Desultory and Impulsive
- Thread starter y=mx+b
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Wife of Bath
Personals Mod. Again
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She kept asking me if the stories were true. I kept asking her if it mattered. We finally gave up. She was looking for a place to stand and I wanted a place to fly. ~Brian Andreas, Mostly True: Collected Stories and Drawings, 1993
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y=mx+b
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I want out
Out of my head
Out of my emotions
I want to go far away
Away from fear of failure and success
And witnessing that of others
And seeing this that I am
I want out
I want to be done
I want to be over
I want to have gone on
And be gone for good
To a place
Where no one can bring me upon themselves
Intentionally or otherwise
Where I can be alone
Unknown
And confident
Of never having been.
Out of my head
Out of my emotions
I want to go far away
Away from fear of failure and success
And witnessing that of others
And seeing this that I am
I want out
I want to be done
I want to be over
I want to have gone on
And be gone for good
To a place
Where no one can bring me upon themselves
Intentionally or otherwise
Where I can be alone
Unknown
And confident
Of never having been.
y=mx+b
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While sawing firewood I got to thinking...
how little I know about much of everything.
It's pretty much the reason I stick to my thread.
For a good while I used to frequent the general board.
That was back before the tumultuous 3-way split. Don't ask me to elaborate. I was among those left behind-for the most part.
I mean, I did seek out and join the other groups but never felt fully accepted. I'm not entirely sure why. I mean... I had fun on the GB back then. But with the split all of the sudden I'm back in middle school not sure who my friends were or why I all of the sudden i have to prove myself to them again. Afterward the GB totally turned to fucking shit and has yet to recover.
So here I am.
I'm not sure what my fucking point was. I had one but totally forgot. I'm going back to sawing firewood now.
how little I know about much of everything.
It's pretty much the reason I stick to my thread.
For a good while I used to frequent the general board.
That was back before the tumultuous 3-way split. Don't ask me to elaborate. I was among those left behind-for the most part.
I mean, I did seek out and join the other groups but never felt fully accepted. I'm not entirely sure why. I mean... I had fun on the GB back then. But with the split all of the sudden I'm back in middle school not sure who my friends were or why I all of the sudden i have to prove myself to them again. Afterward the GB totally turned to fucking shit and has yet to recover.
So here I am.
I'm not sure what my fucking point was. I had one but totally forgot. I'm going back to sawing firewood now.
L
LizzieEr
Guest
Yet stupid little connections keep us from doing what we need to.
Step back and disappear.
y=mx+b
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y=mx+b
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One could not stand and watch very long without being philosophical
Without beginning to deal in symbols and similes
And to hear the hog-squeal of the universe....
Each of them had an individuality of her own
A will of her own
A hope and a heart's desire
Each was full of self-confidence
Of self-importance
And a sense of dignity
And trusting and strong in faith she had gone about her business
The while a black shadow hung over her
And a horrid Fate in her pathway
Now suddenly it had swooped upon her
And had seized her by the leg
Relentless
Remorseless
All her protests
Her screams were nothing to it.
It did its cruel will with her
As if her wishes
Her feelings
Had simply no existence at all
It cut her throat
And watched her gasp out
The last of her life.
The Jungle by Upton Sinclair (slightly revised)
Without beginning to deal in symbols and similes
And to hear the hog-squeal of the universe....
Each of them had an individuality of her own
A will of her own
A hope and a heart's desire
Each was full of self-confidence
Of self-importance
And a sense of dignity
And trusting and strong in faith she had gone about her business
The while a black shadow hung over her
And a horrid Fate in her pathway
Now suddenly it had swooped upon her
And had seized her by the leg
Relentless
Remorseless
All her protests
Her screams were nothing to it.
It did its cruel will with her
As if her wishes
Her feelings
Had simply no existence at all
It cut her throat
And watched her gasp out
The last of her life.
The Jungle by Upton Sinclair (slightly revised)
y=mx+b
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I pulled into the driveway this afternoon....
to find a high school classmate and her family parked to the side.
They were out to cut their own Christmas tree. It's kind of an informal deal of sorts. Donate to a local charity--come cut your own tree!
I hadn't seen her since high school and even then we only crossed paths and exchanged words just a few times. Always in class, never socially per say.
This wouldn't be so surprising if we grew up in a metropolitan suburb. But we didn't. We grew up in a rural town of less than 2000 people.
It was kinda fun talking to her tonight. Even though it wasn't so much a conversation. Pretty much us saying hello and me informing her that the ground may be a bit soft because the area is one of the low spots in the field so it's kinda mucky.
