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looking for supportive naughty or nice "I want to be everything for you," she said they were playing one day and by playing, I mean he was beating her ass with a thick bamboo, the kind with sharp raised ridges that leave raised bloody lacerations he kept beating her, and she said again her voice a tortured cracking noise, not unlike a band saw being driven through a block of dense knotty wood "I I I want to be everything! I need it, I need it! Master pleeeeease ." I paused, then, holding the bamboo aloft I mean, he paused, holding the bamboo aloft in his fist, poised above her bleeding bruised helpless ass "You're not ready," he said simply "Pleeeease " "You're not ready to be my everything. Not yet. One day, you'll be enough for me – you'll be everything I need. But not yet." Not yet. What more could she give him? She'd taken his fist in her hungry aching cunt. Taken his up her ass, while he whipped her breasts, her nipples, while he whipped her naked clit. She’d been his toilet, his urinal – hungrily drinking down the hot sour piss, straight from his semi-rigid dick…and eagerly licking up every drop that spilled on his boots, on the floor. She’d debased herself freely while his friends watched and snickered. She wanted to give him more, give him everything – but what more could she give? Her scars the wormy-waxy scar tissue smaller, lighter and crosswise on her forearms deeper, thicker and lengthwise on her biceps on her breasts, too. Scars 15 years old – she didn’t wear bathing suits, she didn’t wear sleeveless shirts – not since high school, or since just after high school … the few men she’d had, she kept the lights off – don’t look at me! she didn’t have a lot of men, she didn’t become intimate – not ever, not really But here HE was, now – tracing her scars, each scar, with his strong fingertips, (his fingers that could fist inside her cunt, and make her come so hard she thought she was having an aneurysm) “Pleeeease!” any fun aa Flat women around
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