He balls up my knickers, infused with the musk of arousal, and forces them into my mouth, subjugating my voice, my defiance, my will to resist. A singular act with myriad strings which pull and tug until, like a butterfly on a board, my submission is pinned in place.
The lace feels rough against my tongue, jaw aches, mouth dry, but my mind, my mind is blown, all that’s left is me, authenticity exposed.

 

Resized_20160709_165545 1

Sinful Sunday