The Present

Between the Sheets

Hello, Everyone. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

I apologize for the long hiatus. I have no specific reason for my absence. I didn’t join a cult or a convent. Nor did I run for president of the PTO. I didn’t jet off to a hedonistic self-help retreat. No, I have been here the entire time, lurking in the shadows…content to lie between the sheets of this bed I’ve made for myself.  Just lying here, reveling in the endless sticky memories of lovers and scenes.

Now it’s time for me to roll over and stretch. It’s time for me to pull back the covers and invite you back into my warm bed of decadence. A place where things get quite tawdry.

I think it’s time for a bedtime story, don’t you?

back in bed-rev

Stay tuned, there is much more to come.




Badass Women


badass chick

I love a Badass.  Badass men.  Badass singers.  Badass actors.  Badass entrepreneurs who handle their business.

But I especially LOVE a Badass woman.  I respect them.  I admire them.  I often have a slight “girl crush” on them.  They play by their own rules and they get shit done. Since there’s not a designated Hallmark holiday celebrating these extraordinary beings, I am claiming today as BADASS Chicks Day. Here are a few in my tribe, fellow bloggers, that I would like to share.

Lennon Carlyle is about as Badass as they come.  I’ve known this Beauty for longer than Jennifer Lawrence has even been on this earth.  Lennon is fiercely independent and unabashedly confident.  She never compromises her standards for anyone.  And she kicks serious ass working in a male-dominated industry.  She can party like it’s the last day on the planet and show up the next day, ALL BUSINESS. Lennon is a fast driver, smooth talker and plain and simple, she has good hair.  Always has (lucky bitch!).  She writes a hysterically REAL blog that you should check out..

There is the Cougar of the group.  She’s a real Badass.  Both a nurse and an attorney, this bitch gets shit done.  She is single by choice and has her pick of the litter any time she wants a boy-toy in her life.  She’s packing heat and can hold her own with anyone.  She is the leader of the #BGM, and you can find a few of her stories on Bad Girls Mafia.  She hasn’t written on there in a while…she’s too busy handling her boy-toys.  But her stories are great and I hope she gets back to posting soon!

There is the Poet Laureate of the Badasses.  She will lure you in with interesting stories and heartfelt poems.  You will think you know what she’s all about…then out of nowhere, this Badass Chick will throw some steamy erotica on the page and you’ll have to look back and make sure you’re reading the right blog.  I’m talking about the lovely, Sandra, from “What Sandra Thinks”  This chick has some serious writing chops.  I love her take on things.  And I love her dirty little tales. You will love her too, check her out at

This next Badass is the music-loving, quick-witted, lovely Lady G.  I just found her blog (compliments of my girl, Lennon Carlyle) and I feel like I’ve known this chick for years!  In one post, she took me on a First-Class, Non-Stop flight down Memory Lane, taking me to a place I’d almost forgotten.  And I am so glad she did, because I did some seriously scandalous shit back then that I need to share with you on here.  Lady G is the cool-as-hell neighbor we all wish we lived next door, because she would always be ready to pour the tea. Check her out at

So go forth and celebrate the Badass women in your life. And if you want to become a Badass yourself, here are a few tips:

Take no shit, but do no harm

Handle your business

Keep your standards (and your heels) high

Don’t pay attention to the trolls talking behind your back, they are BEHIND you for a reason

If you fall on the runway of life, pick yourself up and adjust your crown, you’ve got a job to do…and you better work, bitch.

Surround yourself with strong and confident women.

Oops…almost forgot…Never act or reveal your age.

choose badass

(Photo credits, Pinterest)


The Good “Bad” Girl

The bad good girl

I think this percentage is off a bit.  In fact, by my stories on here, one would think it would be the other way around.  But in reality, I am really a good girl.

Just a good girl, who occasionally does bad things.

Here’s an example of the good:  I will help the old woman in the grocery store reach something on a shelf that’s too high for her.  (Not that I am tall, but I’m always in heels.) And I will donate to any charity that asks.  I’ve served the homeless in soup kitchens and bought food for the elderly.  I take in any stray animal who darkens my door.  I love babies and children and will move mountains to help a child in need.  And on occasion, I will pay for the person’s order behind me in line at Starbucks.  

