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«What I demand. Necessarly needed: A large, big cock (everything beneath 7 inches is nothing for me, I do also like thick dicks) and if possible big balls – one of my fetishes, a huge turn on.
Age: between 18-42, I enjoy young, active and sportive men.»
– Actually this announce turns me on so bad, also because I wouldn't be able to fulfill her needs. Never even if I train hard because I'm just too small sized. That's so hot to read for me but maybe abit sad or frustrating too. I'd so love to obey her with no chance of sex at all, specially because she lives in my city.
you were full of righteous fury after a frustrating day at work. you'd spent the entire day dealing with unnecessary garage created by idiots who thought themselves your better. you were home now, but your anger wasn't fading as it should.
I took our conversation to the bedroom subtly, though it was more of you railing against the world and Me nodding. you were so engrossed in your agitation that you didn't even take notice as I pulled a few things from the "box" under the bed.
As you took a breath, ready to start another tirade, My hand shot up to clasp your neck. you slapped it away.
"Not the time." you said with authority that you simply did not have in our dynamic.
My hand grasped your neck again, but this time it was forcing you backwards abd your arms were too busy trying to catch yourself to try to slap it away. you hit the wall and rage flashed in your eyes as you tried to remove My hand, but My grip was firm and your arms were helpless to remove it. you squirmed and I slapped you, hard, in the face. you froze, stunned for a moment in indignation, but it was only going to get worse. The ball gag was forced into your mouth and pulled tight in one deft movement.
I pinned your arms to the wall as you screamed into the rubber, but your protests were muffled and felt belittling.
"Shut. Up." I ordered. I was calm but this was not a request. you stopped.
I grabbed your hair and dragged you to the bed. you clawed, raking marks in My skin that I ignored. They'd heal. you pounded, certain to leave bruises but likely hurting your fists more than My body. I tossed you to the bed and you rolled away, but I dragged you back by your ear.
"Don't fucking move." I hissed. you froze.
I removed your clothes and used you. Mercilessly I used you in whatever way I saw fit. I was not gentle. I pinched, punched, pulled, slapped, bent, and bit until My frustration with your attitude that you brought home was sated.
you were crying. Balling. But it wasn't because of Me. your frustration finally spilled over into My hopeless, emotional sub who needed to mourn the events of the day. you cried and I held you. you'd bottled everything up and I'd smashed the bottle against the wall when I pinned your arms to it. All that was left was the soft fizz after the violence of the explosion was spent.
"Good girl, My little rebel." I soothed. Let's go have dinner. you nodded, put on your robe, and followed quietly to the kitchen. you watched My heels with your head bowed and matched the rhythm of My steps.
Losing to boys creates conflict. Losing to Master creates peace.