The red leather cushion beneath me is soft, but my thoughts are anything but. I remember the first time he told me, ‘Dress like a slut, let them fuck you.’ It wasn’t a request, but a command that ignited something deep within. The way he watches, the hunger in his eyes, it’s intoxicating. And I love it. I love the power, the thrill of knowing he’s watching, waiting. It’s not just about the cocks, though they’re always eager. It’s about the game, the dance, the way I can make him beg. ‘Please,’ he whispers, ‘let them fuck you.’ And I do. I let them fuck me, hard and deep, while he watches, his cock throbbing in his hand. It’s our secret, our dirty little game. And I’m the queen of it all.
The Thrill of Submission
But there’s a consequence to this game. It’s not just about the pleasure, but the power. I hold it, and he craves it. The way he looks at me, with a mix of desire and desperation, it’s addictive. I can see it in his eyes, the way he wants to be used, to be humiliated. And I give it to him, in spades. ‘You like watching, don’t you?’ I tease, as another man takes me from behind. ‘You like seeing me like this?’ His answer is always the same, a desperate nod, a whimper of need. And I love it. I love the way he needs me, the way he can’t resist. It’s a power trip, and I’m riding it hard. But it’s not just about me. It’s about us, about the way we play, the way we push each other’s boundaries. And in the end, isn’t that what love is all about? The thrill of submission, the power of desire.
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