And on occasion, I will leave that person a note.  Especially if it’s a hot single dad in line behind me.  Something like, “I’ve enjoyed looking over my shoulder to see you behind me in line, bet it would be even more fun seeing you like that from the side of my bed.  Enjoy your coffee.  Call me when you’re thirsty for “more”. I will save you a place in line.

JUST KIDDING!  I haven’t really done that (yet).  But I have had a few trysts with those single dads in the car line at Rocky Ridge Elementary school.  And then there was that gym teacher.  I loved to hear him blow his whistle.

Guess it was my special way of joining the PTO…like the good girl I am.


(Image credits, Pinterest)


Today is just one of those days…

Nothing spectacular happened.  Nothing horrible happened.  Work is work.  It was filled with a nice blend of meaningless drama and monotony.  The most exciting part of the day was when someone’s popcorn caught fire in the microwave.  But that was fleeting…however, the smell lingered.

Today, I swam in the quagmire…treading water in a bottomless pool of menial tasks and my thoughts drifted to a very dark, very decadent place.  All I could think about was hot, dirty, rough, consuming sex.  The kind of sex where you feel it in your bones the next day…with every step.

I want it.  I need it.  I need my One to fuck me senseless.  I need to be taken.  Have him use my body for his pleasure.  I want to cum so much that out sheets are saturated.  I want to be so parched from the intensity that I can barely swallow and the only thing to quench my thirst is his sweet seed.  And after he fills my void, he will kiss me on the forehead and tell me I am his “good girl.”

I am such a naughty girl to crave such lust, but I can’t help it. My desire is overwhelming. I will kneel before him and beg for it. I will look up to him from my place below with wanton eyes.  And if I am lucky…he will give it to me.

And then I will write about every delicious detail, so I can relive it and share it with you.


Photo credit Pinterest

Prince Made Me Do It

I have a delayed response to grief.  It takes me a while to wrap me head around loss.  While those around me are openly grieving, I maintain a lovely state of blissful denial until I am ready to deal with it.  Maybe it is my defiant nature…maybe it’s my coping mechanism.  Who knows?

It’s been almost two weeks since Prince died.  If anyone should have taken bereavement leave, booked a plane ticket to Minnesota and sought counseling over his death…it should have been me.  I have been a fan for most of my life.  Let me correct that…I am more of a fanatic.  His words spoke to me.  I recall buying a copy of the album “1999” in 1983, at the tender age of eleven…which was before those PMRC bastards labeled everything.  I was hooked to his sound.  I was entranced by his lyrics.  I saved my babysitting allowance and bought every album he’d recorded before.  I immersed myself in Prince.  But I was careful not to let my parents hear the bad stuff…you know…those explicit lyrics that hypnotized me and led me down a path of enlightenment and tawdry deeds.


Here are a few times in my life, where Prince was there with me.

I lost my virginity while a Prince song played in the background.  July 1985.  On a dirt road, in the backseat of a Monte Carlo.  The song was, “DMSR” (Dance Music Sex Romance) and it was like an aural premonition of my escapades to come. Prince sang of the things I wanted to try.  He fed my imagination…he inspired my carnal wanderlust.  I tapped into the primal side of my being as The Purple One had explicitly given me permission to be the beast I wanted to be. And I am forever grateful.

I channeled my inner stripper with Prince’s music.  After my stellar Superbowl party debut, I gained major confidence.  If I were performing for a current flame, or for him and a group of his closest friends, Prince was a go-to.  I loved dancing to “Erotic City” and closing the set out with “Scandalous.”  No one compared to him.  His words put me in a head space that allowed me to express myself in a most uninhibited way.  To let go of societal restrictions and be the naughty girl I wanted to be.

I got engaged to a Prince song.  I was in a relationship with a police officer for a couple of years. We enjoyed listening to Prince together (when we weren’t fighting) and when he decided to pop the question, he chose Prince’s “Diamond and Pearls” my least favorite song on that album.  He was so nervous when he asked me.  I think he would have been more content to just sing along with the song.  But the ring was lovely. Needless to say, the relationship didn’t last.  We went our separate ways and when he said I could keep the ring…I sold it and went on a shopping spree, treating myself to a few fabulous outfits in hopes of snagging the next unsuspecting gent.

Looking back, Prince was there for it all.  The good.  The bad.  The naughty.  He was like a little purple devil on my left shoulder, egging me on, whispering breathy lustful desires into my ear.  Prince inspired my hedonistic side.  In many ways, he is directly responsible for who I became.  Prince gave me confidence. Prince gave me permission.  Prince dismissed any of my insecurities, and summoned the vixen within.

