I hadn’t planned on having an orgasm. I was being petulant. It’s MY orgasm and I’ll have one when I want to. Not because he’s telling me to.
Who does he think he is, anyway?
He’d been hitting me, see, with all the stingy things that I HATE and he knows I hate them and I’d told him AGAIN that I hate them and he was hitting me ANYWAY.
So fine. There’s nothing I can do about that because blah blah blah slave blah blah. Hmmph.
Besides, there was literally nothing I could do about it being cuffed by wrists and ankles and neck to the frame. Stacking the deck in his favor, I see.
He kept on hitting me and I kept on trying to twist away from him and was reprimanding him, but my voice was muffled because did I mention I had the leather hood on, too? And he kept saying “What? crack What was that? smack What did you say? whack I can’t hear you.”
He thinks he’s so fucking funny. ~eyeroll~
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