Eager little cum slut who can’t get enough of your hot load. I want every single drop, deep in my pussy so you can breed me like the bitch I am. Yes, down my throat, and especially pumped into my ass. Fill me up and knock me up.
Pain Loving Slut
I’m a total pain slut. Hurt me, torture me, clamp my nipples until I scream, and pin my little clitty. I love rough face fucking, shove that cock down my throat and use me like you hate me while I gag and choke. Rape me, break me, make me cry. The more it hurts, the wetter I get.
Twisted Voyeur Pet
Sometimes I like it even darker. Tie me up in the corner and make me watch while you do all kinds of dirty, nefarious things. I’ll sit there helpless and dripping, squirming as I witness everything.
Zee planned a game of tease and denial with the intel, though he started with the blunt instruments of pain. The room smelled of mildew and stale sweat, the humidity clinging to the peeling walls like a damp shroud. Basque strained against the ropes, her blonde hair plastered to her forehead by perspiration. Zee draped a rough rag over her face and poured a gallon of water over her nose and mouth.
"What are the codes, Basque?" he barked.
She sputtered, gasping for air as the water boarding simulated the terror of drowning.
"Go... to... hell," she wheezed.
A heavy hand collided with her cheek, the slapping sound echoing like a gunshot in the small space. Zee didn't stop, delivering a sharp punch to her ribs that left her coughing blood onto her thin white shirt. This torture was meant to break her, but as Zee grabbed a handful of hair, yanking her head back harshly and leaning in to sneer, he caught a scent—musk and honey. He looked down. Her thin thighs were trembling, and a dark stain spread across the crotch of her trousers.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Zee whispered, his voice a low growl.
"I hate... you," she gasped.
"Your body says something else. You're a fucking deviant."
Basque spit on him.
Zee wiped the spit off calmly and shifted his strategy to a more precise form of tease and denial. He used his knife and cut her trousers open, exposing her wet cunt to the stagnant air. He didn't use his fingers at first; he just hovered his knife over her clitoris, letting the cold steel radiate without touching.
"Tell me the codes, and I'll pleasure you," he teased.
"Fuck you," she moaned, her voice breaking, though her hips arched instinctively toward him pricking her clit on his knife.
He pulled the knife back and suddenly plunged two fingers deep inside her. He hammered into her with a rhythmic, brutal pace, mimicking the violence of his punches.
"Look at you, leaking for the man who just beat you," Zee chuckled.
The tension built until Basque's eyes rolled back, her breath coming in jagged hitches. Just as the first wave of orgasm crested, Zee yanked his fingers out with a wet pop. He gripped her thighs tight leaving bruises and locking her in place for another round of tease and denial.
"Please," she sobbed, her body shaking with the sudden vacuum of pleasure.
"The codes, spy. Give them to me, or I'll leave you like this for a week."
He brushed a single fingertip against her swollen nub, a tiny spark of electricity that made her scream. He laughed, leaning into her ear to whisper the final terms of her tease and denial.
"Beg for it. Beg for your cock-hungry hole to be filled."
Basque thought their previous sessions of feet phone sex had barely scratched the surface of their chemistry. The restaurant breathed an air of sterile luxury, all white linen and hushed whispers. She sat opposite Julian, her blonde hair shimmering under the amber chandelier. While the waiter poured a vintage Bordeaux, Basque slid her right foot out of her stiletto. The heavy tablecloth draped like a curtain, masking the illicit movement as her toes sought the hem of Julian's trousers.
She worked her way upward, her slender toes hooking into the waistband of his slacks. Julian stiffened, his fork pausing mid-air. "The sea bass is exquisite, isn't it? I can't decide if the sauce is lemon or butter," Basque asked, her voice a sugary contrast to the predatory way she gripped his cock through the fabric. She recalled how their feet phone sex had built this anticipation, making every thought of feet phone sex a torment. Her toes curled, squeezing the length of him, feeling the sudden heat and hardness. Julian swallowed, his throat clicking as his knuckles whitened against the table. "It is lemon. I think. God, you look stunning tonight, Basque, truly breathtaking," he managed, his voice strained and an octave higher. "I am glad you are enjoying the evening," she whispered.
The foot job intensified as Basque abandoned the fabric, sliding her foot directly against his skin. She used her arch to apply rhythmic pressure, sliding up and down with a slow, agonizing precision. She could feel him pulsing, the pre-cum lubricating her sole as she worked him toward the edge. Julian’s breath hitched, his chest heaving in a rhythm that didn't match the slow tempo of the jazz playing in the background. He looked at her, eyes wide and clouded with lust, while she merely smiled and took a sip of her wine, her toes swirling around the head of his member.
The tension snapped when Basque increased the pace, her heel digging into his thigh while her toes squeezed him in a tight, frantic grip. Julian let out a muffled groan, masking it as a cough into his napkin. He buckled in his chair, his body shuddering as he began to cum, the warmth flooding his underwear. He gasped, the pleasure crashing over him in waves that threatened to knock him unconscious. As the waiter returned to clear their plates, Basque slid her foot back into her shoe, thinking that no amount of feet phone sex could ever compare to the thrill of the real thing.