I am often asked which song I like most.  Which album?  This is an impossible question for such an obsessed fan..but here is my answer.  I was introduced to Prince with the album, “1999” and that will always be my favorite for that reason.  As for my favorite song?  That’s a story in itself.  I first heard the song “Adore” while working (and playing) at the radio station.  The song is a raw profession of adoration for his One.  I recall hoping that one day, if I was lucky, I would find the One…the person who made me feel the lyrics of that song.  And it took a long time, but finally…I have my One.  The One worthy of all I am.  The One who owns my heart…who owns my mind.  I truly adore him.

And Prince is right, “Love is too weak to define just what (he) means to me”

Until the end of time, Prince.  RIP, you sexy motherfucker.  




Greetings, Readers!  I have been in a contemplative mood lately.  Taking inventory of my quite tawdry life. Thinking back to some of the escapades I’ve written about and plotting my next posts, of the things (people) I did (and have yet to do for that matter), and some I’ve not shared with you.  I worried when I began this blog, that I wouldn’t have enough material in my kaleidoscope of memoirs to keep it going.  But that’s far from true.  There’s always something to dish about.  And so many more people to do.

So as I plan my next trip down slut lane, I will leave you with this…


Be back soon with some legendary tales, and the rug-burns to show for it.



Birds of a feather flock together…

Great minds think alike…

Two peas in a pod…

Two of a kind…

And I am sure there are dozens more cliches out there to explain why we pair off or group ourselves with like-minded people.  Maybe it’s a shared interest.  A shared belief.  A lifestyle.  A religion.  Whatever it is, we tend to surround ourselves with people who are similar to us.

But what if your true self…who you are at your core…is shrouded?  Hidden.  Neatly tucked behind the corners of your enigmatic smile and charming personality (not that you are a maniacal serial killer or anything) and it’s something that those in your circle know nothing of?  Does that mean you are living a lie, or is it self-preservation?  Is it being a private person?  Does anyone really need to know your private self?

Does the universe find a way of revealing you to those who can see and understand the real you?

Here’s my point…

No matter where I go…I find that there’s always at least one in the crowd who sees me as I really am.  The whole person.  Not just the focused career-driven woman that takes charge and gets shit done…No, not only the sweet single mother who bakes cookies with her kids…No.  Not even the lady who will let you ahead of her in line, if you only have a few items.  NO.  Yet, there are a few who see all of that and still see the man (woman) behind the curtain.

I’ve come to a conclusion that it’s simply the law of attraction…that “like attracts like” and those who reveal us are also shrouded.  (Stay with me, I promise…I have a point).  I keep this other side of me, this obsidian side, with all of my trysts and licentious behavior, buried deep behind a lovely, but far from perfect, facade.  And yet still, a few can see me.  And in turn, I can see them.  It’s funny…it’s almost like there’s a label written in invisible ink across my forehead, that can only be deciphered by those with the same insignia.

This came to mind today at work.  I am working with a charming, take charge woman in her mid/late 40’s.  By all accounts, she is professional, smart, pretty and kind.  She knows her line of business and expects those around her to perform at their best.  She’s a strong leader.  Yet, I could see her label.  And I think she could see mine.

Like me, she prefers a submissive role in relationships.  She also has a string of past lovers that she entertains on occasion.  She has an free-spirited nature that spills into her private life and I suspect she is a bit wild and adventurous.  I have a sneaky feeling she’s in to role play and bondage.  To look at her, you would not see it.  But for those of us with a different perception, it’s obvious.

How is that?  is there some code word, or subliminal message in covert mental Morse code that alerts us to small nuances that we recognize within ourselves?  I don’t have the answer.  But this happens to me frequently.  The drill instructor I described a few posts back, was the first to name it as the law of attraction.  Within moments of meeting me, he could see exactly who I was.  He could sense exactly what I needed.  There was no judgment.  No agenda.  He just knew.  It’s a bit scary and comforting at the same time.  There’s an acceptance and camaraderie knowing that you are in like company.

Which brings me to…

You can run, but you can’t hide.  And as much as I strive to be incognito, there is always someone there who knows who I really am.