What made it so fun was that we made eye contact
And there's just something different about making eye contact with your peers as a young adult and making eye contact with them as an actual adult.
At least for an individual like me.
And yes this is another down-and-out poor-me post
As I've made clear before and will continue to do so through out the rest of my bullshit life--I grew up deficient pretty much in everything but looks. And you know I couldn't own that because then I would be a narcissistic... what was that term slung around so much by those that set the adolecent social norm?...
Hold on. I gotta think.
Ah yes... faggot
Anyway...
She was nice. Nothing but nice. The kind of nice that grows up to be a kindergarten teacher. Which is exactly what she did.
The thing was... she was smart. And intelligence is intimidating. And though not always it goes hand in hand with financial security. Either case begets opportunity--a formidable emotionally psychological oppressor of it's own kind.
And so... yeah... financially and academically sound kids on this side of the hall/room, all you other's... whatever... cut yourselves, take up smoking, write inane bullshit in your notebooks until Internet forums come about to hopefully provide you with some sort of sense of accomplishment... because we got nothing for you poor stupid fucks here.
And think about it for a fucking second...
Second is up motherfuckers.
What made it so fun about making eye contact with her? Human equilibrium.
I saw her.
She saw me.
to find a high school classmate and her family parked to the side.
They were out to cut their own Christmas tree. It's kind of an informal deal of sorts. Donate to a local charity--come cut your own tree!
I hadn't seen her since high school and even then we only crossed paths and exchanged words just a few times. Always in class, never socially per say.
This wouldn't be so surprising if we grew up in a metropolitan suburb. But we didn't. We grew up in a rural town of less than 2000 people.
It was kinda fun talking to her tonight. Even though it wasn't so much a conversation. Pretty much us saying hello and me informing her that the ground may be a bit soft because the area is one of the low spots in the field so it's kinda mucky.
What made it so fun was that we made eye contact
And there's just something different about making eye contact with your peers as a young adult and making eye contact with them as an actual adult.
At least for an individual like me.
And yes this is another down-and-out poor-me post
As I've made clear before and will continue to do so through out the rest of my bullshit life--I grew up deficient pretty much in everything but looks. And you know I couldn't own that because then I would be a narcissistic... what was that term slung around so much by those that set the adolecent social norm?...
Hold on. I gotta think.
Ah yes... faggot
Anyway...
She was nice. Nothing but nice. The kind of nice that grows up to be a kindergarten teacher. Which is exactly what she did.
The thing was... she was smart. And intelligence is intimidating. And though not always it goes hand in hand with financial security. Either case begets opportunity--a formidable emotionally psychological oppressor of it's own kind.
And so... yeah... financially and academically sound kids on this side of the hall/room, all you other's... whatever... cut yourselves, take up smoking, write inane bullshit in your notebooks until Internet forums come about to hopefully provide you with some sort of sense of accomplishment... because we got nothing for you poor stupid fucks here.
And think about it for a fucking second...
Second is up motherfuckers.
What made it so fun about making eye contact with her? Human equilibrium.
I saw her.
She saw me.
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Two things:
You are correct about the GB.
You scare me. I don't know why because I don't scare easily. I think that's the true appeal of reading this thread. I don't mind the fear. It causes me to pause and look inward.
You are correct about the GB.
You scare me. I don't know why because I don't scare easily. I think that's the true appeal of reading this thread. I don't mind the fear. It causes me to pause and look inward.
Always enough to make the mind wander.
y=mx+b
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y=mx+b
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.
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Tis not a bad thing to be afeared.
Your words and images trigger something...not sure what that thing is.
y=mx+b
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File under fiction
Kneeling just off the side of his bed she placed the hairbrush a hands width neatly parallel with the front of her knees. She kept adjusting it. Try as she might she just wasn't able to square it just right with her knees and it vexed her because she wanted everything just perfect for when he woke up.
She spent the last hour brushing her hair. She wanted that to be perfect for him as well and brushed it smooth to one side. She wanted it to look as though it were water flowing over the front of her shoulder. And it did.
She fought hard not to touch it. Not to pull on it like she would when she was younger. It was difficult. She needed to be comforted and it was the only thing she had available to her.
She had been working on him for the longest time. Perhaps even longer than she was aware of. She had always liked him, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary or inappropriate. Sure there were a couple times her father would talk to her about boundaries and a few times her mother questioned if he had "touched" her in anyway that made her feel uncomfortable. To which he never ever did.
