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Update: Fleshbotted once again by the lovely and super-sexy Always Aroused Girl. Thank you so much!

******************************

It had been touch and go whether we’d meet. A combination of industrial work issues raising their ugly heads, and allergies affecting the delicate sinuses of a particular evil, mean and rotten cat, had conspired to stop us from meeting.

However, meet we did. Conspire away, corrupt industry and evil dust. You’ll never take me alive!

******************************

It occurred to me, at one point, that I was losing my grip on reality. Which is fine in the context of a session. Slipping into subspace is, while not exactly de rigeur, certainly a desired effect. Purrrrvert loves watching me lose my usually demure and mature attitude as I dissolve into a small cuddly heap of ecstatically sighing happy kitty.

And i love having him watch as I do.

I remember lying on my front, facing away from him, as he relentlessly thrust his hand into me. Managing to hit both my G-spot and my clit simultaneously, I alternately sighed, moaned, yowled and screamed as he coaxed orgasm after orgasm out of me. It almost felt as though it was too much, but then as that thought began to flit across my mind, another peak hit. I shuddered to the most earth shattering climax yet, and wondered incredulously at myself. 

How could it ever be too much?

“Turn yourself around, Tabby le Pink. Come and lie next to me.”

“Are you going to move your fist from inside me?”

“No.”

Which meant that turning around suddenly required a great deal of twisting and unsually balletic movements. I pride myself on my ability to execute the occasional vertical less-than-graceless dance movement, regardless of how I may appear as I perform it. But horizontally, all bets are off.

But I did it. He has that kind of effect on me.

He continued to tease and probe me incessantly to my sheer delight, except now he was looking into my eyes. Then he leaned forward and kissed me — tenderly at first, soft and sweet, then blossoming into levels of passion and excitement that excited me yet further.

How had I even considered thinking that it was too much? What was wrong with me?

Breaking from the kiss, he stroked my hair off my face as he gazed down at me lovingly.

“You look so lovely.”

I blushed. He continued.

“I love being with you. I love fisting you, I love fucking you. I love you, my Pink Tabby.”

I sighed happily, and reached up to kiss him again. He accepted the gesture lovingly. Appreciatively. I love kissing him. I love fucking him. I love everything about being with him, whether physically, spiritually or mentally.

I sighed.

“I love you too. So very much.” And he held me tightly.

A couple of nights later, I had an epiphany. I realised that I was being a fool to myself to focus on the negative things in life, when i had this wonderful, positive thing going on for me.

Too much indeed. Who was I kidding?

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Belonging

My dom does not call me bitch, nor slut nor cunt, nor whore.

The collar that I put on when I’m with him — or more accurately, that he puts on me — is part of the beauty of our connection. I am not his bitch — I am his.

When he holds the leash, it is indeed a sense of “belonging”, but it works in both directions.

I belong to him as much as he belongs to me — the leash is that which binds us.

Yes, we each have our own role to play in this equation, and yes, our roles are clearly defined — my role is completely different to his.

But the equality and weight of the two parts to be played are exactly the same — which is what makes the “us” of what we have work so well.

The collar and leash are merely one part of the circle that we form. The circle also consists of our hands, and our hearts — no beginning, no end, simple and complete.

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Update: Fleshbotted by the very lovely Always Aroused Girl. Thanks, honey! 😎

He loves to feel my skin, whatever smooth bare pink expanse he can lay his hands on.

Of course, he also loves to squeeze, pinch, slap, grab, squish, stroke and mark my skin — but then, i love it when he does. So it’s a win-win.

This time was different.  It was like he was committing me to memory, all my various curves, and dips, and softness, and giggly bits.  As though he was learning me, like I was a big soft piece of braille, and he was reading me with his hands.

As we lay spooned together, relaxing, his warm body curled protectively around mine, I felt his hands trace the curve of my hips, reaching around behind and grabbing me between the cheeks.

“Getting yourself a piece of ass?” I asked, cheekily, and was rewarded with a resounding slap that made me shiver with pleasure.

He flipped me around so that I was facing him, ran a finger down the side of my face and stared deeply into my eyes.

“You have such a beautiful look in your eyes,” he murmured. “I could watch that look for days. You just look so…. contented and complete.”

