I can’t escape you. Tied down, legs spread, the smell of me permeating the room … there’s nowhere for me to go.
I know it and you know it. And as that crop raises high, we also both know where it’s going to land, and just how much I want it.
The rope’s just to make sure I can’t squirm away.
As you slap my cunt, mostly crop but sometimes hand, I arch towards it, wordlessly begging for more. My cries and yelps sound like I hate it; and I unsuccessfully try to wriggle away. But always I arching up towards you, wanting.
There’s the absolute giveaway, making you laugh – orgasms flowing, my juices gushing. My clitoris aches; I want to cover it with my hand. But I show off my cunt for oyu as I dribble my pleasure onto towels. And then you smack me, sending droplets flying, and once again I arch and squeal and come for you.
It’s a different kind of wonderful, when you’re the one in charge.
Very wicked indeed!