She wanted to run her fingers through her hair so badly.
The brush wasn't right.
She poked the bottom end of the handle to nudge it
But it was too much
The sunlight from the window caught the bristles in such a way that every strand of hair pulled out from brushing lit up in such an obscene way that she felt disgusted with herself.
She stopped her hands at once from grabbing hold of her hair and took a breath and nudged the head of the brush just enough to square it parallel with her knees again
The brush wasn't important
But he was.
Kneeling just off the side of his bed she placed the hairbrush a hands width neatly parallel with the front of her knees. She kept adjusting it. Try as she might she just wasn't able to square it just right with her knees and it vexed her because she wanted everything just perfect for when he woke up.
She spent the last hour brushing her hair. She wanted that to be perfect for him as well and brushed it smooth to one side. She wanted it to look as though it were water flowing over the front of her shoulder. And it did.
She fought hard not to touch it. Not to pull on it like she would when she was younger. It was difficult. She needed to be comforted and it was the only thing she had available to her.
She had been working on him for the longest time. Perhaps even longer than she was aware of. She had always liked him, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary or inappropriate. Sure there were a couple times her father would talk to her about boundaries and a few times her mother questioned if he had "touched" her in anyway that made her feel uncomfortable. To which he never ever did.
She wanted to run her fingers through her hair so badly.
The brush wasn't right.
She poked the bottom end of the handle to nudge it
But it was too much
The sunlight from the window caught the bristles in such a way that every strand of hair pulled out from brushing lit up in such an obscene way that she felt disgusted with herself.
She stopped her hands at once from grabbing hold of her hair and took a breath and nudged the head of the brush just enough to square it parallel with her knees again
The brush wasn't important
But he was.
y=mx+b
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She was already a year old by the time his son was born. He and his wife moved next door the year she was born.
Already ten, her oldest sister had been looking forward to having a younger sister; but the novelty wore off by the time his son was born. She was beside her self to finally have "the brother she always wanted". Even if he really wasn't her brother. A little brother next door was good enough.
Things were going good between the neighbors. Being somewhat older and certainly better established as a parent and home owner, he really appreciated all the advice her father offered him.
In hindsight he knew it wouldn't work between he and his wife. News of their expected son didn't really trigger anything in her whereas he... he remembered having heard some guys talking about the first time they got the news of fathering a child. About how "a switch just flipped..." and all of the sudden they became... "men."
Being young, dumb, and full of cum The thought, "bullshit" he was already man. What more could something he absolutely feared being responsible for bring to the table? And then that something happened.
His son was three when they got divorced. His wife complained how he had changed. How he wasn't fun anymore. How all his attention went to their son *God forbid a father that wants to actually be a parent*. The thing was, he could see it. He was no longer the kind of man she wanted to fuck.
So be it. He was a dad.
She got custody
Two more years and his son would lose all interest in him. He knew what she was doing and he fought like hell to keep her from completely brainwashing his son but he refused to say anything bad about her to counter all the bullshit she was feeding him. Someone had to be the good parent in his son's life. Even if it meant him choosing the shittier one. Perhaps he would come to see her for what she was and him for who he was.
In the end they moved out of state. To live with the other man she was also kinda fucking around the same time she got knocked up.
He framed the paternity paper that proved he was indeed his son's legitimate father.
Things became pretty dark in his life after she moved
His neighbors were again really helpful. Brooke's father had really become the older brother that he needed.
Brooke....
She was six or so when his wife left. And thirteen when her father caught her mother having an online affair with another man. He had his suspicions when he summoned up the courage to tell her how he kinda felt uncomfortable coming home to find Brooke reading on the porch. Mostly waiting for him to arrive.
She seemed rather dismissive of his concerns and rather touchy feely. So much so that he felt more comfortable with Brooke greeting him every evening than the wife of his best friend making subtle sexual gestures.
Already ten, her oldest sister had been looking forward to having a younger sister; but the novelty wore off by the time his son was born. She was beside her self to finally have "the brother she always wanted". Even if he really wasn't her brother. A little brother next door was good enough.
Things were going good between the neighbors. Being somewhat older and certainly better established as a parent and home owner, he really appreciated all the advice her father offered him.
In hindsight he knew it wouldn't work between he and his wife. News of their expected son didn't really trigger anything in her whereas he... he remembered having heard some guys talking about the first time they got the news of fathering a child. About how "a switch just flipped..." and all of the sudden they became... "men."
