Hellish fucking shit don’t we all love a slut.
I have one, but it’s conceptual. She loves to “pretend” she’s a slut while I talk dirty to her about fucking herself in an alley with a dirty beer bottle. She’s grotesque, but she was mine for years. I even trained her (consensually of course) to be the most incredible prostitue out there.
We would walk down the hooker street letting her know that if she stepped out of place she might as well become familiar to the strip. If she didn’t clean up her act she should get used to the strip. If she didn’t listen to what I was fucking saying the filthy bitch would end up on the strip, and her Pimp Mateo would get her fucked (for filthy fucking cash) daily.
She is now hooked on heroin (the synthetic kind.)
At one point, a then beautiful girl actually had the nerve to say to me “you haven’t lived until you’ve BEEN a slut.” I responded, “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never had that problem, and have never been in that situation.”
Cheep or even free sex, perhaps the best blow job you’ve ever paid for, the filth oozing from their herpies ridden vagina’s, but you aren’t thinking at all.
You are too busy thinking about the sex your wife refuses to give you, and your “Mistress” (in the truest form) who seems more adept at what she’s doing than you can tell. “Maybe she’s playing mind games,” you think.
This is ludicrous, if she is the other woman how could she in any way like that mad method, or encourage herself to indulge? It seems she does.
Your professional mind rolls the idea around the cheesy bullshit “power, and control” wheel.
Trust me, I have every respect for safety, as I’ve said.
Unfortunately, however, you act incredibly belligerent knowing you are my filth, and that was your own masochistic choice.
My “wife” not the main one, but one of them, is now completely ready to be sent into workspace. The unfortunate part is that I obviously can… not… find.. her.
“How much money does she owe me now?” I think, and “how much money does she make?”
Yes, it’s inside me, no one can deny the understanding of filth itself. It’s huge, ugly, and destitute. Her prostitution, however, was with consent.
It’s interesting when individuals reach out, and touch the filth level of my internal video game. It’s sad, and repulsive.
Unfortunately, not only does it make sense, but it makes dissolves illusion.
Sadly one gets wretched, and hurl over just the fact that sluts are “filthy.”
Filthy little whores who sell themselves.
At least…
…eventually.
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