All characters are fictional And made up in my own head.
You just love that feeling when he pulls you're hair and calls you a whore.
His cold fingers grip hot skin, the breath against your neck.
It's just like a dream but the sharp pain that numbs after a while keeps you from drowning in desires.
You're a bad girl he croons as his hand strike up, grazing the plump flesh; the rose colour appears so sudden.
Just squeezing those eyes tightly as the breeze of the lifted anticipated hands rises to smack that dirty little ass again.
You bite your lip so hard that it is sure mark, and the copper taste touches the tip of your tongue.
In you're mind you say a stop but lustful pleasure requires more.
Wrapping the raven locks in his fist, his lips burn the crook of your neck, nibbles become agonizing bites and you hold back a moan, don't let him hear you , not yet just a little more.
You're cold and ridged he will not see you squirm or whither under his touch, not yet net you say in that filthy mind.
A deep breath fills your lungs as you feel his warmth fade away and move slowly around.
A chill sets in, he had pulled the little tartan skirt over the hips, exposing, and sore from abuse,
Red buttocks exposed as you grip the desk, manicured nails denting, breaking as they scrape the oak.
He walks away and lights a cigarette, you stay, obediently as his eyes watch and hungrily undress, exploring a bent over body.
Paperwork scattered and a half filled cup of cold coffee sits as you stare at it, you are waiting, feeling like a piece of meat. Sensing his dark eyes burn a hole though those light clothes to the black lace bodice that hold up the silk stockings.
But you wait, cold look on your face staring at the brown stained cup.
