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Did you need to beat me up after you got "the best ** ever"?
You grabbed my ** in my miniskirt as I walked past. My long skinny legs on show, I was in my highest heels which made me almost taller than you. My tight corset top strapped tight on me. I look at you as you smile after groping me. I kneel down in front of you, and kiss your ** through your jeans. I stand up and tell you, the back door in 5 mins, any longer and I'll ** someone else's **.
Two mins later you walk out if the back door, I push you up against the wall, get on my knees, undo your jeans and pull down your boxers. Right in front of my face i see your ** harden and double in size to about 8 inches. I tell you no talking, no touching, just let me **. The better you are, the better I am. I start by kissing your big veiny **, up and down your glorious length. As I kiss the top, I spread my lips around the head. I slowly **, looking you deep in the eyes as I start to take you deeper and deeper. I'm a pro though and whilst still staring at you, I've got 8 inches of ** in my mouth. I gag a little but nothing major. For the next 10 mins I ** you harder and faster, licking all over, massaging your **, running a cheeky ** to the tip of your **. You don't complain so I ** you a little. As I'm sucking I can feel you getting closer, I looks end my corset and expose my tiny tiny **, as I ** you and ** you. You're about to blow so I take your ** out and at the exact moment aim at my face. Oh **, a huge cumsjot all over my face, another on my tiny ** and then back in my mouth to ** you clean as I poke my ** up your ** again. After I've extracted every last bit of **, intake my ** out of your ** and give it a little ** as I give you a cheeky wink. You tell me that was the best ** ever. So what went wrong?
You grab me telling me you want to ** me! Bending me over, revealing my cute ** in my thong. I beg not to but you turn me around, push me back onto some crates, my ** exposed, ** still on my face. I tell if you want to ** me, bend me over and ** my **. But you don't want to. You rip my thing off and stop. I tried to warn you, but it's too late, you've seen my little **. You're confused. I beg you to ** my ** and I'll ** you after, just don't tell anyone. I'll do ** to mouth to keep my secret. But you hit rage. Humiliated maybe but you groped me first and I gave you the best ** ever. Not enough for you, you beat me up. And leave me there.
Fortunately some guys found me later and I got gang banged ** (that's another story) for the greatest and worst night of my life all in the space of 3 hours. By the way, I saw your friends the following week and told them you liked my ** in your **, I also told them you'd probably like my ** in your ** too. From their reaction you obviously hadn't told them everything about me. Know they know :)
No, my sweet baby, you won't ever learn. Not ever. It's not that you CAN'T learn; no, of course not. You're highly educated and incredibly intelligent. Everyone who meets you (or who ** you) says so. And they say it whether they meet you as a man or as a woman. It's easy to recognize from the way you speak and the interest that you show in people just how brilliant you are. And naturally, it's easy to see how beautiful you are, as well, especially when you're dressed as a woman (this is what drew me to you in the first place, on the night we met and first connected sexually). The problem -- if it's even a problem (I think it is NOT) -- is that your physical desire and sexual hunger are so extraordinarily high that they quickly overwhelm your intellect: you MUST have **, and you must have it with men, and frequently with strangers. It is a fact of your life, and it is a necessity. With that need also comes the need for punishment (we will not ever plumb the depths of that psycho-sexual phenomenon in you, because we will not try: we love that phenomenon in you). Not everyone in your position needs punishment, but you DO need it. You need someone to punish you. You don't need the punishment from multiple men (that ** in the alley who beat wasn't punishing you, he was hurting you, and if I ever find him, I will punish HIM, permanently), you only need it from one man. And you need to be cleaned, also only from one man. Punished and cleaned. That has become my role in your life, to clean and to punish. And that is what I do: I clean and I punish. And I do it by ** you clean (yes, dear: inside and outside of your sweet girlish body) and then by ** you repeatedly. It might not be so with any other couple in the world, but it is precisely true with us. I ** on you -- and in you -- to clean you, and then I ** you far beyond the point at which you can no longer stand it. With us, for us, between us, this is love.
