew coming from your foul cunny, WITCH!
“Even now! On the day of your purification through trial! You lust for every demon from HELL to come fornicate with your wanton, sinful body! You are the most DISGUSTING hedonistic witch I have ever placed on trial!”
My fingers are getting wet with her and she cannot help but begin grinding her hips and I smile under the black hood. Finally, I remove my fingers. Her pelvis makes a few futile movements to find what has been lost.
Walking behind her, I see her breathtaking, pert little bottom as I sample her aroma from my fingers. I’m going to have to break character a bit here, but I’ve been dying to get me some’a that, skin-to-skin.
Grabbing her ankle manacle chain in my left hand to stabilize her body and keep her from kicking, I swat her beautiful left buttock with a solid open hand shot. The feel of the impact of my flesh on hers, the sound of it, coupled with her brief, sharp yelp are all delicious.
Laying into her pretty bottom, I give her a solid hand spanking, throwing in swats about one per second, until her entire butt has pinked up nicely. For what’s coming, it’s probably best that the skin gets warmed up first, anyway.
When I stop and let go, she is whimpering softly and draws her knees up and down a few times before the sting diminishes. The nerves of my hand are shimmering sweetly. My cock is hard enough to cut diamonds. I am a twisted fucker sometimes, and I wouldn’t have it any other way :D
The great thing about a well-appointed dungeonette, everything is purpose built.
That’s why I put up with the whole process – the imbecile-level lectures about what bdsm is about, psych profiles where I could spot the validity quantifiers a mile away if I had needed to fool anybody. You know, for freaks, 95% of these people are excruciatingly boring.
But the tools here rule.
I lower her until her bare feet are almost touching the cool, faux stone floor. .
Then step to the other wall and roll a large wooden cross over on a rig with casters. The guys who built this did a great job with the counterbalancing, and the massive, polished oak veneer cross stands up, supported by a swinging carriage hinge system mounted to the underside.
She is face-to-face with this enormous wooden symbol, which has been nefariously twisted to wicked ends. And everything here is engineered with those ends in mind. The heavy carabineer on her left cuff is transferred from the hanging bar to one of a series of similar metal loops on the cross, followed by the right cuff. Then, one of the various loops is chosen for the carabineer hanging from the manacle chain from her ankles. Then the cross is tilted down flat with her prostrate body face down upon it, helpless still.
She turns her face to lay the side of her head on the hard wood and I can see the relief in her expression as the weight comes off her arms. A lever locks the cross secure and I maneuver her body so the “V” comes out of her arms and drag the cross carriage so that her beautiful body is perfectly illuminated in the glowing red light.
From the wall, I select a sleek, solid birch cane. I’ve never used one of these.
I do sharp “ouchie” pain that goes away quickly.
These fuckers hurt. Is it as bad as a bullwhip slicing into your back? No. No where near. But it’s the beginning of that kind of pain. It breaks over the barrier into the kind of pain that grabs you by the lower reptilian brain and screams “THIS SUCKS!”.
And it doesn’t fade to tingles – it fades to a deep throbbing pain that hangs around.
But she wanted “consumed”. Well, not quite sure how I’m doing psychologically, but to use the West Texas vernacular, her adorable little bottom is about to be “eat up” with this little sex game.
“And now, the time of your atonement has come.” I love the way my voice sounds in this place. Almost like singing in the shower.
“You may choose to be accepted back into grace – to be allowed to live among normal citizens.
“But first, you must renounce Satan and your lustful past.”
Again, I boom her name loudly through the room. “YOU, must APOLOGIZE, to all the peoples of the world, for …
“WHO!
“YOU!
“ARE!”
And with that, the cane is brought down with a heartless, swooshing stroke across her pretty buttocks, ending with a vicious, high velocity impact across her yielding flesh.
*CRACK!*
Her high-pitched scream is loud, almost a subtle ululation as her back arches her entire body into a “U” shape. Her limbs tug against chains as her muscles contract in the sudden rush of harsh pain through her mind.
