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Vindictive

Vindictive - photo 1
Vindictive - photo 2
Vindictive - photo 3

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Friends:
sexyscreamer

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I'm not really looking that hard for anything in particular. I have a wonderful playmate, but I'm open to exploring things with others and so is she. My relationship with her is established, but we are not "committed" partners, merely good friends with complimentary interests. If I find someone who peaks my interest for LTR, she is not an issue.

There are so many wonderful areas to explore in the lifestyle that pidgeonholing myself as a sadist or a rope person seems silly. I love playing with rope and impact play, and knife play is fun as well, but I stay away from blood play unless I REALLY know someone. Beyond those particular interests, I'm open for anything.

I love mixing pleasure and pain and other sensations to build sensuality with my playmates and (as amazing as this may sound for a Dom) I pay attention to their reactions and their needs. I don't feel the need to break my toys just to prove they belong to me.

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9/17/2009 2:47:56 PM

Okay, so I was browsing through the journals earlier and I come across this entry, and it made me stop and think for a split second.  It was one line:

I'm sorry if I offended anyone with my entries.

I know... what thought could that possibly have inspired...

In my case, if my entries HAVEN'T offended someone, then I'm sorry.  The whole point to a "journal" is to express yourself.  Ideas, thoughts, horrible ironies you face through the course of your day... whatever.  But in the end its a reflection of self, and anyone who reads my reflection of self and has the nerve to be offended by it probably NEEDS to be shaken up.  (unless, of course, I mention them specifically for incindiary purposes... then, by all means, be offended)

So the next time one of you arrogant, self deluded pricks feels like its a good time to make a verbal assault on someone because their journal contains something that doesn't meet your high standards of quality, remember I'm open 24/7.  If a submissive wants to express his or her opinion within the guidelines of the CM rules, bite your tongue.  Not EVERYTHING in the world is about you.  Your delusion that you are the warm little center of the universe has not infected us globally, so you're on your own.

Don't get me wrong... if someone is spouting hate speech or misogynistic rhetoric, they deserve a little verbal abuse.  I'm okay with that... but just because someone says in a general way that 65 year old balding perverts with a spare tire and halitosis don't turn their crank, thats no reason to tell them they don't know the first thing about being a slave or a submissive.  If they aren't YOUR slave of submissive, they don't HAVE to like you, or talk to you.  Imagine that.


9/16/2009 4:02:14 PM

it surprised me to read so many slaves start off by saying "in my opinion". I've always been taught that a true slave has no opinion. Anyone have any insight on this?  -- sunninropes


What a loaded question to ask.  The rights that a slave has and should have vary broadly depending on who you talk to.  That includes the right to hold an opinion of their own.  I can tell you right now that if I published my answer to this question publicly, it wouldn't be long before the name calling started and I was acused of being a poser.  I'm fine with that, but my attitude is simply that every slave decides what rights they have when they enter into service.

They make this decision through their choice of Master and the negotiation of their contract, if there is one.  Does this make one set of rules better than another?  No, but as in any relationship, the boundries should be defined by those IN the relationship, not the fatuous commentary of an outsider... myself included.

If a Master desires the complete surrender of all identity and the slave accepts that Master then the slave also accepts that surrender.  But not all Masters have the same demands or goals for their slaves.

I know that there are Masters out there who live 95% of their time in a full domestic partnership with their slave, to whom they are married.  They expect that slave to be competent enough to handle normal, vanilla things like paying the bills on time and going grocery shopping without requiring any input.  I know of other Masters who will not let their slave leave the house unaccompanied.

Is one of these behaviors right and the other wrong?  Not in my mind.  If both couples are happy with the arrangements then how could anyone, Master or otherwise, tell them that they are doing it wrong.

In more simplistic terms, a friend of mine was telling me that she felt as though she had failed her Master when he set a task for her and she didn't want to do it.  Keep in mind that she did it anyway, but it was not a task that she would have performed of her own choice.  For me, the fact that she didn't WANT to do it makes the fact that she did it anyway that much more significant.