Being young, dumb, and full of cum The thought, "bullshit" he was already man. What more could something he absolutely feared being responsible for bring to the table? And then that something happened.
His son was three when they got divorced. His wife complained how he had changed. How he wasn't fun anymore. How all his attention went to their son *God forbid a father that wants to actually be a parent*. The thing was, he could see it. He was no longer the kind of man she wanted to fuck.
So be it. He was a dad.
She got custody
Two more years and his son would lose all interest in him. He knew what she was doing and he fought like hell to keep her from completely brainwashing his son but he refused to say anything bad about her to counter all the bullshit she was feeding him. Someone had to be the good parent in his son's life. Even if it meant him choosing the shittier one. Perhaps he would come to see her for what she was and him for who he was.
In the end they moved out of state. To live with the other man she was also kinda fucking around the same time she got knocked up.
He framed the paternity paper that proved he was indeed his son's legitimate father.
Things became pretty dark in his life after she moved
His neighbors were again really helpful. Brooke's father had really become the older brother that he needed.
Brooke....
She was six or so when his wife left. And thirteen when her father caught her mother having an online affair with another man. He had his suspicions when he summoned up the courage to tell her how he kinda felt uncomfortable coming home to find Brooke reading on the porch. Mostly waiting for him to arrive.
She seemed rather dismissive of his concerns and rather touchy feely. So much so that he felt more comfortable with Brooke greeting him every evening than the wife of his best friend making subtle sexual gestures.
y=mx+b
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Although they chose to "stay together" and "work it out", Brooke's parents didn't really do either. Beyond that of appearing as though they had.
Her dad immersed himself into his work. Her mom did what she could not to feel like a total failure and a complete letdown to her family. Her oldest sister had long left the comforts of home to live among the Navajo.
I shit you not.
She has taken up rug weaving and sells them out of a silver and black '88 Ford Aerostar for anywhere from $70-$132. Why $132 and not $130 or $135 is anyone's guess. She always was kinda difficult like that.
He did what he could to return the support to his neighbors but Brooke's dad had become kind of a jerk. Which was kinda understandable. But then her mom was genuinely remorseful. Admittedly hearing of her transgression triggered angry thoughts about his ex-wife which were difficult not to project onto her. But he managed and seeing the grudge holding unforgiving nature of Brooke's dad--he kinda empathize with her mom. Not to excuse her actions, but fuck.
Brooke; her self, continued being Brooke. Although she wasn't his responsibility, her parents really checked out in terms of actual social engagement. And having the experience of being a father ripped out of his life and having essentially been a part of hers for as long as he has...
Her dad immersed himself into his work. Her mom did what she could not to feel like a total failure and a complete letdown to her family. Her oldest sister had long left the comforts of home to live among the Navajo.
I shit you not.
She has taken up rug weaving and sells them out of a silver and black '88 Ford Aerostar for anywhere from $70-$132. Why $132 and not $130 or $135 is anyone's guess. She always was kinda difficult like that.
He did what he could to return the support to his neighbors but Brooke's dad had become kind of a jerk. Which was kinda understandable. But then her mom was genuinely remorseful. Admittedly hearing of her transgression triggered angry thoughts about his ex-wife which were difficult not to project onto her. But he managed and seeing the grudge holding unforgiving nature of Brooke's dad--he kinda empathize with her mom. Not to excuse her actions, but fuck.
Brooke; her self, continued being Brooke. Although she wasn't his responsibility, her parents really checked out in terms of actual social engagement. And having the experience of being a father ripped out of his life and having essentially been a part of hers for as long as he has...
y=mx+b
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She remembered how sad he was after his family left
It was then when she felt her first feelings for something in a more serious manner. She couldn't place it at the time. It wasn't a crush per say. What it was--was the sense of loss and she didn't like it. She didn't like how it made her feel. She didn't like how it reminded her that she was just a child. She didn't like it at all because she didn't feel like a child inside. She felt... more capable. She felt she could do something for him. Be something for him. Although she wasn't under a delusion she would be able to be what his wife once was for him, or his son for that matter.
But she could be something.
Something important to him.
Something meaningful.
That was years ago.
Now she was a woman. And she wanted him to see her as one. She didn't understand why he didn't want to. Not when she wanted him to so goddamn badly.
Caught up in her thoughts
She startled when his alarm went off and found herself fast becoming overwhelmed with emotion and fought back a need to burst into tears and violently masturbate at the same time. It was stupid. She felt how she thought a wife waiting on the tarmac must have felt seeing her husband for the first time after years of deployment.