Wow. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to let the dog off the chain and just lay into a beautiful ass with all the wicked intent I could summon. Now that it’s happened, I’ll have to say it’s rather bizarre. Feeling the serious strength and speed I put into it, my stomach twists even as my dark streak roars. I wonder how much dignity I could retain under such a blow.
I walk in a slow, deliberate circle, giving her time to recover. By the time I again approach her, her eyes are wide with shock and, whatever else is there, I can’t read beyond that.
“Your torment will end when you apologize for who you are.”
Her lips make a hint of movement, but nothing comes out. I bring the cane up for a second stroke and her eyes go wide. Her lips make a second feeble movement. I wait.
Nothing.
*CRACK!*
With the second stroke, a little lower than the first, across the middle of her pretty bum. her screams are expelled repeated low and guttural. As fast as she can take in a breath she explodes it back out in a growling yell. It’s a bizarre experience. My “evil” streak is glowing white hot, but my conscience is twisting my insides, yet all the time, I’m calculating.
I wait for her to recover, stepping away from her bound body while she does. When I approach her again, the directive is repeated.
“End your suffering and gain redemption by apologizing for who you are!”
The cane comes up.
Holy shit … that is fear in her expression. But it’s something else sparkling in the red highlights of her green over jasper-red, starburst irises. Something … I dunno … intriguing …
*CRACK!*
Every muscle in her body is tense and she is bent in a an almost perfect reverse arc. I’m suddenly reminded of a painting I once saw of a soldier dying of tetanus during the Napoleonic Wars. That image, her gorgeous body, coupled with my actions – the thoughts are a bit unnerving. Game! … game … she can stop this any time!
“Repent and apologize and this will END!”
*CRACK!*
The fourth cane stroke is laid down a bit higher on her buttocks than the first, but no less biting in strength. This time, her scream is lower pitched, as if her diaphragm expelled her air before tension could build in her vocal cords. Then, after each gasp of air as she pulls helplessly at her padded leather cuffs, she screams through her nose with her teeth clenched.
Amazing. She’s taking it. Surely she’s not going to go for five? A line of angry looking welts is already rising from the first cane strokes across the middle of her butt.
Once her breathing has normalized, the ultimatum is repeated.
“End your suffering and apologize.”
I can’t believe it when she whispers “no” and then the sides of her parted lips curl down and her eyes clench causing a tear to be squeezed free, which doesn’t quite break my heart – but it begins chiseling at it pretty hard.
*CRACK!*
Low, on the fleshiest part of her bum, where her pussy peeks out beneath – this one is thrown in even harder. Let’s get this over with, I’m starting to freak out.
A prolonged, high pitched scream erupts, which then decrescendos into brief sobs, followed by soft, whispered cursing. “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you…”
“Apologize NOW!”
“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you …”
*CRACK!*
From low on her left cheek to high on the right, transecting the other stinging stripes. Her bright scream immediately breaks into sobs through which she cries out “no” repeatedly and shakes her head. Tears begin streaming from both of her clenched eyes.
Fuck me.
My evil streak fades like a dying gas lamp. She wins.
Killing the propane fire, I bring a tiny bit of ambient light up, and replace the “hell” soundrack with interestingly harmonic Latin sacramental chanting. I light two oily “gourmet” jasmine incense sticks to sweeten the room.
Opening the door into the foyer, I grab a cup of crushed ice and her purse before relocking the door behind me.
Whipping the robe off my naked body, I take a brush from her handbag and move to her side and begin brushing out her hair. The purpose is manifold. It tells her that it’s over, it gives her comfort, and lets her know in some way, she is victorious. While doing so, I unfasten the cuffs on her ankles and unhook the chain to toss them aside.
