Originally posted on Conversextion:
it's ben a long day hasn't it bby
The familiar ring tone alerted you; I knew you would answer despite it not being 'your bag'. I remembered at the club; both drunk grabbing each other's phones promising things that only alcohol wills out of us in the late hours.
i bet ur in that office u h8
A random text days later had us reliving that night through words; text tag. No strings attached. No meeting unless we wanted to. And by the tone of our texts over the course of the next few days, we wanted to. But everything is so busy; hard to find alone time between all of the life shit we didn't mention at the club to each other.
poor bby
You tell me your jerk boss is hanging around. The one you angrily say gives you too many hours, too little pay.
is he around?
You text back; I can envision the wrinkle your brow makes when you're annoyed. You clearly don't want to be there.
i can make it better
Originally posted on Conversextion:
Slap goes the hand that bruises my behind with each land
the ass that shifts up wanting another pass
of that teasingly, feelingly cruel hand pleadingly
my cries beg 'Master, please!'; your eyes full of mirth denies
letting my ass burn covered in flecks of purple red and no concern
i can only look down to not deserve a frown
then a slow palm grazes letting new pain alight me with it's balm
paddles, canes sit to the far side ignored as i delighted in what Your hand can only provide
my panty, my skirt pulled unseemly down my ass bared, round and blissfully hurt
the wetness i feel i hope You don't, yet i know You knowingly do, softness
of Your caresses now contrast with the hardness poking through pants past
the point of full arousal; i want to please You but i know only the pull
and need to punish me will only do. Ahh Master Your seed
is too good for me. i only can take Your hand to my ass as a good girl should
AN: Random poem came out of left field. I blame waking up with a rather nice dream. Also (probably) due to my spanking fetish.
*Sounds so different in the 3rd Person XD I had a request to rewrite it this way.*
‘Do I?’ That singular thought runs through her head, as she notes an odd man glancing hard at her - harder even. To anyone else on the train, the looks are nothing, the random glance of random strangers. But the two people across from one another, if that could even be what this is, see more. They sit in the back most rows, in seats opposite rows from each other. He can see what she is doing, as she can him.
She knows and yet doesn’t know him. She pretends to ignore him and yet she knows exactly what he wants. And even though it scares her, it makes her want to give him more.
They are on a subway train, rushing by in the metal of tunnels in a blaze of speed. Speed, carnal speed, like a metallic cock ramming endlessly into a willing voidless cunt. Or is it rather a more a metal toy? She sit pondering such random thoughts, while keeping her eye on the stranger across the row..
It was a mental dare to herself, her doing this; on a quiet train with barely them and a few late goers, probably too sloshed after a few drinks too many to see the exchange taking place. She figured, ‘I needed the cash. Just give him the pair and go. Right?'
Do I? That odd man glances hard at me - harder even. To anyone else on the train, the looks are nothing, the random glance of random strangers. But he and I, if that could even be what this is, see more. We sit in the back most rows, in seats opposite rows from each other. He can see what I'm doing, as I can him.
I know and yet don't know him. I pretend to ignore him and yet I know exactly what he wants. And even though it scares me, it makes me want to give him more.
Were on a subway train you see, rushing by in the metal of tunnels in a blaze of speed. Speed, carnal speed, like a metallic cock ramming endlessly into a willing voidless cunt. Or is it rather a more a metal toy? I ponder such random thoughts, while keeping my eye on the stranger across the row from me.
It was a mental dare to myself, me doing this; on a quiet train with barely us and a few late goers, probably too sloshed after a few drinks too many to see the exchange taking place. I figured, I needed the cash. Just give him the pair and go. Right?
As a full figured woman myself, it can be hard to feel, or rather see yourself as a 'main character'. To see yourself as worth of being cute, or hot, or other wise a being that has needs like every other hot blooded person. And then this crops up. I was reading Cute Breasts' blog (and they are cute BTW) and found out about how the fashion industry is finally growing a pair -
In the lands of Meneteil, there were stories of many warriors, those meek and bold. But one store stood out amongst the rest. This was the fabled story of the Blonde Siren of Death. Armed with merely her visible nude form this was (save for her broadsword) all the weapon she’d need. She ran nude not because she was cocky or did not need metal armor, but that men were so mesmerized by her beauty that her attackers dared not mar her flawless skin. Of course the warrior would not be so gentle, so legion died by her sword.
But this is not what the legend entailed.
Code Name : TigerBabe. That was the name that got her into the seedy underground of Liberty City’s Drug Trade. Her real name nothing of importance, she went deep undercover, slipping in through the thriving prostitution market, and working up though to the inner ranks when it was shown she could handle a gun as well as a john. There were many girls with guns nude in the sex trade, in particular fetish markets, but only she was unafraid to use them to get her way.
She sometimes looks in the mirror, telling herself girls like her were good for the city, but the line always blurs as criminals became partners, bedmates.