She watched from her chair.
I stripped.
When I took my panties off.
She frowned.
Stood.
I realized my mistake …
As she approached.
“I’m sorry,” I told her.
She walked behind me.
Ran her hand down my ass.
I parted slightly.
Her fingers touched my pussy.
Idiot, I told myself.
How could I be such an …
Idiot.
Her other hand reached around …
Pinched my nipple.
“You are a disrespectful young lady,” she said …
Whispering in my ear.
“I’m very …”
“Shut up, dear.”
I shut up.
Her fingers used my pussy.
Like you’d scratch a dog behind the ear.
She asked …
“Why are you here?”
“To be fucked,” I said.
“To be used.”
“Yes, ma’am. To be used.”
Her hand left my pussy.
She reached around.
Found my other nipple.
She was in her 60s.
But fit.
Several inches taller than me.
And her fingers were strong.
So very strong.
She pinched.
I withered.
“So tell me,” she said …
“Is that hair on your pussy some kind of message to me?”
“No ma’am,” I said.
I gasped.
As her fingernails joined the party.
“It was a mistake,” I said ..
“I should have shaved it,” I said …
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Sorry I was such an idiot.
And as the evening wore on …
Very sorry.
Very very sorry.
Sorry about the typo, but I ani’t making another one.
Besides, there’s too many spelling rules anyway.
Did you know in Shakespeare’s time, no one cared how you spelled.
It was the handwriting that was standardized.
I guess the brain needs one of the two: Either the letters in a recognizable order or with a consistent shape.
Like that thing you see often on the web. A paragraph where all the words are misspelled, but you can still read it.
Maybe that only works because it’s in a clear font.
