Thursday, September 9, 2010

My Corner Of The Room

I see the way you look at me. The way your eyes graze over me, from head to toe and back again. I can tell from the frustrated look on your face that you are wondering, questioning, figuring how to approach me. Should you walk up, say hello, and hope upon hope that I dont find you boring? Or should you just jump right into a conversation about the book my nose seems embedded into?

Would you approach me if you knew what I did last night? If you knew that just 13 hours ago I was engaging in things that most men see late at night on the internet while their wives are in bed. Things most women blush at, or find to be the utmost of vulgarity. Would you approach me if you knew that last night, the very face you are studying like fine art, was fucked quite roughly? A mans cock was in my mouth, face fucking me, having fun at my expense. His cock choking me, gagging me. His work weathered hands pulling at my dark hair, forcing my soft pretty lips closer and closer to his cock base.

Would you join me for coffee if you knew that a firm hand grabbed me by the back of the neck, forced me to bed over a kitchen counter, and finger fucked me into oblivion, while his football buddies watched in awe at his commands and how I obeyed? How about if you knew that my naked body was on show for them as I masturbated and my moans echoed around the house with the sounds of an out of bounds call from a referee on screen? My orgasm fast approaching like a quarterback rushing for the end zone. My screams and grunts of pleasure and release mixed with the spectators on screen praising the team for a three point conversion.

Would you sit down a while and chat if you knew that after the company left, he pushed me to the floor on all fours, and my chocolate toned skin felt the sweet sting of his Italian leather belt? That he spanked me till the tears flowed and splattered on the hardwood floors beneath my quivering form? Would you still find me intriguing if you knew that I was rubbing my clit and cumming 4...5...6 times even though the pain was nearing unbearable? Could you stand to get to know me if you found out that he fucked me while I cried? No longer from the pain, mind you, but because I felt so free while his voice echoed in my head. Him calling me dirty little names, that a woman like me shouldn't adore?. Those words flying around the room like butterflies, liberated from their cocoon-ish prisons.

Would it cause you to turn and walk away if I told you that he and I fucked for hours on end? His cum covered me. My face, my tits, my cunt and ass? That I wasnt ashamed, but blissful as he came on me time after time? That I begged for him to slap me across the face as my pussy exploded around his cock, and he demanded that I look him in the eyes?

Would you think bad of me if you knew that as you stood across the room, sizing me up, I was sitting here at my lonely table gently masturbating. My thick thighs squeezing and clinching, inching me towards an almost silent orgasm, as I tap my foot to the sounds from my Ipod?

Could you approach me, or would you think I was too shy and watch as I packed up and slipped back into a sea of nameless faces, and into the mysterious ways of my life?

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