I blushed, and looked down, despite myself.

“No, no, little kitty, look back up at me.”

I did, our eyes meeting and gazing for the longest time, broken only when he leaned down and kissed my forehead, my cheeks and then finally my lips, passionately and warmly.

“The look in my eyes is.. well, it’s all because of this. Us. You. How happy you make me feel. I could purr.”

He hugged me close, and stroked even more of me — my hair, my arms, my back.

“I love my Pink Tabby.”

“I love you too.”

But I whispered it so softly into his neck that I worried he hadn’t heard me. Then he looked into my eyes again, and I could see in his blue sparkle that he very definitely had done.

“Your eyes are just amazing. That look, god, what you only do to me!”

The look is something I could feel, almost tangibly burned onto the back of my retina, but a burn of such searing delight that I never wanted it to end.

Later, he throws me up against a wall, face first, holding me close from behind, and explores even more of me. The wall is cold on my body, so I lean back into him, the sheer physics of matching push-pull pressure holding us together for what seems like an eternity, and one I wish would never end. He holds me close as he paints a permanent imprint of my body on his probing and inquisitive hands.

And nibbles my ear as he does so.

Now he can take me with him wherever he goes.

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Update! Top-picked for Sugasm 166… thanks y’all…

“I’m going with the flow, as you suggested.”

“I can see that.”

“How am I doing, so far? I do feel like less of a newbie, I have to say.”

“Well, you’re bending over a desk, with your gorgeous juicy ass exposed, and I’m poised with my cane. I’d say you were doing pretty darn good.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“That’s enough talking. Spread those thighs!”

************************************

I inch my feet apart ever more until i can feel the breeze from the swish of his cape on my engorged labia. I feel him draw closer, until his breath is warm on my ear, and i feel his hand rest lightly on my thigh.

“That’s nice, girl. Now, you do remember which part of your body the thighs are?”

“Yes, Sir. ”

“Now you will name each part of your anatomy that my finger touches. Any mistakes will result in punishment.

“Yes, Sir.”

His finger glides up the inner side of my left thigh.

“Inner thigh, upper leg, Sir.”

“Good.”

The finger continues its path, sliding up to my left ass cheek, and pausing. I shiver involuntarily with delight and receive a lazy if stinging slap across the right side of my ass, from his other hand.

“Buttock, posterior, gluteus maximus, ass. Sir.”

“Which side of the buttock, girl?”

“The left, Sir.”

“Good.”

His fingers move up my spine — it’s not a probe, but i do feel as if they are scanning the flesh they touch, for quivers, tantalizing the nerve endings that are almost on fire with anticipation.

“Er, ass,  left hip… back, Sir.”

“Hip? Ass? Is your ass in the middle of your lower back, girl?”

“Well, no Sir, but you said to say the areas you touched, so I was speaking progressively, Sir…”

Crack! The cane hits the desk with a whistle, and I feel the vibrations on my skin.

“Write down one point, girl. And make sure you keep the score right.”

“Yes, Sir.”

His fingers touch my spine, stroking the skin above L3 and L4.

“So – what part of your anatomy is this, girl?!”

“My back, Sir.”

“And which part of your back is that, girl?”

“The middle, Sir.”

“I am disappointed, girl. That is your spinal cord. This is L4.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m so sorry, Sir.”

He presses down gently but firmly on L4, and I yelp “Bad pain! Bad Pain! Red!”, so he stops.

He always has my safety as his highest priority, even when deeply entrenched in roleplay. It’s why I love him. One of the reasons, anyway. He kisses my head and checks I’m alright, and we snap back into the scene.

His roaming finger now glides between my ass cheeks, over, between, stroking incessantly, eliciting sighs of ecstasy from my lips, and almost causing me to forget where I am, and what we’re doing.

“I’m waiting. Name the part of the anatomy I’m touching!”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. I just got carried away, Sir.”

“ETA on the anatomical naming, girl? You’re making me angry — do you want me to punish you?”

I struggle with every fiber in every nerve end to not scream “Yes! Yes! Cane me! Flog me! Beat me until I weep for mercy! Send me flying into subspace! Fuck me until I scream the names of every Jazz musician from here to Cuba!”

Resistance is not easy.

