I can send you some really dirty stuff, but the question is how much smut can you handle?
You hold me down on your sofa, telling me to be a good girl. I love it when you tell me that. That I am a good girl. I feel small, and taken care of, and yours… from two words. I try to. I would like to be very good for you.
You hold me tight and whisper in my ear while you touch me so slowly, and so fucking lightly. Letting your fingers graze my pussy but never letting me really feel you. Never giving in to how much I whine and plead for you. Trying to make me wet right through my panties before you will even let your fingers slip underneath to feel what you have done to me. Once you do, you tell me that I did it. That I did this to myself because I am so dirty. A dirty little girl. But I know that is not true, I never make myself as wet as you make me. I can’t make myself shake or scream or cry like you make me. Your hands make me feel panicked, and like I want to let tears stream down my face. They make me feel more amazing than I know what to do with. Than I know how to handle.
You’ve gotten better at standing your ground. A few weeks ago, all it would have taken was for me to slap you across the face, or shove my fingers into your mouth and you would just melt. You would melt, ready to be beaten and fucked. But your more stubborn now. You’ll wrestle me for it… and you know you’ll when.
It’s no use to fight you. You’ll just pin me down. I can’t seem to overpower you. so I grabbed a pair of old dirty panties from beside your bed. Beside your bed, the place you keep the collection of my underwear that I leave for you to jerk off with. Thats how I can make you melt. That how I can distract you long enough to tie you up. To blindfold you and gag your mouth with the smell of my pussy on black lace.
Now I can strip you, now I can tease you…. I can just look at you.