It was Kev’s birthday party at Miss Ts. I was wearing my new polka dot dress with pockets and telling everyone it had pockets because that is a given. I was doing my hosting duties and when I wasn’t I was sitting between Kronopticon and Palantilin. I tell you, there’s something quite decadent about flopping down on a sofa between two hot guys, both happy for you to snuggle close and touch them. The two meanies hadn’t met before, but they seemed to bond quite happily over their mutual desire to hurt me.
I was glad to be of service.
This intensely hot story about a bridesmaid degrading herself is written by Kate, and originally appeared on her website. It is read here by Girl on the Net, and it contains themes of degradation.
“He’ll never love you,” she said weakly to her reflection – a vision with puffy red eyes and crumbs of mascara peppered around them like funereal glitter. Her flushed chest matched the crimson hue of her eyelids. The bridesmaid’s dress, which had once held her like a lover and accentuated the curve of the arse that the groom had fucked the night before his engagement party, now hung a little less naughtily, gaping where her hunched shoulders diminished the volume of her breasts, threatening to be exposed by the dress, that was now sizes too big.
She took her time positioning me just right in the little hollow. With springtime making an earlier than usual appearance, we’d had some balmy weather recently, and celebrated it like we usually did by spending some time up in the mountains.
This delightful BDSM story about public play in a fet club is written and read by Quenby, and the original version first appeared on their website.
As we walk into the club I feel a dozen eyes follow us as across the room. It must be said, we make quite a striking pair. My bulky frame is wrapped in a lacy black thong and matching chemise, thick black eyeliner and lipstick decorate my face. And a simple collar marks me as my boyfriends fuck toy for the evening.
The cocktails are good. Glancing across the table at her is better. She’s wearing a tailored shirt in pine needle green and her hair is loose around her face and whenever, like now, she’s trying to remember a detail of an anecdote her mouth puckers up a little to one side, like a thread’s tugging up her cheek.