LatinoSoles
Registered User
- Joined
- Jul 8, 2022
- Messages
- 8
- Points
- 3
I’ve been dating a super sweet guy since this year’s Valentine’s Day, when I asked him out with a rose, chocolates, and dinner. This is the first romantic relationship I’ve ever had, and I am so glad it’s as perfect as it is.
It honestly feels like a dream. He’s an angel in the flesh and I sometimes have to pinch myself to remember that this is real and not a fantasy I’m living out. I have no clue how I made this happen, but I am so happy and proud of myself for making it real. It’s like I sleepwalked and stumbled my way into the best relationship I’ve ever had. Winging it every step of the way with a nervous and totally confident smile on my face.
And he is so damn attractive. I somehow managed to woo a supermodel with charms I am yet to identify in my disaster bisexual self. If I had to describe him, think of Venti from Genshin Impact, but Latino. He has completely hairless and soft caramel colored skin, long curly hair that I will never get tired of running my fingers through, a great overall shape that is a testament to how much he takes care of himself, the cutest face and most soulful eyes I have ever seen in a person, a very musical voice and laugh, and his feet. Oh my god, his feet. So feminine. Such high arches, sensually long toes, immaculate nails that he polishes white and steal my breath when I lay eyes on them, baby smooth soles, not a single hair or callus or fault to speak of, woof. I can go on and on. Needless to say, he has the best pair of feet I have ever had the pleasure of servicing. Better than any I’ve seen from even fetish models in this industry, man or woman be damned.
You know how the rule is that gals tend to have prettier feet than guys? Yeah, my bae told this rule to go screw itself, because he is perfect and he knows it.
Ahem.
Anyways, let us continue with this tale.
Yesterday was our first time getting intimate with each other. We have made out tons of times before and I even worshipped his feet last week, but…y’know, that ain’t the same as having S E X. So I took him to a love motel, cuz those are a thing down here where we live and they're as awesome and convenient as they sound. Even more so because we don’t live together yet and privacy is hard to come by under organic circumstances.
So we get there after a short drive and tons of jokes and telling each other how our weeks went. It doesn't take long for us to hop on the bed, undress each other, and begin exploring ourselves. My body and mouth end up covered in lipstick marks, his in my saliva because I’m licking him up from head to toe. And his feet get plenty of kisses, have their toes sucked a million times as if they were tootsie rolls I just need to get to the center of, and have their perfect soles gnawed on by my teeth like if it were a meal satiating me after years of starvation. Activities that get him moaning and biting his lower lip, because his feet are erogenous. Because sometimes the world just makes sense and everything will be alright.
The tickling then begins, which is what we have been getting at since the beginning of this story. Which is what I have excitedly been waiting for ever since our first date, when we held hands beneath the moonlight and walked through the trees and the grass, my nervous ass sweating cold sweat and his amused grin letting me know it was okay.
Now, you would think that it would be him who’s getting rekt tonight. Unfortunately, this little femboy is barely ticklish at all despite his adorable appearance suggesting he would be more vulnerable than a bundle of raw nerves. In heavy contrast, I am deathly sensitive pretty much everywhere…aaaaand he knows it.
So, into the saddle I hop. First tickling session with my boyfriend, and I couldn't be more giddy. I work Saturdays and I could barely concentrate on what I was doing, because my imagination was wilding out thinking of what was going to happen to me at this very moment.
I lay face down on the bed and explain that my armpits are my worst spot. I told him the day before something to the effect of “dominate me with ruthless tickles and make me realize how much of a bitch I am before your dominance. Remind me, in no uncertain terms, that you are my queen. My angel and mystery.” Kinda corny, but hey, we all say cringe shit in the throes of passion, hah!
So, the instructions are to target my pits, which are one of my deathzones, and basically go all out until I tell him to stop.
I stretch my arms to my sides and he's immediately in there.
He has long, manicured nails, so his tickling style is tons of catty scratches. But like really really fast scratching. Tasha from Tickleabuse, pretty much.
Which naturally means that I lose my shit in approximately one millisecond.
I’m instantly laughing my ass off and thrashing on the bed. He pins me down by sitting on my back and goes to town on my armpits. Thing is, his scratching is not only fast, it’s very soft. So the skin doesn't get desensitized so quickly. The muscles don't get sore. Which means this can go for a long time and tickle just as badly as it did when it started. You know how when tickling someone it’s best to not stick to one spot for too long? Yeah, my boyfriend is not one for following rules. And it doesn't matter, because this invasion of my hollows is just as fatal by the fifth minute as it was on second one. Something I didn't realize could happen, but I am now the unwitting guinea pig proving that it can.
As I'm finding out in between my yelps and buckling and twisting and thrashing and screaming and vomiting out peal after peal of frenzied laughter.
So yeah I'm just convulsing and dying and flailing and drooling all over the bed as I cackle my soul out and completely lose the ability to close my mouth. I sent him a tickling video the day before so he'd know the level of intensity I was looking for and my gawd he learned. He must have analyzed the ler’s technique, because this is a refined tickling process I am being subjected to and which screams experienced. And my mister was not a ler until this night, unless there's something he ain’t telling me about. Now wouldn't that be a pleasant surprise.