After a time, I replace the brush and notice her camera, so I take it and photograph her bottom from several angles, now that the welts have risen. She’ll have proof of what she was able to endure. She sure as hell would have taken my money on a bet. I thought she was a complete girly-girl. I figured after the first one, she would have pleaded for me to stop: I would have repeated the ultimatum and raised the cane – and she would have given in. Shows what I fucking know.
After holding crushed ice in my mouth, my tongue is very cold as I begin softly circling it flat against each of her raised welts as they were laid down in turn across her pretty little bottom. I replenish the ice in my mouth from time to time to make sure every inch of every cane stroke on her ass gets cold, soothing licks.
Weird. I’ve never burned out my evil streak before. I can’t seem to be penitent enough. Refreshing the ice in my mouth, I carefully spread her mistreated but beautiful cheeks. With the cold tip of my tongue, I begin teasing the sensitive ring of her asshole.
A long, airy sigh escapes her lips and I feel her raise her pelvis in response, so I expand the contact with the flat of my tongue covering more of her nerve endings there.
Having enjoyed the silky, mind-blowing sensation of a tongue there on a number of occasions, I can say with some authority that it doesn’t suck. However, I’ve never had it cold. Just from her initial response, my guess is that it doesn’t suck. She’s definitely giving it two cheeks up.
After giving her some luxurious teasing for about five minutes, I reach under her cheeks and use the pad of my thumb to test the waters, as it were. I’m pleased to find her receptive to the touch. I begin to gently circle the pad of my thumb in time with my tongue movements. After a brief time, moisture begins seeping through to find may thumb, and I begin spreading her wetness over her labia while I tease the sensitive skin of her ass. She cries out as her hips give a tiny, involuntary quiver. It’s the first robust sound she has made since her final scream of pain. It’s beautiful. Healing. Deeply stimulating. I’m becoming lost in desire for her. Though she remains in chains, I’m defeated. Her slave.
My thumb and tongue enter her simultaneously. Her cry is not so loud as her caning, but the timber and quality of it make me wish I’d thought of recording this. My thumb explores her depths to release a torrent of moisture, then hooks the roof of her pussy against her pelvic bone. The term “symphysis pubis” floats through my mind, as things sometimes do.
My fingers are soon wet with her, and I begin using them to stroke her labia. Then I gently roll her labia aside and begin to roll the wet inner joints of my middle finger slowly and softly over the firm, wet nub of her clitoris.
Now she is definitely ululating, but in an airy, expulsive manner. I’m beginning to move my head like a wily boxer to keep my tongue teasingly in and around her ass while I stroke her wet pussy with all the expertise at my disposal.
After a time, she drops her legs on either side of the cross standard, bending her knees up high, pinning my hand between her soaking pussy and the hard, flat polished wood. Her moaning is beautiful and intensifying quickly while she grinds her sex over the topographical variegations of my fingers. I add what extra pressures I am able as certain parts of her anatomy pass, and all the time, my thumb continues moving inside her.
I smile, even with my erection throbbing at the sights, sounds, tactile sensations and emotions I’m experiencing. She looks like a gorgeous naked jockey, racing for the finish line in this position. I’m not even sure if she’s even still aware of the blasphemous juxtaposition of the sturdy mount between her legs. Fortunately, the maker of this monstrous cross had the forethought to bevel the front edges round so they don’t bite into her thighs.
She actually hurts my fingers a little bit when she comes, driving her beautiful little pelvis down so hard my knuckles are pressed too hard against the wood as she grinds and screams.
Finally, she relaxes and her legs droop around the cross standard. I give my fingers a little taste as I rise. Very sweet.
I always pack a suitcase for such a rendezvous, with towels and assorted possible necessities. A pint of scotch is faster than brushing your teeth. Swish and swallow, then a bit to hose off the chin, and a towel to wipe off so I don’t smell so much like a distillery. There. Pussy-lickin’ disinfected.
Grabbing a couple of bottles of water and twisting them open, I down half of one and set it down. Return to her and let her wrists free and hand her the other bottle before scooting my body underneath her. I’ll let her lay on my instead of the hard wood while she rests up.
