Masturbation Monday #12
He smiled as he stood in the doorway watching her, in her white dress, as she made them tea. He wondered if she was wearing her little white knickers underneath, she said she didn’t think of herself as girlie girl, but as he watched her he thought otherwise. Little movements and gestures, so feminine. He loved to see her like this, to think about all the ways he could defile her, rip off that white dress and the white knickers, fuck her senseless until she was a wet, quivering heap beneath him, incapable of doing anything to stop him.
His thought about last night, how she had begged him to fuck her, begged for his cock, bound and helpless. How her mascara had run as she choked and gagged on his cock as he fucked her throat, lipstick smeared across her face. Her outfit then had been pure slut, nothing but the make-up, heels and stockings. His cock hardened again at the memory, the contrast between the black stockings and red rope, her pale skin, the welts from his belt. How wet she’d been, as he thrust into her, whispering in her ear about all the bad things he wanted to do to her, hand around her throat. How she’d whimpered, unable to form the words any longer, the sheets beneath her soaked, and still she didn’t want him to stop.
He stepped up behind her, kissed the back of her neck. He took her hand and led her back to the bedroom.
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