I'm not sure what I want, so I err on the side of what he wants. It is no longer an effort to restrict my movement, to stay limp; I am nectar, spineless, flowing. I would love to do some RP with this shit. I take it out and drop it into my hand, its lightness confirming that he couldn't have paid more than ten dollars for it. Dropping it to clasp the collar in one hand, I stepped out of the stall, my heels click-clacking a slow rhythm on the sticky-slick tile. Should I be heartbroken? Carlisle is back to shallow thrusts in my mouth, the ridge sliding in and out of the corner of my lips. He looked at me like a driveway full of snow he had to shovel, not like a sleeping Leda. Hermione looked around for a place to change but suddenly realized what was to happen when she saw Lucius' wondering eyes.
One little finger surfing along the line where the sole meets the upper. That's the important thing. Hermione had tears streaming down her face, she pleaded for him to stop, but he didn't hear her. Just checking to see if she's going to wake up. So in this fic, Ganondorf kidnaps Princess Zelda, because he wants the satisfaction of dominating her. So get over here and fuck this pussy, or I will make sure you don't have a tale to tell. To feel something, finally, in what I could bring them to feel. Is it a swamp, each year sucking us deeper down, until finally the muck engulfs us and we drown in it? Acrobats hung from the ceiling and did all manner of tricks and stunts, flying, flipping, balancing, throwing one another, cages were floating amongst the acrobats air which contained lions and tigers with giant golden ribbons that hung from the ceiling. Not much we can do about it, I don't think. There is a place there where light belongs and it is absent. He wants to watch his companion. Day by day we float. The rustle of brown paper against my hair. To feel ashamed or stupid? I snap the wings off it, feeling the new sharpness where they had once been anchored with the pad of my thumb before I throw the bag, the box, and the trinket in the trash. You're not calling anyone. He smoothes down over the skin of my belly with his hand, just to the edge of the black panties that still hold onto the Bombay, when he turns it into a claw and scratches upwards, dragging his nails up my skin slowly, leaving what I knew would be red lines streaming up my center, between my breasts until he reached my neck, where the hand softens again, fingers spreading across the thin skin, and I am sure it's over, sure he must feel my pulse drumming there, knows I'm aching for this, needing it so sharply … Either that, or … or he would wrap his fingers around tighter and tighter until I died here, soaked in gin, nearly naked, on the floor of a mens' room in the worst part of town I could find. Plus, he might finish too fast. Yep, even women who are very powerful and in control in real life—still not surprised. I can feel his hands shaking. I've never worn any in front of him, ever. Now I was ready. Lucius felt his own breathing grow heavy as closed his eyes and slowly inserted a finger, suddenly he felt Hermione's hips buckle upwards, he looked up to see her eyes shut tight and mouthing "no, please no," over and over, he smiled as he kept stroking her pussy "You say no I lay my pale body down in the baby-pink satin lining, and curl up, and listen to my heart pound. And then I remember that I am her, that he is holding my body with his hands as he begins to sweat, as he swears low with his undervoice, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," and then my heart beats once, hard, and my orgasm is like a car crash. If I say a safe word they stop
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