Maurichienne

I moan and cry out, “Oh god.” “Yes I am your god. And I will have all of you. I will use all of you. You are mine,” he says as he starts pumpi...g in and out faster. “You are my cock-slut…my fuck-toy…my cum-dump. Aren’t you?” he says. “And you will say it before I let you cum,” he continues, as he once again slows down and removes his fingers from my throbbing clit. “Oh god, yes,” I cry out. “I am yours. Yours to use and to own. Please let me cum. I am your cum-slut, your fuck-toy, OH God. But not having much in the way of tits, she most of the time didn’t bother with a brassiere either. Those are the times I remember most about freshman year. Laune would look across the room at me in Algebra with those big brown eyes and I’d sprout a boner. Then I’d glance down at her chest—well, hell. Of course, I looked at her chest. I looked at every girl’s chest—and she’d have these two little points pushing her t-shirt out. A lot of times, she’d just wear a t-shirt with some kind of vest or. More

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