It wasn’t until her hand slipped into my panties that I knew there was anything wrong. Do you
It wasn’t until her hand slipped into my panties that I knew there was anything wrong. Do you believe that? Perhaps not, I wouldn’t blame you.I was eighteen, naive, prone to flights of fancy and an abundance of trust. In the depths of my innocence I fell for their soft words and whispered compliments like a rube, nodding along to their pretty talk and promises of discretion.Was I complicit in my own downfall? Not consciously. When two older women tell you there’s nothing to be ashamed of in nakedness, that you have a beautiful body, that you’re just going to pretend you’re a model and pose for photos, it seems like a game among friends. When two older women that you trust say these things, two older women that your mom trusts, you play along. Because every step seems natural, each sordid progression is but a short hop from the last.But when she slips her hand between your legs, breaching the defensive line of your pretty lace panties with a sigh, you suddenly realize. When she pushes her fingers into that uncharted region that once seemed so forbidden, you know that your fate is sealed. When she whispers into your ear, telling you in exquisite and deliberate detail just what she and her friend are going to do to you, the myriad ways that they’ll use your body, every sordid perversion and lingering humiliation… When she speaks these words you feel something different, something new, something that excites you though you don’t yet know why.And when she asks you, with calm precision, if you’ll be a good girl for your new mommies, all you can do then is nod. -- source link