I think Anais Nin says it perfectly, “I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me.”

women inside

One Lovely Blogger


I am honored that my near and dear soul sister, Lennon Carlyle, nominated me for this challenge.  She is my daily motivation with her pearls of wisdom, spoken like a true badass bitch!  Her motto:  Bitches get shit done!

Please check her out at  She is the BEST!

I am not accustomed to talking about myself unless it’s a tale of a decadent tryst from my past, but here goes.  These are the rules with this One Lovely Blog Award…..

* Link the person that nominated you to this entry/post.

* Share seven things about yourself.

* Nominate some of your favorite bloggers.

Seven things about myself….

  1. I have an unhealthy fear of spiral staircases.  Don’t know why…they just freak me out!
  2. I am an ENFP, Sagittarian, Water Rat, #3 Achiever (enneagram)
  3. My favorite book is Jane Eyre.  I love Mr. Rochester…any brooding Gothic character is okay in my book
  4. My favorite movies are Pulp Fiction and The Shining.  I know…strange for a chick
  5. I am the youngest of four (by 14 years) in a blended family, but I’ve been the one to care for my aging parents for years…solo.
  6. As a child, I told everyone that Johnny Cash was my real father…even though I knew he wasn’t.  I wanted him to be my dad.  How dark is that for a five year old?
  7. I worked in hospice care and found it an honor to be with a patient as they passed.  Morbid…I know.  But being able to hold their hand and give them comfort as they left this earth, is one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve ever encountered.  Earlier this year, I did the same for my mother.

I read a vast collection of different blogs.  Some are erotica and BDSM related, while others may lean towards motivation and positive thought!  Here are my favorites:

This is My Kinky Life.  I love this blog.  It’s well-written and sassy.  I love her honesty and humor.  She details her relationship with her sadist Daddy and I find myself wanting more every time I read.  Check her out at

Dave’s Corner of the Universe.  Dave speaks to me on a different level.  It’s like he’s the sci-fi, comic book whisperer in my head.  I love his take on things.  I’m not saying it’s Aliens….but it’s Aliens, folks.  Check him out and enjoy!

Anonymous Outsider.  When I read this blog, I feel like I can hear her talking.  She writes with unabashed honesty and feeling and if you’re not reading her…you should be. And she’s a Dr. Who fan…LOVE her!

It’s the season of the witch and Hocus Pocus does not disappoint.  She finds a way to share some of the most interesting facts, thoughts and recipes on WP.  She’s the reason I am making soul cakes for Halloween!  She magickal.

Thanks to Lennon Carlyle once again for this fun challenge!  Happy reading!

The Little Death

The French refer to orgasm as “la petite mort” or the little death.  I have always been a Francophile and obviously I am also a fan of orgasms, so it seems fitting to write of this phenomenon.

The orgasm.  The mere mention of the word in mixed company can elicit smiles, sighs, daydreams, anxiety, erections and a host of other emotions.  It is quite the buzzword (no pun intended).  Is it merely a physical response or it there something more to it? Why is it so easy for some to have an orgasm, while it is elusive for others?

I am no expert, but I can share with you my journey; my love-hate-love-infatuation-adoration relationship with knowing how to arrive at the big O.  It’s a path of discovery, trial and error, failed debacles and self-acceptance. First things first…Is orgasm merely a physical response to stimuli that builds up and then ends in release?  Or is there a mental component to “cumming”?

For me, I have to be in the right head-space to let go and have an O.  If my mind is not stimulated, my body will stage a coup and refuse me a proper ending…almost like a cliffhanger episode on a soap opera.  I have to feel connected and present in the moment.  I need to feel connected with my partner.  And most importantly, I have to feel comfortable in my own skin.  Free to say and do what comes naturally.  If I feel confined or inhibited in any way, I can see the next exit labeled, “orgasm ahead’ I just cannot get there.  And it doesn’t matter who is driving…how fast or slow…it doesn’t matter the route, it’s not happening unless I am mentally there.  It may not be this way for everyone.  But again…this is just my story of O.

From a purely physical place, I am blessed that I am one of those lucky souls who is able to have multiple orgasms.  And for long periods of time.  Eventually, the well of bliss will run dry, but I have been known to soak through towels, sheets and mattress protectors.  It used to bother me that I “released” so much during my climax, but I’ve learned to embrace it as the gift it is.