If every act of pleasing your Master is also pleasing to you, what gift are you giving?  If cleaning a urinal with your bare hands is a joy to you because your Master ordered it, is it still an act of submission or is it an act of masturbation?  Are you doing it because it pleases your Master or because it feels good?  Thats why I say in my profile that I won't break my toys.  If I want you to masturbate for me, I'll tell you to.  If I want you to make a sacrifice to prove your devotion, you have to have something to give up to me.  If you have nothing left of your own, what can you possibly give me of value in return for my love?


9/16/2009 4:16:14 AM
Unanticipated Results

Monday I had a rather short, but intense session with my playmate that led to something unexpected.  She called me "Master."  It wasn't something I demanded or even encouraged, nor was it something she intended to do.  That label isn't part of our relationship.  It seems I stumbled across one of the triggers her former owner left her with.

Now I realize that there are plenty of people out there who EXPECT their subs/slaves/bottoms to refer to them as "Master", but I personally never felt that it was necessary.  "Sir" has always been a satisfactory term of respect for me, and with this particular playmate, I find her pet name for me amusing... "Baby Dom."  She is a few years my senior, and I like what her diminutive prefix for me says about her... that a "Baby" can control her like I do.

But the "Master" thing... yeah.  It didn't break my rythym in the moment, but it has weighed more and more heavily on me since it happened.  I find myself thinking more and more about working to remove these old triggers from her.  That has led me to think about how many sub/Dom and M/s relationships have ended and left permanent alteration to the mind of a submissive.

I understand the appeal of training a sub to cum on command or not cum without a trigger.  I understand wanting your property to react to certain things in a predictable and controlled way.  I'm not sure about the ethics involved in creating these alterations though.  Its not something I had considered before, but if you create a certain behavior pattern in a sub, should you be providing an owners manual if you cut them loose?  Does behavior alteration establish a deeper responsibility to the submissive even beyond their dismissal.

I doubt that there are a whole lot of Dominants on this site who share my concerns, but if anyone has any insight, I would be grateful.  I feel like this issue deserves more thought and perhaps there is someone else out there who has a better perspective from experience than I do.

9/11/2009 6:13:24 PM
Excerpts from a conversation:

I don't believe its even a matter of "good enough."  If you are a Dominant personality and not someone trying to cover insecurity with the cloak of dominance you don't have to use force to prove a point.  I don't need to twist someones view of reality to get them to respect me.  I don't need to instill fear of violence or retribution for failure.  If there is a failure, once it is recognized, a submissive will recognize my disappointment and that should be punishment enough.

There are some times when training is necessary... but thats simply a matter of providing appropriate reinforcement for an action or a failure to act... or to increase a submissives endurance.

To me, a sub/Dom or Master/slave relationship is a partnership despite the obvious control of one party.  No real Dom or Master WANTS to lose a partner because they failed to consider the partners needs.  D/s isn't about ego... its about providing for each other in the way you are best suited to.  Too many people forget that D/s is a relationship, not a game.

I personally have a bit of a sadistic streak in me, and I do love playing with masochists who can handle it.  I've never entirely plunged into the darkest depths of my sadism, for fear of stirring up more than myself or my partners were prepared to face.  But I have a friend who is a slave with whom I like to discuss the intellectual and spiritual aspects of M/s/s/D with and she says that while she hates pain, she gets a great deal of satisfaction from proving to her Master that she is willing to take whatever he dishes out.  I'm not sure I could beat on a submissive who wasn't into the pain for its own sake though unless it was for discipline.

Humiliation is something that I have a sort of... skittish attitude towards.  I can see the appeal for some people, but I've never scened with anyone who was specifically turned on by being humiliated so it has never felt like a "pure" expression of the relationship for me... if that makes any sense to you.  I LOVE the idea of kitty play, but I can't really embrace it as a form of punishment or reward because I associate it with humiliation.  (eating from a bowl off the floor, crawling, tail plug and ears, litterbox)

I guess some of these things its just a matter of finding the right partner for if I want to explore them, but like I said, I wouldn't break a toy, just for the sake of a moments gratification.

