I'm through to a part of the story where my hero and heroine, Mark and Sally, have got a room at a nice inn, on the understanding that Mark will deflower Sally in the dominant style she's begun to realize she can't live without.
Mark propped himself up on his elbow to face her. "You okay?" he asked softly. "Should we go more slowly?"
Somehow, though it diminished the arousal a bit to know that Mark wasn't actually disregarding her anxiety, it also brought the fear way, way down--to manageable proportions. Sally knew she wanted to go forward, full speed. She wanted to get back as soon as she could to feeling like Mark didn't care what she thought about her lingerie or lack of it, about being spanked, about being fucked: her boyfriend would have his way with her, because that was what Sally was for. Sally Lanchester was Mark Weaver's fucktoy, and she must not forget it.
So many times over the last two months, she had wondered, when she thought something like I am a fucktoy and felt her pussy grow warm and wet, whether she were losing her mind. Not tonight: tonight Sally welcomed the knowledge of her submissive nature, because it meant she was what Mark wanted and needed, just as he was what she wanted and needed.
Sally said, "As you wish, sir. But I want to be a good girl, so I'd like to obey you now, and go take off my lingerie for you, if you would still like that. I know that it's time for me to have my fucking."I'd love to know what you think!