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Karina white fucked in your wedding dress
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I had been with this man before, and always walked away tantalized and mystified at the same time.

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What was it that kept me coming back for more, longing for the next time I am invited over? I crave the sound of his voice, the deep penetrating gaze from his dark delicious eyes, and most of all, his firm, yet loving touch. He does not dominate me in a traditional sense. yet again he does. He is very quiet and doesn't say much. He issues soft, simple commands and uses body language and looks to communicate other things. When I am with him, I feel like a big chunk of me is torn off and left with my dom every time I see him.

It is up to me to regenerate myself, to regain my strength and be strong so that I perv old mister fucking his next door young girl endure the whole process over again if he desires that it be so, endure it and celebrate the rapture of surrender, both physical and mental. I was trying to find a word for this thing yesterday.

Liason? It feels like more than an "affair". It is melting into the very core of me. I will always remember this. "Treasure" is the perfect word. He tells me about his childhood fantasies of capturing and tantalizing women, and about how he was titillated but disturbed by them at the same time.

Here I am offering him an outlet for some of the things he thinks about. I asked him if he had to be serious and studious all the time or if there was something that he got to do that was fun and wild.

He laughed and said, "This is pretty fun and wild!" and he was right. He called me last week, and suggested we get together on Friday night. I spent the week in the most delicious state. I went shopping on Sunday and bought a new shirt, gauzy material of cobalt blue with silver threads running vertically through it, that buttons all the way up the front.

And I bought a cobalt blue lacy bra that fastens in the front. He loves to unbutton and unfasten, very slowly. I had to make sure everything would be just right for my loving master.

He liked my new clothes. And he opened up that front bra clasp with one fluid motion - those are tricky! He was tired, he had just gotten in when I arrived at 9pm.

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But he rallyed and revived and we had a slow smooth time together. We made some small talk for a while, and I felt my self coming under his spell.

wanting to please him in so many different ways. He is an admirer of womanhood. He studies my body as if there was something that he could learn from it. He is a professional student, after all. He tilts his head to one side with this little grin when he's touching and exploring.

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The palms of his hands are large, with short fingers, yet they are the eloquent, expressive hands of an artist. He always knows just how much I need and where to touch me the most.

He likes to play with my pussy with his fingers, applying just enough pressure and movement to drive me wild. He has just the right amount of endurance.

Enough so that you get enough without thinking, "I wish he'd stop, already!!!" I had sent him a photocopy of a chapter from one of Anne Rice's Beauty Trilogy books.

He told me that he had liked the part where she is on her knees and her master is whipping her with his belt. I told him that he could do that to me if he liked.

He got up off the big black couch and went over to his pants and removed the belt off them. I was already on big tits british chick pov knees, as I was kneeling on the floor in front of him as we were talking.

I didn't look at him but I could hear the belt swish through the fabric of the beltloops on the pants and I could hear the buckle jingling. He was very slow and thoughtful about it.

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He had his head tilted to one side as he struck me quick and light with the leather end of his belt. "I've never done this before," he said in his slow, quiet, dreamy voice. "I need practice." I told him that he was welcome to practice on me if it pleased him to do so.

He would stop and gently take the very end of the belt and slowly run it up and down my slit, pushing it just a little bit into me. I was enjoying the thought of him wearing his belt with some of my juices soaked into it.

He would ask me "Where am I hitting you?" and I would touch the place with my hand. He was working on his aim. There was no visciousness in it at all, he was just stroking me with quick strikes of the belt. I told him that the feeling was a pleasant, hot, stingy feeling that lingered for about 5 strokes later.

He said he was afraid to hurt me. I told him that I liked the sensation and that I would tell him if and when he hurt me too much but that he shouldn't worry about it. He stood right next to me on my left side as I knelt on the floor. I felt his leg against my side, I could lean on it and feel the strength there.

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I loved having that physical contact with him as he stroked/slapped me with the belt. The warm touch of his leg against my skin was an extra reminder of hispresence.I brought my lips to his foot and kissed him there, kissed his toes and the top of his foot. I meant it as a gesture of thanks for the strikes that he gave me, a gesture of reverence toward him, of submission to him.

The strikes stopped. I felt him come up behind me. He pushed the belt between my legs and brought it up over my cunt. He spread the lips of my pussy to accomodate the width of the leather and brought the ends of the belt together in his hand.

He pulled up on the belt, and the loop of leather between my legstightened and put exquisite pressure on my clitoris. Words for what was happening swirled around in my head- "Rein, it's like a rein. Reign of Terror/rein of terror. no, no terror. rein of pleasure, yes, yes, a Rein of Pleasure.

He tugged on the belt, first softly, then harder. I put my hands together underneath the bottom edge of the couch, pretending the weight of it was holding them there. I pushed my buttocks back toward him, wishing for him to continue use me as he saw fit, loving every touch of his hand, fingers, belt.

He let go of the belt and sat down on the couch. Wild busty lady got a nice fuck cock was hard and I knew that he wanted more from me. His look told me that I was to approach him and take his penis into my mouth.

I crawled over kneel on the floor in front of him, and I closed my eyes as I brought my lips to the moistened head of it. It seemed to excite him.

A quiet, pensive excitement with a beautiful physical manifestation which I was able to enjoy also. Mostly he stroked and probed me in his slow, soft, steady way. After I have been with him, my whole body is aching for a couple of days. We stretch and bend and contort and grasp and thrust and thrust back and we both get shaky and exhausted. I have rug burns on my knees, he has a scratchy carpet in front of the couch in his library.

He usually takes me in his library. I love that. I know that he treasures his books. I think that he treasures his lovers also.

Every time that I am with him it is like a sparkly jewel. He is like an extra patch of crocuses, extra rays of sunshine, extra warm breezes, extra sap flowing in my springtime. He then led me to the darkened library room. There were white candles burning all over the room. He removed all my clothes and instructed me to lie on the floor on my back. He then tied my wrists together with soft white rope and tethered me to the leg of the black couch with my arms over my head.

He pulled me down gently by my hips so that I was all stretched out. He quietly picked up a black felt pen and started to write on the soft skin on the underside of my arms.

I watched his face while he wrote line after line of Chinese characters on me. Sometimes he would pause and look at my face, or bend to kiss me with one of his deep, long kisses.

My arms looked like pages in a Chinese dictionary, covered with intricate characters. When he had finished he stood back to admire what you had done. Then he took me, first stroking me all over with broad long strokes of his hands. He looked into my eyes as he made me come with his fingers. I was crying because it was so intense.

He told me in that soft voice to turn over and get on my knees, and I did, still with my wrists tied. He came into me from behind and stretched me exquisitely until his pleasure was completed, and then untied me and held me closely as we lay in the candlelight, kissing. He leaned over and traced an ancient symbol on my mons with his fingers.

quietly suggesting that a tattoo would be in order . never quite explaining what the symbol was, but letting me know that it was very special, a sign of my submission to him. I could still feel the outlines of the symbol days later.