You slide 2 fingers into my cunt and smile with how easy it is. "Such a good whore. Getting so wet while you blow me. Your cunt just begging to be fucked. So eager to be used." You feel me whimpering and moaning around your cock. Trying not to squirm too much every time your thumb passes over my clit. "Maybe I should turn you around and fuck you right here. You can watch all your friends walk into the bar while I'm stuffing your cunt full of my cock."I smile as much as one can with a cock running along their tongue. I start to twist around, more than ready to get your throbbing cock into another hole. That's when I feel the stinging slap on my inner thigh. Again and again. You grab my hair and kiss me roughly. "Did I tell you that you could stop sucking, you stupid, greedy slut?" I try to shake my head but you've got an iron grip on my hair. Apologize and show me how sorry you are" you snarl. And I'm trying to, but suddenly you're biting on my shoulder. And all I can do is tremble. She makes me dance, my middle held tightly, her forehead pressed against my own. There is no music, only hers, only the rhythm of her breath against my skin, our hearts seemingly beating in time. And there it is… waiting for me, beckoning me to approach the door. Her studio. Her freedom. My own breathing is now labored, a wheezing sound escaping my throat, a thick mucus, bubbling from underneath. I can feel my urge to cough, my chest burning, pulling taut. I whimper, a pitiful empty sound. Someone please, don’t make me go in, don’t make me see her. My hands touch the door, tracing the molded indentations. So lovely, her own design, her own creation. She… seated next to the door, our new home, our new place to make our own. Paint of all colors, in her hair, on her cheeks, in her fingernails. She is so dedicated, so concentrated, her brows somewhat furrowed, but remaining inviting. Her studio light, pointed towards her canvas, the door. Her array of materials scattered among her,.
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