 

Well, there are variations on humiliation... and what some people might consider humiliation, others might consider fun.  For example, name-calling.  I know women who really enjoy being talked to dirty and I know others who find it degrading and say it removes them from the sensuality of a scene.

As far as pain... its one of those things that takes training.  Even if you LIKE pain, that doesn't mean that you can handle all types or degrees of pain.  My current playmate is a self-proclaimed masochist... and she really does get off on pain... but she's out of practice, so I have to control the pace and intensity for her.  And I don't know if you go into subspace when you are being beaten, but that makes things more interesting for a dominant... we have to be more aware of your condition than you are or things can go too far quite easily.



9/11/2009 3:20:49 PM

The scent of clean concrete and the rough feel of the cinder blocks was like an old friend, reaching out to her in silent greeting. She knew what came next without having to think about it... the pressure of his knee in the middle of her back as she knelt with her face against the wall, squeezing the breath from her lungs; the feel of his fingers tangling in her hair, and the unsettling jerk of her head before he asked the question... always the same question.

“Did you keep your promise?”

His voice was rough and low; a bestial growl that inspired no fear in her, only awe. Her whimpered response died in her throat. There was no point in lying... no point in saying anything. Her silence was answer enough.

She felt the pressure on her back evaporate to be replaced by hands under her arms, and she was suddenly flung away from the wall to land face down in a shallow pool of water. It wasn't an act of violence, simply expediency. She knew she was nothing more than luggage right now. She had failed to keep her promise.

“Strip.”

No patience, no emotion other than perhaps a faint trace of disgust.

“Strip. I want to see.”

She rose slowly to her knees and began to unbutton her blouse. She had gotten no farther than the third button when his impatience with her trembling hands manifested itself. Again, without violence, he spun her to face him and ripped the blouse open, sending the buttons flying across the concrete floor. She let the ruined shirt slide from her arms to the floor where water slowly darkened the red silk to a more sanguine shade, somehow appropriate to this place.

She undid the single button holding her skirt to her hips without any of her previous clumsiness. His aloof attitude galled her. She had anticipated, even hoped for some anger to be kindled in her tormentor, but he gave her only a sort of ruthless efficiency that left her unsatisfied. She realized suddenly that she feared him for a different reason than she had thought, and her hands began to shake again as she slid the zipper down her hip to let the skirt slide to the floor. Her failure thus exposed, she bowed her head and waited, her bra and panties faint protection from him.

“I said strip.”

Her head snapped up and for a brief moment she fixed him with an outraged glare. This was something he was not entitled to demand of her; this crossed the boundaries of their relationship. He couldn't be serious.

But the look in his eyes left no doubt as to how serious he was. There was no lust, no pleasure at all; simply more of that same cool efficiency. That coldness started an ache in her she hadn't expected. She had a sudden desire to break through his iciness and find out what lay in the cool depths of his dark eyes; a desire she had no idea how to fulfill.

A sharp click snapped her from her distraction, but she realized too late what the sound meant.

“I haven't got time for this,” he mumbled, as he grabbed hold of her panties with one hand and cut them off with the knife he held in his other. The cold pressure as the back of the blade pressed into her skin for a brief moment made her knees shake. Then her panties pulled up into her as the serrated edges pulled at the fabric before it gave way. She gasped involuntarily.

She wanted to cover her shame with her hands; not her sex, but the livid lines of dried blood that striped her upper thighs, scabbed and red from chaffing. She wanted to desperately but she knew better. She clenched her fists at her sides, nails digging painfully into her palms as he stuck his foot between her legs and shoved them apart.

“You broke your promise.”

