‘What are you then?’ Yours, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t talk. Every time she tried to talk, he fucked her harder, making her moan ins...ead, making her slip deeper and deeper into that floaty surrender. ‘What are you?’ He asked. ‘Yours.’ She tried to mumble. ‘That’s right, you’re mine.’ He said. ‘My what?’ Sex toy. She knew she was his sex toy, that’s what he wanted her to say, but she just couldn’t. Her feelings were too overwhelming, too intense, the pain and pleasure,. She also wore these uniform short sleeve button-down blouses, all prim and proper, right? Not quite. She kept them unbuttoned well into the realm of Cleavage Country, USA. Which, might I add, was ample thanks to her nicely shaped breasts and those miraculous bras. They kept her tits set up like dirty-filthy royalty. And what's more, the bras were always a contrasting color to the shirt. One afternoon when Shirsten and I were sitting out front of the ice cream shop, my mom drove by and honked. I. More

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