“Ahem, er… I’m sorry, Sir, i don’t know what that’s called other than ass crack. (Is it bad that it feels so good? Am I bad?)”

“Are these questions related to anatomy?”

“No Sir. I’m sorry Sir.”

I hear him suppress a giggle, as his hand dips in between my thighs, and pinches a handful of my flesh. I say nothing. I love when he touches me that way.

“We shall continue.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“Are you wriggling onto the corner of that desk, girl?”

“Um… well, yes, Sir, a little bit. I cannot lie to you, Sir.”

He is loving the effect that this is having on me. He knows how desperately and deeply aroused I am. It’s a huge part of the appeal, bringing me to the point of no return, controlling me in this way. And I cannot lie — it’s entirely mutual.

“Stand still. Stay, girl!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I cannot believe my eyes! Are you actually still wriggling and jiggling after I said stay?!!”

“No, Sir. Well, not much, Sir.”

“So, do you have any explanation for the flushed cheeks, or perspiring brow?”

“Yes sir, but it is nothing to do with anatomy.”

He leans over me, his face so close that i can think —  dream — hope of him (finally!) kissing me. His voice murmurs quietly yet insistently, with his lips so soft and close to my cheek that they kiss it as they move, although it isn’t what I think of as kissing.

“Let’s hear it, girl. What is it, exactly, that has you trembling and jiggling, unable to remain still, despite my instructions — a flagrant infraction for which you know you will be punished. Tell me, little miss… tell me what it is.”

“Ahem. Well, Sir, it’s… um… well, it’s you, Sir. You’re making me feel so… hmmmmm… and…”

“And?”

“And the corner of the desk is the absolutely level with my clitoris, Sir, and it’s pressing on it, and it’s not helping, and…”

“Be clear. Is it me or the corner of this wooden table?”

Despite myself, I blush.

“The table started it but you increased it tenfold, sir… and i was only pushed into the table because that’s how you told me to stand… Sir.”

“And then?”

“I was a bad girl, and i wriggled, Sir.”

“And are you continuing to wriggle, girl?”

“Only if you tell me to, Sir.”

“And do you want to, girl?”

But as he says this he stops his constant stroking of my skin, and swoops his hand between my legs, holding me in place while two fingers pinch my clit.

I am so aroused i can barely speak.

“Y-yes, S-sir. I ca-cannot lie to y-you.”

“Why are you stammering, girl?”

“Er… i-it’s y-you, S-sir… how you’re t-t-touching me.”

He intensifies his efforts, bent over me, pinning my chest to the desk, although somehow his other hand has managed to locate my mushed nipple and is pinching it. I see the cane lying next to my face, and I understand how his dexterity has been afforded.

With a final tweak of my nipple that sends electric shockwaves to my pinched clit, a mini-orgasm bursts out of me, before I can stop myself. He drops my clit as though it were red-hot, and draws himself up to his fullest height beside me.

“Do my ears and eyes deceive me? Did you just commit the ultimate sin of coming without my permission?”

Once again, I’m close to tears. I’m still incredibly aroused, but fearful of what he may use to punish me.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I couldn’t help it.” I mumble into the desk.

With relief I hear a catch in his tone, that indicates that he will forgive this one-time transgression.

“Such bawdy, randy, slutty behavior requires a fitting punishment.”

He lifts my skirt and begins to spank me with one hand, and cane me with the other, simultaneously, and on alternating butt cheeks. I can feel my ass redden, and I spiral toward another orgasm.

“What are you?”

“I’m a bawdy, randy, filthy slut, Sir. And I’m very close to coming.”

He suddenly stops the alternating caning/spanking, and crouches down beside me.

“You’re a very good girl. You’re a slut, but you’re my slut. Give me your cunt.”

I turn toward him, and lift the front of my skirt. Once again, his hand swoops between my legs, but only to bring my pelvic region close to his face. With a sudden smack-grab of my ass, he brings my cunt to his face, and sniffs appreciatively, before flicking his tongue between my labia, then biting and sucking my clit. My knees are wobbly, and i grab the corner of the desk for support, not realizing how slick it has become in the time i was grinding onto it in frantic arousal. I maintain my upright pose — just.