Still no anger. Still nothing but cold. She raised her eyes, expecting to find him staring at her thighs, but unexpectedly she found him looking directly back at her, and for the first time she saw something moving beneath the ice that made him. Something that cast her eyes away from him in desperate search of something more familiar... less animal.

What they found to latch onto was perhaps not what most people would call comforting. Mounted between two cement block columns were two parallel metal pipes. There was a mass of chains and cables running haphazardly from both of the pipes, but there was no question as to the purpose of the design... a purpose she lived in constant fear and deep longing for.

“NO!” his voice fairly crackled with anger. The sudden charge of emotion in him shook her to her core. “You haven't earned that. You broke your promise.”

He grabbed her auburn curls and yanked her head so she was forced to look into his eyes again. This time there was nothing masking the beast that had hidden beneath the ice... his anger was unleashed wholly.

“You are MINE. Do you understand what that means?”

The question was clearly rhetorical.

“It means that when you cut yourself, you damage MY property. You hurt something of mine.” His tone was nearly that of a stern father lecturing an unruly child, but there was an edge to it that told of something deeper. “When you break your promise... when you hurt something that belongs to me...”

He pushed her legs farther apart with his feet and then grasped her inner thigh with his rough, strong hands. “I feel like you don't respect me. Do you respect me?”

He pinched the flesh of her thigh in a crushing grip, breaking the scabs over her cuts. She felt the blood begin to slicken his grip. She also felt a fluttering in her gut she found exciting. This was what she had wanted... to see the animal so casually contained by this man. Now that she saw traces of the beast revealed, she wondered if perhaps she had overestimated the strength of her will. Then, in an instant, his composure returned and she was penetrated once again by his uncaring, icy stare.

Without a word, he released her from his grasp, then swiftly, deftly, he slashed upwards with his knife, between her breasts... severing the elastic of her bra with barely a kiss of the blade against her skin. She let the ruined undergarment slide to the ground to join the rest of her clothing on the damp floor, biting down on her lip as she considered what might be coming next. To her dismay, it was almost anti-climactic. He simply grasped her shoulders and spun her to face the far end of the room from that which she had entered. Hidden in the shadows there was a small tiled stall with a smoked glass door. He shoved her more gently this time, but there was no more patience than before.

“Go. If you want what you came for, you will have to earn it. You owe me for the damages.”

Her gut wrenched. Utterly without protection of any kind, even without the familiar sense of clothing to hide her, real fear began to seep into her mind. What could he possibly demand of her? What did she have to give that would be enough to pay for what she had done?

She walked slowly towards the stall and reached for the handle of the door, hearing the faint plop of water droplets on the far side. Before she had grasped the door he spoke again. “When its clean, then I will see to you. Don't come out until it is done,” With that he turned and headed back towards the way they had come, stooping down to gather her clothing on the way.

She pulled the door open and was nearly overwhelmed by the sight and smell before her. The tiny shower stall reeked of mildew and something less pleasant still. She fought back the urge to vomit and stepped cautiously onto the sickeningly slick floor, feeling the filth there ooze between her toes. In the faint light trickling in from overhead, she glanced around looking for a brush or a rag to begin wiping the fetid filth from the walls. She was mortified to discover that the stall was absolutely bare of anything but grime and mold.

“He said not to come out until its clean,” she whispered. She ran a finger along the wall in an attempt to dislodge some of whatever it was that encrusted it, but her efforts were useless against the clinging grime. She tried scratching it with her nails, but soon realized her fingers would be shredded to the quick long before she made any noticeable progress. Frustration grew, competing with her yearning to finish the task and receive her reward. She couldn't disappoint him a second time in one day.

With near panic in her heart she knelt down to search the floor, hoping that somewhere in the shadows she would find a sponge, a rag, anything to make the job before her possible. Her hasty search yielded nothing more than more of the scum clinging to the walls. The stench was so bad near the floor she struggled to keep her stomach contents intact, feeling the bile rise at the back of her throat.

