crimson-uncovered: The surprise is all an act. I’m staring at you as though I hadn’t see
crimson-uncovered: The surprise is all an act. I’m staring at you as though I hadn’t seen this coming. As though I hadn’t noticed your cock straining through your trousers all night, as though I hadn’t expected you to shove me on to the bed and cuff me the second I slipped out of my dress. My raised brows, then, aren’t making a bewildered statement. No, they’re asking a silent, sassy question. “Oh, really?” I’m not challenging you, not really. I’m waiting for you to answer my silent, “Oh really?” with a resounding “Yes.” I want you to answer the question, etched so clearly into my brows, over and over. All night, answer it with stinging slaps and punishing thrusts. Answer it with bites in sensitive places and bruises on blank skin, hair brutally mussed and makeup horribly smeared. I want your “Yes, slut, really” to be a deafening roar in every ache, a tangible shout in a sore, dripping pussy. I want these brows, raised in false surprise, to be furrowed in pain and crippling pleasure. I want these eyes, wide and challenging, to be overflowing with tears. I want the silence, once filled with silent sass, to be shattered as I beg for mercy. The fake surprise, you see, was a question, too. It was the lady wordlessly begging to be your slut. -- source link