He stands, bends me over the desk again, and spreads my thighs. I feel his cock nudge at my labia from behind, and then slide smoothly into me. I gasp.

“You’re close to coming?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Not without permission though!”

“No, Sir. Never without permission, Sir.”

Pump. Thrust. A tug of my hair, followed by another. Spanking me — a more intense administering than ever before, and I love it. Into my ear he whispers all the names he has for me, what a dirty girl I am, what a good naughty little schoolgirl, how he loves me, how he loves fucking me, how my cunt feels so good surrounding him, how horny I make him, how I should be punished even more for that (thwack! smack! thwack!).

“Oh god, Sir… please…!”

“Please what, girl?”

“P-please Sir, may I come, Sir?”

“You may.”

I let forth a scream of release as my insides clench and unclench to that unmistakable juddering rhythm. I feel a steady trickle of wet down the inside of my thigh, and a faint splash as it hits the floor. Without missing a beat, he continues to fuck me, hard, fast and expertly.

“Did you piss yourself, girl?”

“No, Sir.” (Pant, pant) “I came, Sir. You made me gush, Sir.”

“Good girl. Naughty little slut. Well done.”

His fucking becomes more urgent, and the streams of words come in a lower, thicker tone until he hums his final “ohhhhh” in my ear, and holds onto me hard. For a moment, there is no roleplay, no professor or schoolgirl, just Purrrrvert and I, breathless and spent, clutching onto each other for dear life because there is simply nothing else for us to do. Naturally, he is the first of us to recover.

“I believe you need to do some cleanup here, girl!”

“Yes, Sir. Should i get on my knees, sir?”

“That would be very proper, girl.”

As I sink to my knees, and take his still hard cock in my mouth, I catch his eye. It is once again Purrrrvert who looks back at me, with his disarmingly beautiful blue sparkle, and I know that I have pleased him in real life as well as the scene. It’s mutual — my need to submit and please my Dom is inherent in my own enjoyment, and arousal.

*******************************

“So, how was it for you?”

“What, it’s cliche time? You’re shitting me.”

“Seriously, how was it? Did you enjoy being my naughty schoolgirl.”

“I loved it. But then, I tend to love everything we do together.”

“Excellent! Onwards we progress down the list of “I said I wouldn’t but I’ll try them with you”. Next time — ice and fire play!”

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The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #159? Submit a link to your best post of the week by emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Sealing the Deal
“A hand reached down and grabbed my chin firmly, pulling it up to get a look at my face.”

Wait for me on your knees.
“She’s not scared or wincing but open and accepting, drinking in the sensation.”

What DO Women Want?
“This cultural context also means that what research describes might not be how things actually are, but how the current culture is shaping them to be.”

Sugasm Editor
Sex Work And Honesty: Political Opinions

Editor’s Choice
Like Rube Goldberg

More Sugasm
See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Erotic Writing and Experiences
‘Just Mates’ – a short story
The Mile High Club…Almost
Misunderstanding. Confession #216
Monday’s Passion
OMG, You are Such a Flirt!
Real Live Sex
Shopgirl
Temporary Insanity
Yours

Sex Advice
5 Advanced Anal Sex Techniques
5 Sexy Gifts for Valentine’s Day
CurvaceousDee’s Love of Long Hair on Guys
Love Machine (Sex Machine) Review
Safety For Men Who Love Toys
This Sex Is Not Being Televised

BDSM & Fetish
Abduction + Rape Play
Blueprint
The Domme Experiment
Greedy slut
Origins, Part II: Caught.
Sex-kitten, restrained and purring.
Vanilla boy
Western fantasy – part 8 (the revelation)
What you do for me

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Katsumi with glass dildo
Love me tender…or else
Pearls and lace

Sex News, Reviews, & Interviews
10 for 2… Or More! Top Ten Sex Toys For Couples
Another reason to dislike New Labour (without mentioning Jacqui Smith)
My Dirty Monday: Fetish Fantasy Inflatable Position Master

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Bareback and Breeding
The Blow Job
His fingers, the tip of my pinkie
Sex in SF
Snuggles and Sex

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“You will write to me, won’t you?” he says, as he turns to me just before we part company.
 
“Er, like.. duh. ” I reply, somewhat inelegantly, belying my self-imposed titular comportment.
 
