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A second chance at that old life.

Each assuming roles, that to them expressed some heightened thing. Something bigger them themselves.

The clock chimed out those seconds, and as her eyes closed she could smell Him, feel His hands upon her. Anticipation itself making that little slit dampen, making those velvet petals, so dusky grow dewy with want. Shifted hips, that grinding a light thing to her own calves, as she would draw in breath. Strange how erotic it was, to kneel and wait. Every breath consuming His scent, forcing those sweeter memories of every other Time. Reminding her how He tasted on her lips, how his cock bruised that delicate mouth of hers. How His hand cracked against the line of her ass, as He gripped her hair, and commanded her to cum.

Ten more minutes, her eyes opened, already those little gasps, as her body trembled, that faint thing the way her hands clenched to the edge of the shirt, pulled it down, the motion of it making those hard buds press against the cotton, so dark those blooms were on those heavy globes of pillowy flesh, every breath making them rise and fall, dance. A curve of lips upwards, tongue ran out, picturing His lips there, knowing soon He would come and she could crawl to Him, beg for His fingers, for His taste, beg for what she needed. Wanted. Craved. Surprised to hear a sound, more surprised to realize it was her own whimper.

Eyes found themselves closed again, and she would lower her head. Trying not to think about that ache inside her, that molten steamed core, that burned at the thought of His voice. Not to think about how her throat tensed wanting His load, needing to feel His jism running down her throat, like liquid pleasure, like praise that needed no words, for her attentions done correctly. Teeth raked over those lips, light things those pants, for air, as if He were already there, stroking before her face. For an instant, if she thought hard enough, she could feel it, the thick plumed head of His cock rolled over her cheek. For an instant, if she closed those eyes, and held that whorish breath in, she could hear Him, asking her "Does Master's little whore need something?" as He rolled the thick throbbing meat over the side of her silken cheek, and made her beg for it in words.

Heart raced within that chest of hers, those breasts dancing as she would try to hold that position. Eyes, almost nervous now would look to the clock. Five minutes. A deep breath taken in and held, the shifting of her hips, gods she could feel it, that slick heat running over bare mons, drizzling down thighs, so fucking wet. Clenching gash, tucked away there, already smoldering for it. For Him. Swallow, remember to swallow, throat aching needing His flesh inside, needing His touch, His kiss, His words in her ear. Be a good girl, be a good girl. Her own thoughts lashing out at her. Funny thing that, the way the mere thought sent her into this frenzy, the more she tried not to think about it, the more apparent it became.

Whatever you do, don't think about him bending you over His knee. Don't think about the way His hands move between your thighs, and spread your pussy, the way He commands you to watch His finger pushing in and out of you. Whatever you do, don't think about the sensation of His hand on your ass, cracking those earth shattering slaps to it, making your hips ram forwards, as the vibrator inside your dripping pussy slurps in contrast to that stinging fire on your backside. Whatever you do, don't think about how He might decide tonight is time for restraint, how He will show you the very lines and limits of your control, and show you in every lesson why He is Master, and you are girl. Don't. Think. About. Those. Things. It will only torment you more. So of course, those were the exact thoughts she had.

Almost time, her breath taken in, heart wrenching now, to stay still, to not move, to remain there, upon knees, all dripping and wanton.

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