Rising quickly, she slapped her open hands viciously at the wall, slinging to the stinging tingle and burn like it was the hope of a new day. She would NOT be beaten so easily. She wouldn't let her prize slip through her fingers. She took two steps back from the wall in front of her, only to find herself smack up against the other. She slammed her head backwards into the filthy tile hard enough to see a bright flash. Unconsciousness would have been easier to deal with. Having failed was easier than failing. Waking up to failure wouldn't leave the hollow desire... just an emptiness.

Tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes, and she sniffed at herself, almost a laugh in spite of the sense of failure. As she scrubbed the back of one hand against her face, a thought struck her. She leaned close to the wall and grasped a handful of her dark hair. At only shoulder length, she nearly had to press herself against the wall, but at last she maneuvered the hair into reach and scrubbed vigorously for a moment. She pulled herself away from the wall to look at the results and felt a fierce sense of satisfaction.

Without thought she flipped on the water and was rewarded with an ice-cold spray that tore the air from her lungs. She jammed her hair under the stream to soak it quickly then turned off the water as quickly as she could, shivering violently from the drenching. With a more tentative touch, she reached for the warm water handle, only to have it spin freely in her grasp. A wave of disappointment overwhelmed the satisfaction she had felt only moments before, but she gathered herself and began to scrub diligently at the muck on the walls with her hair.

At first she hummed to herself. There was a sense of congratulating herself in the wordless song. She would please him. She would exceed his expectations and astound him. She would make him appreciate what she was, how much she needed him. She would make him want to do the things she needed. No matter what he asked her, she would be worthy of him... of the gift he gave her.

As the scrubbing went on, her optimism began to fade. It was taking too long. He wouldn't wait for her to finish. Her hair was crusted and sticky. He wouldn't touch someone as filthy as she was. She wouldn't be able to get the shower clean enough. How could she possibly get all that slimy scum off the walls in the dark? He would see her failure. He would know how dirty she was. He would no she couldn't hope to please him.

Her fears and her hopes warred with each other as the muscles in her neck and back began to tense and knot from the unnatural use she was putting them to. Her legs were cramped from crouching and kneeling and bending. Everything about her ached, her heart not least of all. She struggled against her rising insecurity and tried to think only of the reward. She pushed her mind ever closer to the sweetness of release that she was working towards. Her mind pushed back with the possibility of disappointment. The simple chore of scrubbing became an epic battle of will.

Finally, hours, days... it didn't really matter... passed and she looked at her work with a sense of pride. He couldn't expect more of a shower in a 5 star resort.

She turned the shower on, one last time to rinse as much of the filth and grime from herself as she could before she pressed timidly against the door, peering, mouse-like, past its edge. She gasped to find him leaning against the shower right beside the door... inches from her face. Her eyes traced the line of his arm from where it crossed under his sternum, up to his shoulder, his neck, until at last she found those icy eyes, gazing at her dispassionately.

“Is it done?”

She nodded, afraid her voice might fail her in her surprise.

He leaned down and grabbed a bottle of shampoo, a rag and a bar of soap and passed them to her.

“I won't touch filth. Clean yourself.”

He pushed the door shut on her.

She cleaned herself as vigorously as she could remember in her life, scrubbing with the rag until her skin fairly burned even under the freezing stream of water. She despised the time it took to wash her hair thoroughly, but she new better than to tempt fate when she was this close. She ran her fingers through her recently abused tresses again and again, trying to pull loose every bit of the filth she had scrubbed away from the shower. The irony was not lost on her.


9/11/2009 3:19:51 PM

The urge is there, the desire. Something held restrained for so long is begining to slip its bonds, to find a way into the light that has been hidden from it for too long. A hunger to own, to control; a feeling so strong my pulse races and the hairs on the nape of my neck rise. Its not about surrender. I don't want surrender. I want the fight, the struggle, the taking.

