“That's you, isn't it.”“It is.” Carolyn was an artist. She painted everything. Walls, villages in Afghanistan, our friends. She gave out paint...ngs to friends and as payment for big favors. Most of all, she painted me. She painted me sleeping. She painted me reading. She painted me cleaning my M-16. And this time she had painted me right after fucking. I remembered, I was sitting cross-legged in our living room and she came in with just an artist's smock and a smile, her body still shiny from. It had been an extraordinary sensation to have a wee over the back of a girl’s hair, squirting her hot wet stream over Sandra’s short golden strands. It had been so dirty, yet so thrilling that it had driven her hormones into overdrive and this was why she had become so fascinated with peeing; either pissing in naughty places or over her female lovers, or videos on the Internet. It was also the reason that back in the present, she desperately wanted to see her hired trouble-shooter produce his. “You may answer with one word answers.” “Yes,” she answered tonelessly. This was another command of mine: always answer any direct question with “yes.” You have to be careful with commands like this. Making someone as feisty as Erin answer my leading questions with “yes” was such a glorious tease as I knew the passion rising within her slowly crumbled away her distaste at being commanded, of being compelled to perform for my pleasure. “Show me your hard nipples,” I commanded. Erin took my hands. I'll be right back." As she walked away, she said. "Think about how my pussy tasted."I was addled and before I could think, she was gone. "Son-of-a-bitch! What is going on?" I sat there for several minutes before I could think. Wanting to know what was going on, I began to let my mind wander.Okay, let's see, what just happened?She forced me to do oral. Not the usual slow urging of sensual lovemaking.She commanded that I fuck her and fuck her hard. Not the usual slow tender lovemaking.She didn't.
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