It was stupid as they were never apart
But yet, it felt right to her because she had never left
Because she always did what she was told
She had come to know his level of comfort before he went to her parents
She respected them and gave him his space
She lived her life
He lived his
But she wasn't a kid anymore
and she wasn't his kid anyway
But she was his to have. And always was.
She startled again at the force behind the hand that came crashing down upon the alarm clock.
She couldn't stand it.
She wanted to bolt up off the ground and rape his face and feel the rough stubble of his chin scrub open her asshole. Everything was happening all at once. The honestly of it all. The feelings, the thoughts. The thoughts behind the thoughts. The memory of the lie behind his eyes when he took hold of her last night and shook her with restrained strength... the crack of his voice as he told her it was over--that she had to stop doing what she was doing, to leave him alone and "just fucking" stay away.
She watched him say those things while she felt the strength of his hands become all the more painful as his grip around her upper arms increased.
She watched him say those things feeling how elegant her insides felt sloshing up against her skeletal frame.
She watched him say those things while feeling how he wished he had said them back when his wife left with his son.
She watched him say those things
While feeling how much he needed something
That would never abandoned him.
It was then when she felt her first feelings for something in a more serious manner. She couldn't place it at the time. It wasn't a crush per say. What it was--was the sense of loss and she didn't like it. She didn't like how it made her feel. She didn't like how it reminded her that she was just a child. She didn't like it at all because she didn't feel like a child inside. She felt... more capable. She felt she could do something for him. Be something for him. Although she wasn't under a delusion she would be able to be what his wife once was for him, or his son for that matter.
But she could be something.
Something important to him.
Something meaningful.
That was years ago.
Now she was a woman. And she wanted him to see her as one. She didn't understand why he didn't want to. Not when she wanted him to so goddamn badly.
Caught up in her thoughts
She startled when his alarm went off and found herself fast becoming overwhelmed with emotion and fought back a need to burst into tears and violently masturbate at the same time. It was stupid. She felt how she thought a wife waiting on the tarmac must have felt seeing her husband for the first time after years of deployment.
It was stupid as they were never apart
But yet, it felt right to her because she had never left
Because she always did what she was told
She had come to know his level of comfort before he went to her parents
She respected them and gave him his space
She lived her life
He lived his
But she wasn't a kid anymore
and she wasn't his kid anyway
But she was his to have. And always was.
She startled again at the force behind the hand that came crashing down upon the alarm clock.
She couldn't stand it.
She wanted to bolt up off the ground and rape his face and feel the rough stubble of his chin scrub open her asshole. Everything was happening all at once. The honestly of it all. The feelings, the thoughts. The thoughts behind the thoughts. The memory of the lie behind his eyes when he took hold of her last night and shook her with restrained strength... the crack of his voice as he told her it was over--that she had to stop doing what she was doing, to leave him alone and "just fucking" stay away.
She watched him say those things while she felt the strength of his hands become all the more painful as his grip around her upper arms increased.
She watched him say those things feeling how elegant her insides felt sloshing up against her skeletal frame.
She watched him say those things while feeling how he wished he had said them back when his wife left with his son.
She watched him say those things
While feeling how much he needed something
That would never abandoned him.
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y=mx+b
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Intermission
While you are being all cool fitting in with the guys discussing stats and stuff--I'll be here at home home, working on my hand strength.
While you are being all cool fitting in with the guys discussing stats and stuff--I'll be here at home home, working on my hand strength.
y=mx+b
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It was all wrong
What was she thinking?
He hated her
She was nothing more than an obsessed little girl
She was ugly and fat and stupid and the brush was full of her gross hair
She hated her hair
she wanted to cut it all off
She wished she had some scissors
She wished she had a knife
She was an idiot
Her dad hated her the day of her first period
Nobody touched her the same
Nobody played with her like they used to ever since then
And it was the first day she had come to hate herself as well
She just wanted to feel pretty
She just wanted to be a little girl again
She just wanted to feel that she was worth protecting again
She just wanted to be perfect for him so that he would
With her hands resting on her knees she cast her eyes down upon the brush
She could still make out his figure as he began to stir
She felt him just catch sight of her and raise up on his elbows
She didn't move
Didn't look up at him as he looked down upon her
Years went by before he gave up on being acknowledged and dropped back down upon the bed in a slight huff of mental exasperation with an aire of acquiescence.
