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It seemed like we where checking each other out most of the night. You have some really nice art work on your left arm. If you see this and it was mutual I'd love to get your name and talk some place other then a loud club.
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The next morning she slipped out of bed while he was still dozing and padded quietly to the bathroom. She peed, and washed her hands, splashed some water on her face…and looked at herself in the big mirror behind the sink. Normally she didn’t look at herself too closely in the mirror – body image issues (as the self help books said), and a faint, sublimated revulsion at what she’d let herself become over the years. But now, in the quiet of the morning, she looked at her reflection not with distaste but with…a kind of fascination. Like she was looking at a stranger…or she was looking at herself when she was fifteen or years old – when she made her very first, most tentative, naïve explorations of her sexuality, her own self pleasure… She studied the bruises, the bite marks, the hand prints and stripes, that covered her body front and back – the splotchy circles of black bruising where’d he’d bound and cinched her breasts … She wasn’t seeing a blobby, flabby, out of shape middle aged woman – which was how she usually saw herself. Instead she saw a woman, a girl on the verge of sexual awakening – full of life and potential … and most importantly, a woman not afraid to plunge into the unknown (she’d spent so much – too much – of her life afraid… She found herself thinking about last night – all the things she’d done, all the things he’d done to her – on her knees with her hands cuffed behind her back, choking on his rigid cock while he slapped her face and pulled her hair and ed her those awful names (bitch, whore, cumslut) … awful names, but all true, she couldn’t get enough – gagging on his beautiful gorgeous cock, she’d wanted it, wanted the gagging, the choking, the tears streaming down her face, the messy saliva/pre-come drooling down her, dripping onto her breasts and her aching tortured nipples… girl North Las Vegas Nevada gets fuckedShe enters. She is now in the exact outfit I had imagined her in, knee high boots, thigh high stockings, and a biking top….all black. She instructs my to kiss her feet and worship her boots, and I do. She then buckles leather cuffs to both of my wrists and ankles and I let her without hesitation. She then instructs me to lie on the bed…Lying on my stomach she clicks the leather cuffs into the hog-tie position…. I can her amazing body do this to me in the mirrors. I am now bound hogtied on a bed and in the complete control of a dominatrix. Understanding my novice nature, she goes easy. I am spanked, flogged, and tickled. I struggle to move but I can’t. I am also excited by the struggling . I apologize for the squirming and she is kind about it. She then moves me into the dungeon. I am allowed to walk instead of crawl, and my cuffs unhooked, but kept on. Upon entering the dungeon my heart begins to race again. Shes instructs me to the middle of the room and get on my hands and knees, and I do. She moves a spreader bar down from the ceiling and instructs me to stand. She tells me that I should remove my underwear so she can how red my ass is and modulate accordingly. I agree and comply, I guess my nervousness was gone. My hands are locked to the spreader bar from the ceiling and my feet and also hooked to a spreader bar on the floor. I can everything in the mirrors. The spanking, whipping, flogging, and tickling intensify. She teases me with gentle caresses followed by firmer and firmer hits. I am extremely ticklish and she exploits it. She is fantastic as what she does. She is reading me the entire time, my squirms, noises, and outs, my eyes and body language. I have not used any of the safe-words yet, but there is a ton of communication and eye contact throughout the session which for me is superior to an impersonal, distant, “self-centered” dominatrix. She did not perform a dominatrix session “at me”, but “with me” and it was fantastic. horny wifes
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Free spirit shit is just another abstraction you idiots use to not get a job and contribute to the world. All you do is lay around, smoke and find meaning in meaningless crap like drum circles and the laughable idea of peace. I live in the real world, Commie. I work for a living and pay my bills. I don't like it, but I don't put my head in the sand and cry about "The -" and all other sorts of immature garbage. That's the truth about your type. You offer nothing to the world because your parents coddled you and instilled NOTHING of use in you when it comes to values or ethics. If you lived in any state other than California, you'd be sitting on a corner somewhere warbling songs on a busted old guitar. That's what separates people like me from the refuse that you are. I choose to contribute and make my life as I fit. You sit in the middle of the woods smoking weed and complaining, yet doing nothing to make it better. There's nothing you could say about your idiotic, useless existence that could ever make me otherwise. Respect is not a word that is anywhere near the word hippie for me. So give up on that one. Your sort is no better than dog shit on the bottom of my shoe. to the woman who nearly hit me in the crosswalk sex in ludhiana
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