You are a caring and loving master than must punish and clean me, I am who I am & you treat me as I am, with our special relationship, I am always under your spell. I've just been with 6 guts, each of them came 3 times, I took 6 loads in my **, 6 down my throat, 3 on my face, 2 on my tiny ** and one over my tiny **. You must lick that clean first, then ** all over me, ** in my mouth, ** into my ** and then ** on my tiny **. I've been so naught master. Then I need to be ** like never before, I want to wake up in the woods, naked, gagged, hands tied behind my back, blood dripping from my **, beat me as you wish as you own me, no one else has this privilege. I'll have to somehow make my way home without being ** again. Tell me how you'll ** me master! Please tell me!
Why would I do what YOU want? No, you will not wake up in the woods. You will wake up with me bathing you, softly and gently washing your skin and your privates, and shampooing your hair. Then I apply cream to you, I powder you, and I perfume you, preparing you for what's to come. And what's to **. As we finish, I put you on a leash and walk you from the bathroom, down our hallway, and into the living area. The room is filled with men. White men. Black men. Asian men. Latin men. Naked men. Erect men. Rapists. Each of them have precum dripping from the heads of their **. They are ready for you. But you are not ready for them. You have been with this many men before. But you have NEVER been with this many professional rapists. They each have at least two convictions, and have spent time in prison, for the ** of someone like you: part man, part woman. They know what's needed. And they do it. Do they take turns on you? No, they fight for the right to ** you. They are tearing at each other to get at your mouth. To get at your **. To get at your **, what there is of it. There is not a moment that passes that you DON'T have a ** in your ** and another in your mouth and one in each hand. There is no gentleness here, just size and power. And when I tell you that they are HUGE **, I mean it: they are ALL just incredibly GIGANTIC **, and they are destroying you. Over and over. And they don't just each ** you once. No, they each ** you repeatedly. Constantly. They take turns taking breaks to eat and drink. I have catered the affair, and I have gone to great lengths to get the best and most vicious rapists available. They are enjoying themselves and they are displaying their nature, and they are using you in order to fulfill their destinies.
And they are teaching you a lesson, the lesson being that you are not in control. You frequently believe that you are in control because it is so easy for you to attract and manipulate men -- that has been your life, since you were in middle school, when you first began to draw men to your sweet and overheated body and to ** them -- but you have been learning, bit by bit, as our relationship has developed and deepened, that I am the one who is in control of you. Your body and your life and your sexuality. I own you. Yes, I love you, of course I do, and I show it and you know it. But I also own you. And for a girl of your intelligence and **-power, that is hard to accept, that you don't have free will: that you are submitted and bound to me. This ** session is partial proof of that, but also a partial satisfaction of your appetites. With each emptying of another load into your body, you believe that the assault is nearly over. But it is not nearly over. This will go on all weekend. You will be one **-drenched, **-soaked dripping-**-mess by the time it's over. And you will be nearly comatose. But once the last ** has ** and gone, and before you pass out, you ask me, through your tears, "Why?" And I smile and say, "Did you forget the date, darling? It's our one-year anniversary, and this is my gift to you."
On Friday -- the day of the opening of the new Star Wars movie -- we go to the theater, but not to see "The Force Awakens". We buy two tickets for another film showing at the cineplex that starts at the same time as Star Wars. Then we wait in the lobby as all the Star Wars moviegoers begin to filter through. You are dressed . . . all I can say is "nasty". And men, almost all married, cannot take their eyes off of you. They pass you by with their wives and kids, but then many drift back out into the lobby to chat you up. You quickly make a pick-up on each of the ones you want, and you tell them to meet you in Cinema Five, down the end of the hall, far away from "The Force Awakens", and thus far away from their wives. You give each one a particular time, each about fifteen minutes apart, and you tell them to excuse themselves from their families, claiming to need to use the men's room. They willingly oblige, and then in turn, they enter "our" cinema and each one gets a spectacular **, and a wonderful **, and the most vigorous ** and ** tongue-** that any of them ever got in their lives. We wait in the virtually empty theater (EVERY one is in Star Wars, but our tickets are for another film), and you do your work on them, quickly so their wives don't get suspicious, and send them away in love with you. I might otherwise be jealous, but I get to see your work, and then I get to taste all the ** and all the ** in between each of your sessions. These are, of course, all future clients of yours, and you will see each one again and again and again. Of course you will: they are in love with you . . . just as I am.