We were just supposed to be powdering our noses together. Maria’s husband is still out there, with mine, negotiating some kind of deal. I can never keep my husband’s business deals straight.
She asked me if I was into women. I blushed and said, no, and laughed and asked why she was asking. Maria said she was horny and she wanted to make out with me in the bathroom. I said I wasn’t interested. Maria said she didn’t care, leaning against me, running her fingers on my exposed skin.
I begged her not to do this; Maria pushed me up against the wall and reached under my dress to tear off my panties. I threatened to scream and she covered my mouth. I started crying when I felt her fingers on my opening.
She started rubbing me with her ring finger. I could feel the big diamond against my sensitive parts. When she slipped the ring into me, I started sobbing. I was coming and damn it, I did not want this woman to make me come.
"I told you, Loren, that your panties had to match your bra today."
"I know, Mom, I heard you. I’m doing that."
"But you’re not wearing a bra, Loren." Then she shifted her position.
"And as you can see," she said, "my panties match."
Everyone in the White Slave Processing Center whispers about it at night: how you might wind up being used sexually by your new owners. I don’t know how it goes among the men, but among the women, its about evenly split. Half of them react with horror at the thought. The other half think it’ll be the only compensation they get for this nightmare: “I don’t mind if I get me some of that big black cock every night,” I remember one of the older women in my cell saying.
No one talked about the possibility of being used by a woman owner. But that’s where I wound up.
I had no experience with this end of pussy licking, but my new Mistress was insistent I become an expert at it. She even gave me books. And a warning that if I wasn’t regularly making her come with my tongue by the end of the month, I was going to be whipped until I did.
(Source: chicklicks, via senhoritaveludovermelho)
I admit it. I have Mommy issues. All the women I sleep with are a bunch older than me. They all have really big breasts. My shrink says its okay. That there’s nothing that unusual in it for a girl like me who’s mother was an alcoholic. But I don’t know. Should I be freaked out about it or not?
"Go ahead," I said to my two friends, over for dinner, "you should share him." Him, meaning my fiancee. "I’ll just watch."
I tried to be casual about it. I didn’t want them to think it was planned. But it was all so planned.
Sylvia swore it was going to be a great weight loss program! We’d get naked each day so we could see each other and compare and know how the others were doing. It would shame us, she said, into keeping on diet. And if you didn’t lose the appropriate amount of weight, you’d get spanked.
I’m still not sure how the computer always says that everyone but Sylvia gets a spanking. But its the computer. It can’t lie, can it?
(Source: onlyallfours, via dundee47)
This has been part of my daily life since I was sold into slavery under the American Slave Reparations Act. My new owner, Mrs. Whiteman, believes that “a spanking a day keeps the bad thoughts away.” Maybe so. After she’s finished, I can’t think of anything other than my butt hurting for an hour.
It wasn’t enough that Marlene took my boyfriend and then wrestled me into submission when I complained about it. She needed to show her complete domination over me, my abject surrender to her superiority.
"You sure seem interested in watching me pee, Aunt Dee. Maybe you’d like to do a little licking on my snatch too?"
(Source: whenyagotstago, via marlin917)
My friends giggled, but they hadn’t met Gabrielle yet. They didn’t know the effect she had on other girls. Once Gabby had had heard way with me tonight, she would work her way though one of my friends after another, almost none of whom had any experience with other girls. Just like I’d been until I met Gabrielle at another party last week.
Harrison giggled in potential embarrassment as the wind blew up his skirt. I knew my brother wasn’t wearing any panties under those tights and that meant that his “extra part” might be on display more so than normal in such a circumstance. And on our way to a friend’s funeral was not the time to display his extra bits.
(Source: in-pantyhose, via marlin917)
The Change, back to human form, always takes so much out of Were. Marcia collapsed to the rocks after 3 days in seagull form. She had no idea of where she was or how far she flew while she was Changed. Some ornithologist must have captured her while she was in bird form, however. She’s got a damn tracking instrument on her ankle.
(Source: nudistenergodar, via the-good-looking-girl)
"See," I told Lisa. "I told you I could make your sister do anything I wanted. Even in public. Tell Lisa, Sarah, tell her you’ll do anything I tell you."
(Source: merelyphuppies, via marlin917)
I gotta tell you that it really freaked me out. This black woman who I’ve never seen before in my life came up to me. She held up her camera and took a picture of my face before I even recognized what was going on. “Baby,” she says, grinning at me, “I hope I see your face in the Slave Lottery soon. I’ma gonna be setting up a face recog for it. I’ma so gonna buy your ass if your number comes up.” Then she leaned in really close and whispered, “I’m gonna ride that pretty face of yours for hours. Hours.” Then the bitch just walked off.
"Yeah, but it gets worse. When I got home the next day? There was a Registered Letter. My number was picked. I have to report next week to the White Slave Processing Center."
"Oh God, poor you."
(Source: dreamleggings, via candidprdz)