I Want The Crop
I need the crop. The rough leather edge scratches my trembling breast, white flight trails incipient on my skin. “Harder,” my eyes implore, lips quivering. My hair snaps back, your mouth on my neck, a burgeoning teeth tattoo. Tears well, I compel, “Thank you, to feel you agai-,” SLAP! My clit twitches, a sharp inhale, uneven exhale. A rapid prodding under my chin rollicks me up on my toes. Your grin grows, my heart swells...