“No, what I mean is, i want you to write something specific.”
 
I raise a curious eyebrow, and gesture that he should elaborate.
 
“I want to know what made you think “Oooh, yes, more of this, more, more!” and what made you think “No, no, stop, no, don’t do that again.”
 
Again with the single curious eyebrow. “Was it not obvious?”
 
“Mostly, but i want you to be specific. There was a wealth of toys and playthings involved — which were better for you and which less so?”
 
Toys and playthings. I’ll say. I was the biggest of the playthings, even he would be the first to admit this. But it would be less an admission — implying confessional or sinful revelation; more a proud declamation. He is a self-confessed feline, and as such likes to have things to play with.
 
Playthings. Yes. That would be me.
 
*************************
 
It’s the sports bag i notice first. It is, frankly, huge, and is also a surprising colour.
 
“You said it was your big black bag of tricks! That’s not black, that’s khaki!”
 
“That’s one way to know if someone has met me — ask them what the colour of my big black bag is…!”
 
Out of said bag come a number of hiking pouches, each filled with a wide variety of implements of torture and pleasure, depending on your viewpoint from where you sit on the kink-o-meter. To say I was speechless is understating it to a huge effect. My eyes were like saucers, and my jaw hung open. Not so much at the level of evility and kink arrayed before me, but at the quantity. The best i could manage was a feeble “Fu-u-uck.”
 
He then took out a large halloween party carrier, shaped like a cat, naturellement — rawrrrr…. and told me to select what i wanted to play with today, and to put the items in there.
 
The items began to be shown to me, in order of how they’d fallen out of the sports bag. There were beaters, floggers, scrapers, strokers, pinchers, restraints and a remarkably wide variety of pervertibles. I recognised a large fish slice, and a silicon oven-glove in the shape of a dog from a bag containing kitchen-inspired instruments of kink — and then i saw something that looked mighty familiar.
 
“Hey, I have that very spatula! Except, of course, i actually use it when i cook.”
 
He looked me straight in the eye, almost snorting in an effort to restrain the bubbling mirth.
 
“You pervert.”
 
I laughed as hard as he did, and gasped. “I’m *so* blogging that.”
 
**************************
 
It took a lot longer than I’d anticipated* to set things up, but eventually i found myself lying on the bed, arms akimbo and restrained, one to the side and one to my ankle, using two types of leather wrist cuffs (one fur-lined intended for suspension use; very pretty and tactile), and legs — naturally — apart.
 
I must just take a moment to explain something here. Such a position is one that a person would only ever find themselves in consensually. It’s very easy to feel exposed and vulnerable. I was lucky enough to feel neither — only warmth and love. It didn’t matter what he did — if it would please him, it would make me happy. Plus, as his plaything, his big interest was in experiencing my reaction — that was a big part of what turned him on. The consent was almost tangible, the feelings were intense, and we both glowed — I could almost see it.
 
He straddled me, looking down at my smiling face, and restrained naked body, and ran his hand along my skin, before bending to kiss me.
 
“Do you want me to blindfold you?”
 
A mute nod, and 30 seconds later, and the most effective blindfold covered my eyes. “Another hiking pervertible — it’s a head band — warm on the peaks, and the most thorough blindfold I’ve found to date. It knocks the eye-covers that you get on an airplane, into a cocked hat.”
 
Indeed it does.
 
I lay there feeling like the most pampered submissive on the planet. I couldn’t move, and i was very aware that i was to abide by the rules, if i did not wish to be punished — said rules being a. not to come without permission, and b. to inform him if i were close to coming. But i like the feeling of being restrained. I enjoy the taut pull of rope on the ring of my cuff, and the feel of his fist entwined in my hair as we kiss, holding my head where it suits him.
 
I have said to him, several times, “It’s this feeling I get when you pull my hair — that’s how I know I’m a pervert. Whenever i worry that i’m dabbling, or I’m really vanilla and i wonder who the fuck am I kidding, — that’s when i remember the joy of  feeling of utter submissive helplessness, and dependence on the will of another — and how it speaks directly to my soul. And I know — I’m a kinkster at heart.”
 