Its been so long since I wanted anything... anyone. The numbness that has swept me along for what seems an eternity is fading to be replaced with something threatening, something fierce and unrelenting. The flood has not yet overwhelmed me, but I sense the weakening of my restraint. Dare I let it go? Once the barriers are swept away, what will remain? How much of me is tied to holding in the shadows that haunt me?

I can almost feel my hands gripping hair and pulling back her head. I can almost smell the wiff of fear when I ask her what she wants... what she really wants. Its not a game, she's not a toy. I need more than games and toys. I need to know she understands the struggle isn't just between her and I, but something deeper still moves us both.

I want the tactile... the absolute control of my hands in contact with her body, owning every inch. I want the sensation of her muscles trembling as they strain against me. The salt sweet feel of her skin between my teeth as her shoulders heave and the shudder of her frame as she loses the fight...


9/11/2009 3:19:16 PM

Sometimes the razor's edge is all that seperates a beautiful fantasy from a painful reality. Too often its the icy sensation of cold metal on my burning skin that is my only thread back to the now. It isn't pain or pleasure that pulls me away from myself... its just a question. "How far will I go this time... how far before one of us breaks?"

I wander in the wastelands, looking for the boundries that mark out who I am. The only things that keep me from being totally animal are the stakes driven in around the edges of my mind... a warning that beyond here, there be monsters... places unexplored and undesired.

But another question burns in my mind all the time, twining in and out of the first. "Why should I turn back?" Perhaps letting the monsters loose and stripping away the boundries is the only way to be free. Maybe letting loose the unfettered will of the darkness inside will strip away the last of my regrets. Maybe I'll be able to let go of myself and finally BE if I just let loose the ties that keep me together. Maybe the surrender to madness is the epiphany I have been searching for.

(Author's note: I may be crazy... but I'm not THAT crazy... yet!)


8/18/2009 6:54:38 AM

I had been wandering through the stacks, mindlessly reading the covers of books I pulled off the shelf, inspired by some word or phrase written on the spine.

A feminine clearing of the throat, clearly directed at me, led me to place my most recent cull back on the shelf and turn slowly.

"Looking for something in particular sir?" she asked, now that she had my attention.

I turned my slow spin into a move like a cat going for prey and snatched a handful of her red hair in my grip. My other hand reached, as of its own volition, into my pocket to pull out my knife. Almost as if I had practiced it, I pulled her body in towards me and flicked my wrist outward. CLICK I slid the knife up under the back of her untucked shirt.

"15 fucking minutes late! I ought to take you right here in the store. No... not me... I'll take you up front and bend you over the counter and let every man here have a turn with you."

She gasped at the cold touch of metal on her back and shivered at my words.

"Maybe you can help me... I'm looking for a book on knots," I said, quirking my eyebrow.

She gave me a knowing look and a small chuckle. "I don't know much about knots. I think you can find some books about them in the arts and crafts section though. You must be Vin... I'm Seven."

She offered her small hand in greeting and I shook it firmly. "Great to finally meet you face to face. Traffic must have been a bitch today."

"Yeah, sorry I'm late."

I squeezed down hard on her hand as she tried to pull away. "Sorry?! Sorry?! You don't even know what that word means yet, bitch."

"Sir! It hurts!"

"Of course it hurts. Punishment is SUPPOSED to hurt."

I squeezed harder, driving her to her knees and staring into her eyes, letting every tiny bit of my raging demons shine out so she could see them... so she knew what to fear.

"Don't worry about it. Shit happens. Shall we grab some coffee and chat?"

She glanced around nervously and then looked back at me. "Sure, I'll meet you there... I need to wash my hands." She turned and strode off towards the restrooms at the back of the store.

I followed close behind her, my hand still wrapped in her hair, knife against her spine. When we stepped into the ladies room I shoved her up against the wall beside the door and flipped the lock. Returning my attention to my captive, I yanked her skirt up over her hips and pushed her panties aside, sliding a finger into her sopping wetness.

