Account Login
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 :)
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.
As our movie ends, you leave the cinema we're in, saying you need to use the restroom. After about fifteen minutes, I realize you lied about why you were going to the men's room, and after another twenty minutes, you stagger back into our cinema. wobbling like you're drunk. But they serve no alcohol in this theater, so you couldn't have gotten drunk on anything except . . . and then it hits me. You are drunk on **. When you return to your seat next to me, I can smell it all over you. Your hair, your clothes, even your mouth and breath. You have met several of your new clients in the restroom and they have filled you with their urine and then covered you in it. As I begin to lecture you about your responsibilities to me, and to tell you that I am the only one to decide when, where and how you get ** on, and from whom you take it down your throat, you laugh at me, stand up again, turn your back to me, hike up your skirt, bend over at the waist, and spray an **-full of their ** and your ** matter into my face and my mouth, and all over me, laughing, laughing, laughing the entire time. Because it comes from your **, you know I cannot possibly resist it so I drink it all down, but your laughter soon ends, because you realize there will be multiple brutal rapes when we get home. Yes, you are going to be ruined. You ** **. I am going to destroy your **. And you know I ** mean it.
We go to a Christmas dinner at my parents' house, with all my family there. You go as a woman, which is the only way they've ever seen you and is the manner in which they interact with you, and you play the role of the girlfriend perfectly, because that's what you are to me. At least in part that is what you are to me. Another part is that, after dinner, while we are sitting around visiting, whenever I need a beer, you bring it to me. But, unbeknownst to the family, when you go into the kitchen, you are not taking fresh, cold beer bottles from the fridge: you are taking empties from the trash. Then, when no one is watching, you take the bottle into the restroom off the kitchen, where you rinse the bottle and dry it. Then, you hold it over the toilet and fill it with your urine. Next, you insert the open end of the bottle into your sweet **, and wipe it around inside your **, and also along the rim, making sure to smear some solids along its entire circumference before you bring it back to me. So, each time I drink a beer in front of my family, I am actually drinking and eating from your body. Nothing served at dinner -- or for dessert -- is as sweet and delicious as any beer you bring. I love you. You know I do, and this is but one way I show it.
As everyone is talking or napping or playing cards, I realize I haven't seen in you in 10-15 minutes. So without calling attention to what I'm doing, I begin looking around. Finally, I make my way to the back of the house, and at my parents' bedroom, I can hear the unmistakable sounds of love-making. I quietly open the door, and even in the darkness I can tell that you are in my parents' bed with my sister's husband, and you are sweetly encouraging him to continue ** your **. "Don't stop darling" you continue to tell him and he continues to **. He tells you he gets no ** at home, and in fact has never gotten anything so good as your **, he is so grateful and so happy that he is crying into the back of your shoulder and begging for you to continue giving this to him and not ever stop. Of course, he means forever, not just this night. And of course, he thinks he's ** a female **, not having yet been informed of your **. I know you, so I know it's possible you may not ever tell him, and he may not ever figure it out, you being so feminine and so coy about your love-making that a man could ** your ** and believe it to be a **. Likewise you are clever in how you avoid having a man "go down" on you. As I am closing the door, I hear you respond to him: "Oh baby, of course.......you can ** me forever, and we will ALWAYS keep it from your wife. Stay married, but just come to me when you need a real woman.....or a **." He has not seen me, nor know that I was present, and you don't care what I know about your ** life separate from me. You hide nothing, and to the extent you share the information with you, you flaunt it. You do that because you're a **. And you know that I love that about you. Still, as we leave and are walking to the car, you laugh at me, taunting, flaunting, humiliating: "your brother-in-law has a ** like a ** man and I'm not ever going to stop ** him. Also, you should know: he's in love."