#head down
A lazy day in the park, putting my feet up and messaging with friends.
It was a record hot day. So grateful not to have to let my feet touch the ground.
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Kneel for me.
But not as a peasant kneels before a Lord.
Nor as one prostrate before God.
Or indeed the kneel of someone following a cultural custom, going through the motions and being polite.
Don’t kneel as a subject kneels for their gracious leader.
And certainly not as a servant kneels for their master.
No, kneel for me as a woman kneels before a man.
(Thank you L C for the submission.)
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Something slipped into her mind, as he forced her head down into the ground, the rough carpet roughly scratching her cheek. That something was uncertainty. It took her a moment to realise that, by which point his free hand had grabbed her hip and pulled it up towards him.
Her brow furrowed before her eyes trailed upwards, trying to hold him in view. Uncertainty. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t how it went. That was new. He’d done this before, and she’d enjoyed it, and yet, this time, there was a tinge of something else, she wasn’t as sure as before. It wasn’t just uncertainty. It was almost fear.
She squirmed. She writhed. She was confused and turned on, anxious and excited. This was new. This was unique. She wasn’t sure she should be enjoying it, but as his thumb pressed down against her arsehole, she couldn’t help but moan desperately into the gag. It wasn’t uncertainty in him, she realised, but rather an uncertainty about what he might do. Somehow, in the midst of all of this, he’d suddenly become unpredictable.
The throb in her cunt, at that thought, made her entire body pulse.
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Frat bonding.
