Getting Off

In her eyes, forever, there was a Midwest kindness. But New York City had let her down and most of the time she was sad under those thick black bangs.

It wasn’t exactly shame that shown in her face when she climbed the stairs to my apartment, but burden. Her kinks were a hassle and she wished she could come some other way, but she was stuck with her desires.

It concerned me, to a point, but there came a time when I had to trust in her ability to make up her own mind.

And after a few drinks her frown melted and the easy smile she fought against came out.

She was a good kid. Tall and strong, corn fed with a big ass. Tattooed arms and a too tight tee shirt.

Walking around my place naked when I had the curtains open made her nervous. She liked that.

What she hated, were the pigtails.

But in the end serving is what got her off. Embarrassment too. The way I made her ask for it. The way I spanked her until she was panting and begging. The way I laughed at how wet she got.

When she was getting fucked hard was the only time she stopped overthinking the world. I could see it in her eyes, a blank animal state, pure want and stupid lust.

Sometimes I felt guilty because I knew my belt was her drug of choice.

Usually I didn’t care.

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