She didn't startle when he flung the covers off the bed and swung his feet over the side and abruptly sat on the edge of the bed directly in front of her.
She was however scared. She knew what was coming and she wanted it. She planned for it and right when he stood to take hold of her again for good--he saw it. Her reflection in the mirror on the closet door behind her. Below the back hem of her shirt. Resting perfectly upon the back heels of bare feet.
The crack of her naked bottom aligned perfectly with how her feet were positioned below it.
She smirked at his slight stumble but lost her breath when she felt her hair wrap around his hand and closed her eyes at what she had been longing to feel for the past hour.
She stepped forward as he pulled her up to her feet by her hair. The purpose of it wasn't lost upon him as he felt the slick hot fuck snot of her crotch coat the side of his own naked thigh until she came to rest on the fabric of his boxer briefs. The quick cooling of her twat tonic upon his thigh insulted his delicate sense of the morning. She was forced to step back away from him as pulled head back by her hair.
He had her bent over so far backwards that the only reason why she didn't fall to the ground was the grip he had on her hair. The sound of individual strands snapping by the force of his grasp caused her to think about the broken strands of hair caught in the bristles of the brush on the floor.
He brought his face close to hers and looked upon her in absolute lust--and disdain because of it.
He pondered her a moment longer and let the memory of the poetic curves of her naked ass burn personal meaning back into his life before forcing himself to let it go.
"I told you to fucking stay away!"
Genuine fear filled her.
The tone of his voice was legitimate.
She knew that if he didn't have her bent over like she was she would have broke down bawling
All that she could do was feel her sinuses begin to fill.
"WHY ARE YOU FUCKING HERE!!!"
She tried to break eyecontact
But she couldn't.
And hide her want behind a lie
But she couldn't.
"for you to hit me."
What was she thinking?
He hated her
She was nothing more than an obsessed little girl
She was ugly and fat and stupid and the brush was full of her gross hair
She hated her hair
she wanted to cut it all off
She wished she had some scissors
She wished she had a knife
She was an idiot
Her dad hated her the day of her first period
Nobody touched her the same
Nobody played with her like they used to ever since then
And it was the first day she had come to hate herself as well
She just wanted to feel pretty
She just wanted to be a little girl again
She just wanted to feel that she was worth protecting again
She just wanted to be perfect for him so that he would
With her hands resting on her knees she cast her eyes down upon the brush
She could still make out his figure as he began to stir
She felt him just catch sight of her and raise up on his elbows
She didn't move
Didn't look up at him as he looked down upon her
Years went by before he gave up on being acknowledged and dropped back down upon the bed in a slight huff of mental exasperation with an aire of acquiescence.
She didn't startle when he flung the covers off the bed and swung his feet over the side and abruptly sat on the edge of the bed directly in front of her.
She was however scared. She knew what was coming and she wanted it. She planned for it and right when he stood to take hold of her again for good--he saw it. Her reflection in the mirror on the closet door behind her. Below the back hem of her shirt. Resting perfectly upon the back heels of bare feet.
The crack of her naked bottom aligned perfectly with how her feet were positioned below it.
She smirked at his slight stumble but lost her breath when she felt her hair wrap around his hand and closed her eyes at what she had been longing to feel for the past hour.
She stepped forward as he pulled her up to her feet by her hair. The purpose of it wasn't lost upon him as he felt the slick hot fuck snot of her crotch coat the side of his own naked thigh until she came to rest on the fabric of his boxer briefs. The quick cooling of her twat tonic upon his thigh insulted his delicate sense of the morning. She was forced to step back away from him as pulled head back by her hair.
He had her bent over so far backwards that the only reason why she didn't fall to the ground was the grip he had on her hair. The sound of individual strands snapping by the force of his grasp caused her to think about the broken strands of hair caught in the bristles of the brush on the floor.
He brought his face close to hers and looked upon her in absolute lust--and disdain because of it.
He pondered her a moment longer and let the memory of the poetic curves of her naked ass burn personal meaning back into his life before forcing himself to let it go.
"I told you to fucking stay away!"
Genuine fear filled her.
The tone of his voice was legitimate.
She knew that if he didn't have her bent over like she was she would have broke down bawling
All that she could do was feel her sinuses begin to fill.
"WHY ARE YOU FUCKING HERE!!!"
She tried to break eyecontact
But she couldn't.
And hide her want behind a lie
But she couldn't.
"for you to hit me."
y=mx+b
___________
- Joined
- Jul 1, 2003
- Posts
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