v u l v a l i c i o u s Dancing with Delicious Developments in cuntland: We went dancing last night, and there is nothing like dancing to make me feel like A Sexy Mother Fucker. I was wearing a skirt, long, but a wrap skirt, so I could turn it in to slutsville whenever I wanted. I flirted with That Girl, the one from earlier, and shook my ass like there might have been a tomorrow but I wasn't very interested in it. We talked about the fucking from the previous night. She told me she could still feel it; I told her I think I was bruised. In a good way. She asked if it had been what I'd expected. A silly question, really, but I told her yes. What I wanted to say: You fucked me, and it was good. I came. You came. The things I was saying, I meant every fucking one of them. It was good. Let's go again. She was giving me a look all night, a good look, a look that made me think all was right. That the sex was alright. No, good. That the sex was good. She wants me, I'd say, as much as I want her. Which, while not a great deal, is certainly enough to go at it again. Long Live the Cunt! |