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Good Girl

With her mistress outside, she’s an obedient subby-mannequin. Motionless, except those pretty obsidian eyes are peeking across the crowded room. Her blush is vivid; she realizes I’m staring.

Being recklessly dissolute, I lick my lips when she peeps again. It’s well known my lipstick is called Forbidden Touch.

Her coal-black eyelashes flutter, then survey the room. The party-goers don’t even glance as I saunter towards her, my pussy drooling with the challenge of taming what isn’t mine.

“Mistress doesn’t want me talking to you,” she murmurs.

“You don’t have to speak.”

She smirks. My index finger traces black letters on the tag hanging from the pink choker she always wears. Licking my lips, I whisper the words they spell, “Good girl.”

Nodding, she fidgets with her engagement ring.

Tracing fingernails up her fishnet thigh highs, she whimpers when my fingertips reach and caress the sensitive skin under her black leather micro skirt. She instinctively spreads her legs, allowing my finger to achingly slowly trace the cotton outline of her slit. Then my finger presses her panties into slick folds.

“Does Mistress know how wet I make her good girl?”

She shakes her head.

“I bet Mistress fears I’ll lead you astray.”

She nods, blushing. And sucks her bottom lip, as I massage the sodden cotton against her engorging clit.

Slurping on my sticky finger, her pussy juice explodes on my taste buds. “You’re delicious. I adore forbidden fruit.”

The flush spreads to her neck.

“Mistress always has two cigarettes, doesn’t she?”

She nods.

“Just enough time. Bathroom, now!”

Opening the bathroom door, I hear her heels tapping across the wooden floor behind me. Locking the door behind us, I watch her tug her t-shirt over her head. She unzips her skirt; it puddles at her feet. Her stained pink panties match her choker. Mistress colour coordinates, who knew?

As she slides her knickers down, they stick to her folds; a tug pops her panties free. The whiff of arousal from the strands of goo hanging from her shaved pussy invades my nose. Giving in to temptation is foreplay enough for her too.

Taking her oozing panties from her, I scrunch them in my hand and stuff them into her mouth. “That’s how I stop a good girl talking.”

Quickly undressing, I fossick my Feeldoe from my handbag and twist the bulbous end into my liquifying pussy. She’s agog, watching me fuck myself. Her nipples are firm bullets; pussy honey trickles down her thighs.

With the doe jutting lewdly from my weeping pussy, I slide the choker up her neck. My teeth scrape across the exposed skin. I bite hard, marking her. She locks her jaw, crushing her panties which stifles a whimper. Pussy juice dribbles from the corner of her mouth and drips onto our tits.

Placing her hands on the washbasin, facing the mirror, I then swat her arse. She arches her back, presenting her glistening pussy to me. Her eyes sparkle when she sees how fiery-red my teeth tattoo is on her porcelain skin. From outside, inconsequential chatter from her mistress’s smoking coven drifts into the bathroom.

Gripping the doe, I slide it between her thighs and rap it against her clit. Repeatedly tapping until her bite liberates more pussy-laced drool. We both watch it ooze across her chin and drip onto her tits. Outside her mistress laughs loudly; inside obsidian eyes are pleading quietly.

Positioning the tip of the doe against her opening, I wrap my fingers in her dark tresses. Outside her mistress says, “Yeah, I’ll have a second cigarette.”

Inside, her fingers reverently trace the bite on her neck. My eyes bore into hers. “We have seven minutes then.”

She nods and expectantly grips the basin with both hands. Tugging her hair, I snap her head back. Thrusting my hips, I just take her. She sucks on her panties as I press her velvet walls asunder, stuffing the doe deep into her weeping pussy.

Her pupils dilate. Pulling on her hair, I fuck her hard. Stretching her squishy pussy with every thrust. My hips repeatedly slap against her peachy arse. The rutting sounds echo off the bathroom walls. A lascivious counterpoint to her mistress’s smoking prattle.

“You need Mistress’s permission to touch your clit?” I ask, relentlessly impaling her squelching folds with my thick girlcock. Using her to shape my orgasm.

She nods, agreeing. But her aroma of needy arousal is now tinged with the erotic miasma of wanton duplicity.

“A good girl should spank her clit for me.”

No hesitation, her fingers slap her clit in time with the doe’s deep thrusts. Her mouth forms a perfect O. Her panties start spilling from her mouth. Her body tenses.

“Cum for me,” I order.

Eyes closing, she throws her head back. And shudders as waves of gushing ecstasy flow through her.

That triggers me. Breakers of exquisite pleasure roll and crash against my clit. My cum-juices ooze down the doe. Pussy spasming, I fuck my essence into the cumming love-hole of Mistress’s not-so-good girl.

We’re startled, overhearing her mistress say, “No more, two’s enough.” Despite our pussies still quivering with aftershocks, we superficially wash while giggling conspiratorially.

Tossing her panties in the trash, we hurriedly dress, conscious of the smokers’ postscript-chatter. As her soft lips touch mine, she runs her tongue across my Forbidden Touch lipstick. “You’re irresistibly delicious, Miss.”

“That’s two of us.”

“Am I a good girl?”

“A very good girl!” Adjusting her chocker, I carefully conceal my bite mark.

“Thanks, Miss. Marked as yours.”

“Our secret?”

“Our secret! You should lead me astray whenever you want.” Blushing, she scurries out the door.

I liberally spray air freshener, then go grab a well-deserved ale from the icebox. She resumes that obedient subby-mannequin look just as Mistress steps into the room.

“Been a good girl?” I overhear her mistress ask.

An ephemeral, disingenuous smirk flickers across her pretty face. “A very good girl, Mistress!”

The surgeon general’s warning about smoking applies to mistresses too.

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Copyright © All right reserved. All stories and poems are written by CuriousAnnie and no portion, in whole of part, can be borrowed linked or reproduced without my expressed written consent.

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