Being a submissive who has certain appetite for pain, I have experienced orgasms through powerful scenes.  I recall one instance where I was flogged for a long period of time and it caused me to gush everywhere. Afterwards, I felt like I was floating.  I was told by my fellow subbies out there, that this is “subspace” a place of euphoria that follows a particularly intense session of play.  For me, there is nothing else that compares to this feeling.  Which brings me to…

The crying orgasm.  Not trying to bring the mood down, but I have experienced orgasms that make me weep.  It’s a rare occurrence, but it is beautiful and profound when it happens.  I have encountered these white whales when there is a deep emotional bond with my partner.  It’s a place of openness and vulnerability that is hard to replicate.  It is as real as it gets for me.  To experience such pleasure, such release, such emotion and such love.

Moving on….

What do you do when you have an orgasm?  Everyone is different…trust me, I have been with my fair share and I’ve seen and heard it all.  Some are silent throughout.  Some are so loud, you worry about the neighbors calling in a SWAT team.  Others are in between.

I’ve been with the newscasters…those who broadcast each and every detail of the scenario, from start to finish.  Often it’s not even dirty talk…it’s more like:  “my dick is so hard.  this is my favorite way to fuck.  oh yeah…oh yeah. my dick is about to explode.  here it is…here it is…”  And not that these types bother me, I rather enjoy hearing what they are experiencing, but if you’re on round two or three, it can get a bit monotonous.

I have vast experience with the “call of the wild” ones.  They usually let you know how much they are enjoying you, but trade in the descriptive banter for grunts, growls and feral-sounding screams when they orgasm and unload.  I find this type hot as hell.  Primal.  Earthly. Authentic.

There are the drill instructors.  “faster…slower…deeper…ride my cock…take that cock…fuck me…slow it down…give it to me now.”  And that’s just the first 30 seconds of the encounter.  They are bossy and demanding.  And in the right head-space, I love a drill instructor…but I could never enjoy that on a daily basis.  Just me, but I think that could become confusing!  And when they come, they announce it…every part of it…much like the newscasters.

As for myself…I am a bit loud.  I don’t even realize it.  I sound a lot like my “call of the wild” counterparts.  And on a handful of occasions, I have laughed hysterically during an orgasm.  Looking back, that laughter was a close relative to crying.  I was so overcome with emotion, that I laughed my cock-filled ass off.  But that is a rare happening.

To the women who are reading this…do you experience clitoral orgasms, G-spot orgasms, anal orgasms, or D…all of the above?  I have had them all.  And the G-spot orgasm is hands-down (no pun there) my favorite.  It is unlike any other feeling of pleasure for me.  A real bonus is when I have all 3 of these at the same time.  That has only happened one time in my life.  It was so profound, I had to take a day off of work to process it.  It was mind-blowing and life-changing.  And I am always ready to relive the experience….Really ready.  It’s got me daydreaming.

You know what?  I could use that day off.

the o

Afraid of the Dark?

Just the other day, I was chatting with a friend who admitted that she enjoys being spanked by her husband during sex.  She was giggling and embarrassed to share this “deep and dark secret” with anyone.  We are casual friends and she has no idea who I am under my good girl veneer, so I was amused by her reticence in telling me.  I thought to myself…if she only knew.  Then I began to think about how most of us hide our secret selves.  Even from our partners.

Reflecting on my friend’s revelation, I realized that what some may consider mere play..others may find kinky.  What some find kinky, others may find offensive, or even immoral.  So we keep these thoughts hidden.  Hidden from society.  Hidden from our friends and family.  And sometimes, hidden from our lovers.  But why wouldn’t we trust them with our fantasies?  Do we feel we will be judged?  Do we worry they will see us differently?  And then I took a long insightful look at myself.

After all…I’ve pretty much done my fair share of everything.  What’s left to do in my treasure-trove of dark escapades?  What desires haven’t I fulfilled?

Believe me, I have a few things on my murky bucket list.  I just need to find the voice to share these decadent desires of mine …with my One.

I have always had a rape fantasy, not for the brutality, but more for the vulnerability.  And I have acted on it a few times, but it usually morphed into more of a BDSM scene and not the spontaneous “attack” I had envisioned.  I want the suspense.  I don’t want to know when it’s going to happen, or how it’s going to happen.  I crave the fear.

This is what I’d love to experience.  Here is a little scene from one of those opaque corners of my twisted mind.