"You are such a good little whore sometimes. Soaking wet already? Must be the knife... or was it the thought of being bent over the counter for any asshole in here to use?"

"Both, Sir," she moaned, grinding her hips against my fingers.

I thrust my three fingers into her so hard I nearly lifted her from the floor... she whimpered as she tried to hold herself up on her tip toes. I closed my knife and slipped it back into my pocket, then I wrapped the fingers of my free hand around her throat and squeezed, catching the carotid artery under my thumb... her heart was racing.

"Both! What a delightful little slut you are," I snarled as I began to fuck her with my fingers. "I bet you're going to cum, thinking about that fat, bald man at the register eating your pussy... or maybe you had your eye on that freak looking at the D&D stuff back there. Which one would make you scream, do you think?"

She looked up into my eyes and squirmed against me. I could see the lust, almost taste it. "Neither, sir."

"Neither? What? Do you think your too good for them?" I slid my thumb across her clit.

"No, Sir!"

"Do you think you have some sort of magic pussy that they don't deserve?" I let go of her throat and twisted one of her nipples through her shirt.

"No, Sir!"

"Maybe you think they'll get that tight little pussy of yours all stretched out and used up?" I pulled my fingers out of her cunt and put them in front of her.

"No, Sir!" She leaned forward and sucked on my fingers, licking her juices off of them, eyes half lidded.

"Then why don't you want to fuck them?"

She moaned as she pulled her head back. "Because I want you to fuck me, Sir!"

"Then go bend over the sink, and pull that skirt up. I want you to see what you look like when you cum."

She swallowed nervously and did as I instructed, pulling her skirt up over her hips and bending forward over the sink so that her breath was fogging the mirror in front of her. I walked up behind her and slapped her ass, delighting in the warm red hand print that formed.

"Take off those fucking panties," I growled... but before she could move to do so, I grabbed the fabric nestled in her ass crack and pulled it up hard. She moaned and climbed to her tip-toes again, trying to releive the pressure. I reached into my pocket again. CLICK In one smooth motion the knife opened, the panties were destroyed, and the knife closed again.

"Hope those weren't to expensive," I chuckled, knowing full well they had been. I slapped her ass again, a good, burning sting erupting against my palm. She squirmed and wiggled her hips, thrusting back towards me.

Knowing she wanted to cum, I crouched down behind her beautiful heart shaped ass, and began to bite and lick my way from the curve of her pelvis, down the spine and into the center of her ass crack. At the same time my right hand was sliding up her thigh, pinching and massaging, soothing and groping until I found her moist lips again and slid two finger into her at the same time as my tongue found her puckered little anus.

I felt her muscles tighten and heard a faint whimper as I began to rythmically stroke my fingers in and out of her while my mouth worked feverishly across her backside, leaving little bite marks and spots reddened from the suction. The longer I tormented her, the more frequent and rythmic the whimpers became. Sensing her impending climax, I started to massage her leg and inner thigh with the hand not occupied in her sopping cunt. As I squeezed the muscles of her thigh she let out a low moaning wail.

"Sir, I'm gonna cum."

"I know you are. Go ahead. Watch yourself."

She started panting and her whimpering became rapid and ragged. I squeezed the fleshy inside of her thigh again, hard enough to make my hand ache. I saw her raise her hand up to cover the scream she wanted to let loose and she leaned forward so her face pressed against the mirror.

"Look at yourself!" I growled. "I told you, I want you to see yourself cum!"

She pushed up away form the mirror, let out a quick, gasping scream and her body shuddered in release. I stood up immediately and pulled her shoulders to me, taking the weight of her from her weakened knees and began to run my fingers through her red hair gently.

"Thank you, Sir" she whispered as she nuzzled my chest.

"Sir, here's your change. Thank you," the young woman at the register said. From her exasperated expression, it was probably the third or fourth time she'd said it.

I took the change and walked over to an open table and waited for Seven to come back from the restroom.


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Ilspeth
 
 Age: 26
 Ontario, California