Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Whips and Stockingtops: Bookworm
Every time she turns the page, or sighs, a pulse goes through my chastity cage.
At last she yawns and stares off to the side, not really seeing me - I'm just a slave, after all.
In a moment, she'll have me unroll her stockings, fold away her dress, and I'll glimpse her white flesh and take that afterimage to my basket on the kitchen floor to toss and turn all night, yearning, wanting.
But before then, there's just a chance she'll use my tongue.
Slowly, her legs uncross, and the pressure builds up in my chastity belt and--