I arrived home later than usual.  The kids were staying with friends and I assumed he and I would order takeout for dinner.  The house was pitch-black and quiet.  His car was not in the driveway, as he was also working late.  I was excited to know I had a few minutes of solitude before our evening began. I walked towards the bathroom and began to run a bath.

Making my way into the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of Argentine Malbec and returned to the bathroom to check the water.  It was hot and inviting.  I took a large swallow of wine and began taking off my jewelry.  I saw something in the mirror behind me.  A shadowy figure approaching me.  My heart raced and I let out a gasp, but quickly realized it was him.
Funny thing…I didn’t hear him drive up.
I continued with my routine, taking off my jewelry, my blazer, my peep-toe pumps.  I was just unbuttoning my white silk blouse when I said, “Hey sweetie.  I’m going to take a bath.  Let me know what you want to order for dinner.”
He was silent.  I could feel him staring at me from behind.  He wasn’t wearing his shirt and tie from work.  He was wearing all black…black t-shirt, black pants. I realized that he must have arrived home before me and changed his clothes.  That’s strange…where did he park his car?  
I turned around to face him.  “Are you okay?  When did you get home?”
He suddenly put his hand over my mouth and forcefully walked me into our bedroom.
His whispered in my ear, “You’re asking for it, undressing in front of me like that.  I am going to fuck you so hard I will make you beg me to stop.”
I had never heard that tone in his voice.  I didn’t know where this was coming from…truly I was a bit scared.  He pushed me onto the bed face down. He hiked up my black skirt and spread my legs with his knee.  He reached up my thighs and yanked off my dainty pink lace panties.  Ripping them on one side.
“Be still” he growled as he plunged three fingers into my wet hole. He finger fucked me with one hand as he pulled his pants down with the other.  Before I knew it he was deep in my sex, fucking me from behind as he pinned my body to the bed.
“You’re so fucking wet.  You like this, don’t you?”  He penetrated me so deeply, I could feel a tinge of pain every time he thrust himself inside. He filled me…every inch of me.   I was writhing in pleasure, close to an orgasm. Excited by how it was all happening.
Then he backed away, pulled me to my feet  to face him and pushed me down on my knees and rammed himself down my throat.  I could taste my juices on his glistening cock as he pushed my head down on his shaft, edging as far down my throat as I could take.  I couldn’t even gag.  I couldn’t breathe.  He knows I love breath play and he held my head on his cock until my eyes began to water.  He would release and give me a respite to catch my breath before he did it again.  And again.  He continued until my face was tear-stained black from my mascara.  He pulled me up by my hair and told me to get on the bed on my back.
He positioned me with my head slightly off of the bed as he stood over me and slowly eased his cock down my throat again.
“I want to see how far you can take this” he sneered.  He slowly fucked my mouth and throat as he rubbed my clit relentlessly.  I was so out of control.  So vulnerable and exposed.   There was nothing I could do, but lay there and take it.   I could barely breathe…I was barely able get enough air in my throat with his large cock taking up all the space.  I moaned as I came repeatedly, squirting and gushing everywhere.
“Get on all fours, ass up” he quipped.  I quickly complied and he spread me as wide as my legs could go.  My legs were shaky from being stretched so far.  It made me feel helpless and immobile.  He was behind me, grabbing my ass he plowed himself inside my ravaged cunt.  Deeper and deeper.  My body shuddering with each movement.  I couldn’t tell where one orgasm stopped and the other began.  I just kept having them, screaming in ecstasy as he kept fucking me.
Then he stopped.  To get my attention, he pulled my head back by my long dark mane.  Then I felt him enter my ass.  His cock was so slick from my wetness that he slid in with one movement. He let out a deep, baritone snarl as he fucked my tight hole.  I knew he was close to the edge.  He was so hard.  He slowed his pace with deeper, purposeful thrusts. Just before he came, he let out a primal growl that bellowed off the walls.
Afterwards we were both silent.  He moved up to the head of the bed and pulled me into his chest.  He tilted my chin to face him as he softly kissed my lips.
“How was that for you?  Did I fulfill your rape fantasy?”
My body was still trembling from the overall experience…from the intense orgasms he gave me.  I managed to find my words as I whimpered, “Yes, Sir.  You did.”
He scooped me up his arms and stroked my hair as we drifted off to sleep.