She downs several swallows from the bottle and hands it back to me after I get reclined. “Set it down,” she says, taking a deep breath after drinking deeply.
Leaning over, I set the open bottle on the floor as I feel her scooting down my body. I’m a little concerned as I rise back up in place, flat on my back. I’m still not sure where her mind is. It’s theoretically possible for her to bite me in the balls or something.
I look down in time to see that naughty mouth of hers … the one that looks genetically engineered to suck a cock and look hotter than Aphrodite’s pussy while doing it – sliding down on my cock.
“FUUUUUUCK…”
OK, eloquence escaped me. Give me a break.
Soon, she is bobbing her head up and down, my hard shaft and her finely sculpted lips are glistening with her saliva. The feeling is overwhelming after everything that I’ve experienced, I can already feel the heated grip beginning to build in my lower belly.
And then, she is climbing up my body. Her mouth is open and shimmering wetly while her starburst eyes are positively fiery with … I don’t know. Is that need? … determination?
She helps pull herself the last bit with a grip on my cock and then positions her pretty little pussy and I see her tummy muscles contract as she presses her pelvis down, forcing her sex onto me in on slow motion.
We both groan loudly into the chamber. She is so fucking snug even when she’s trying to relax. After a few slow strokes of her hips, her passage adjusts to me and I am introduced to just how good her silky hot sex feels on my cock. Holy shit, that feels so amazing, I could give a damn about the hard wood under my shoulder blades and butt.
Soon, she is like a beautiful machine, pumping her pussy up and down my shaft, never taking her eyes off mine. Knowing not to touch her ass, I take the small of her back in my hands and grind her clitoris against my pelvic bone in circles, just to make her shut her eyes and acknowledge that she’s enjoying too.
That’s when I realize what that look in her eyes is about! And it returns as soon as I release her, as does the delicious and relentless thrusting of her tight wet sex on my cock.
I think I get it now.
Then I feel her grip me even harder with sex. The side of her upper lip is raised in determination.
The delicious feeling has been building, and I relax what control I have over it – letting it stampede away. With that silky hot, breathtaking pressure on me, the warmth soon builds to tightness and then sends tendrils back up into my mind as the orgasm crosses the threshold beyond my control.
“You’re going to make me cum in your hot little pussy, baby,” I groan. “Is that what you want? Is that what you need?,” I ask, my head tilting back. My body beginning to clench under her.
Her hands grab fistfulls of my hair and I hear her voice and her eyes are on fire as I roar into the room and begin emptying my hot seed into her snug warmth. “YES! Give it! Give it to me! Give it!
The sensation is overpowering and I hear myself screaming madly, aware that her screams are mingling with mine and her machine like movements have become jerky, though no less delicious as she orgasms as well – though one could hardly use the term “with me”.
It is long after she collapses on me and I wrap her up in my arms that my cock finally stops with the sporadic contractions. Apparently, it just couldn’t get enough of her. But she seems content now. We lay there for a time. Silent, save for breathing. Clutching each other. Finally free from the game.
“You want to hear something funny,” she says softly, her head resting on my shoulder.
“Sure sweetie,” I tell her, softly stroking her hair away from her face.
“My girlfriend has us scheduled to do one of those touristy horseback ride things tomorrow afternoon.”
With my still firm cock inside her, my laugh shakes her body on top of me. “Holy shit!,” I exclaim though the laughter. “You’ll definitely be thinking of me.”
When she laughs, her sex squeezes me and wiggles, but even that doesn’t feel as good as the sound of her laughter. Whatever I tried to take away from her, she got it back.
So, after accidentally pushing her mind much deeper than I ever intended – we lie there naked, laughing and cuddling on the big fucked up cross in the fucked up bondage and discipline room in the warehouse district. OK, maybe not your Kodak moment, but kind of unforgettable.
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