Our time that day was short to begin with, and it flew by so quickly that i half-felt as though I’d dreamed it. I could write all about the thundering g-spot and gushy orgasms, not to mention the joy of combined lovemaking-fucking that I haven’t experienced in so long… it makes such a difference when you care about your Dom. Even more so when the feeling is mutually deep and intense — as it is, or so he tells me. (Meow.)
 
The dreamy quality of the afternoon was enhanced by my sensory deprivation, but no less than by the warm, dominant feline-like man who took care of me so well. It is to him i purr and dedicate this piece, knowing that it is only the first of many.
 
One more thing — in answer to your* question, YES to everything, and more, more, more. 🙂

Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
  — William Blake

 *Yeah, I see you shiver. And yeah, I know who you are. Angel. Rawrr.

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Wow. Fleshbotted again by the amazing Madeline. 🙂

She wasn’t a BBW, like myself, or like the first girl i was ever with. She was a hottie MILF: petite, brunette-to-red, sweet-smelling and clean-shaven.

How I like my women, in other words. Although size and shape are never a factor; they’re merely cosmetic. What bothers me is how sweet does she smell, how soft does she feel, and how well does she lick.

It’s zee truth.

The first time — the event was, in and of itself, an eye-opener. It was the advent of kissing and fondling and beautiful big woman, somewhat bigger and softer than I, that helped me realise why the idea of BBW was so attractive and desirable to so many men.

Having been steeped in societal norms for so long, I had become brainwashed into thinking of fat as a less than desirable asset. This despite my constant lauding of myself as a BBW, and all that went with it. (I’m very bad with the denial and the self-hatred — it’s something i work on constantly.) One touch of her downy breast, and the velvet skin on the inside of her thighs and I was hooked.

It’s like seeing something in three-dimensional view when previously all you could see was a flat representation, an image with no substance.  Big is definitely beautiful.

But this girl was not big. Not at all. Slim, proportional, muscley and wiry, but with a softness to her that was dream-like. And she was also beautiful. I refer less to her appearance, although she was, as i have mentioned, a very attractive woman. Her eyes were beautiful when she watched me kiss her husband — because of the joy it brought us both. As mine may have been when i watched them embrace and kiss passionately — immediately prior to the two of them separating, plankton-like, to attend to the opposite ends of me — one for the top, the other for the bottom. Literally. 🙂

She’d positioned herself straddled across my face, and i remember feeling how i first felt (at the tender age of 19) when confronted with a large, smooth, pink cockhead. A mental shrug and the thought of “well, it’s now or never!” accompanied my first blow-job… and so it did the first time i kissed a woman’s cunt.

People often chunter on about how natural it would be for a woman to muff-dive another woman — I disagree. If it were simply a question of licking, we’d never bother getting out of bed. No, there’s a technique involved. It’s not just how you lick, it’s where and when and how often. Speed is a factor. Pressure is another. Does one nip or gently bite, do we suck hard or merely swirl our tongue… and if so, exactly where?

It’s a science, if not an artform.

Plus every cunt is different, and every clitoris a slightly different shape, with many varieties of orgasmic possibility. My (now sadly ex-) Dom once commented on how my clitoris was “an unusual anatomical concept in that it knew exactly what it wanted” and was more given to sensitivity at the top than all over.

Well sue me. I have a fussy clit.

And I made her come. Having had the substantive content of the two previous paragraphs running through my head as i tasted her and tested her reflexes and levels of arousal, i somehow got into my stride. I found her natural rhythm and went for it, hell for leather.

For the first time i felt that all too familiar jagged shaking and shuddering, accompanied by an outpouring of sweet juices, the likes of which i had only ever tasted off my own fingers or a man’s cock before. I felt her hands grasp at me — my hair, my skin, any part they could reach as she peaked and sat atop her own personal apex for however long it was (it couldn’t be too long for me, i loved that i’d made another human being so happy). And then i felt her relax and slowly slide back down until her face was level with mine, and she kissed me again.

We embraced, and i stroked her soft smooth skin, and she took my nipples and pushed them together, teasing them with her tongue — even as she came down and i felt her breath return to normal. Her husband had this enormous smile plastered across his face, and he sighed.

“I loved watching that. Two wonderful women, there’s nothing more beautiful. All woman.”

Too fucking right, mate.

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