Eventually I start getting really tired and my body’s involuntary attempts to escape start slowing down. My cackling dies out and I’m just there gulping for air. He notices. "Babe, you look tired. Is it too much?”
"No...huff...go after my...huff...feet. Let's switch things up."
So he moves down. Lays down by my soles, which are facing upward, and his fingers make contact with the bottoms of my size sevens. And I proceed to die for the second time in one day.
Because his catty scratching is fucking hell on the soles.
As soon as he starts it's as if I'm struck by a celestial bolt from Zeus himself, because I'm brimming with vitality that comes out of nowhere and yanks me from the grave. I'm howling like a madman and my back arches so hard I nearly throw him off of me.
I can't see what he's doing because I'm face down. I just sense what feels like a thousand fingers dancing all over my feet with horrifying softness that is plain unbearable, like a trillion little claws or spiders that have decided my pedicured foot bottoms, because of course I got them pedicured and doomed myself, are a comfy home.
He jumps from spot to spot, his fingers are like lightning, and I'm convulsing while I laugh away my dignity and smash my fists against the bed and pull on my hair and muffle myself with the pillow because I'm starting to get desperate and need to get it out somehow. And I ain’t about to mess up and slap him on the face with my feet, or uppercut his chin.
Up until now, I've been the dominant one in the relationship. I grew out my full beard for him because of its manly charms and his attraction towards them. I drive him everywhere, I set the dates, I am the one hungry for his touch and his warmth and his body and his kisses and his neck and his feet and his everything. But now I am the slave. I am the morsel being consumed. I am the tickle toy being mercilessly played with. My boyfriend is laughing while he tortures the shit out of me and is saying "wow, I've never heard you laugh like this before!" which only makes me laugh harder, because teasing and tickle talk are unfair hacks against us lees.
In my dazed delirium I also tell him to go after the tops of my feet with his nails because that spot is really vulnerable to super light tickling like he is so masterful at executing. Why do I tell him this? Because I'm on a rollercoaster ride and the thrill needs to keep increasing. If my death is to take place inside this motel room, then it must be glorious.
And...yeah
I was screaming like a girl. Not going to sugarcoat it. I don't know what kind of voodoo my prince practiced with his nails, or what aberration of nature I must be, because the tops of my feet are even more sensitive than my soles. My laughter shoots up to these high-pitched screams which to him must have sounded cute but to me were terribly undignified. I scrunch up my toes in an attempt to block out the sensations, but that act does jack shit to protect the tops of my feet because the only thing it accomplishes is to wrinkle out the soles. Y’know, the bottoms. Decidedly not the tops.
And then he goes after my toes.
And I scream out the dreaded “not there!” because my toes are a deathzone within a deathzone. Which of course meant he zeroed in there and I died a third time that night. And you know what? I splayed my toes right open for him to get in there and drive me insane, because I’m not going to let anyone say that I don’t take tickle torture like a champ. Because I live for this. I crave this rush of endorphins. I exist to be destroyed and unmade my ten wiggling fingers and my beloved to whom they are attached.
So there I am, being emasculated by this angelically beautiful femboy and his devilish nails, and I start screaming in this even more high-pitched wail that does not fit my deep voice at all and makes my bae stop out of concern.
I'm just crumpled there in the bed, catching my breath and feeling like my body is made from lead instead of meat, and he sits by my side and strokes my hair while asking "so...you really like this?"
"Yes, of course. I'm fucking loving every second of this. Let’s keep going."
He sits on my back and into my armpits the fingers go again. Because who needs air? Who needs something as silly as a break? Not me, of course!
And now his technique is getting better.
Now he's not just scratching at my pits, he's digging into the muscle very aggressively.
Jumping from arm to arm. From armpit to armpit in extremely rapid succession and not allowing me a single moment to adapt to the assaults. Pinning me down beneath his weight and entrapping me in my hysterics.
Internally I'm going "fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckohshitohshitohshitohshit." And of course he’s laughing too and telling me that I should have just told him rough tickles like this are my weakness. That he was afraid of hurting me, but now he sees that this is what I want and he won’t hold back anymore.
Because he was holding back all this time.
And I go into silent laughter because I'm so overstimulated that I don't even know how to react. My upperbody is sore as fuck, not because he's hurting me with his fingers, but because I've been involuntarily convulsing so much that I’m basically working out my triceps and back.
He stops. I don’t know if hours or minutes have passed, but he stops and I collapse on the drooly and sweaty mattress.
"Soooo...are you good? Wanna do something else?"
I get off the bed and move to the nightstand. I hand him the hairbrush and the baby oil.
Because I'm stupid.
And horny.
Dumb as rocks and wholly in love.
I'm face down again, he's massaging the baby oil onto my soles
"Ok, so I just brush really fast and hard?"
"Yup, the baby oil eliminates the raking’s friction, so you can go really fast and it won't hurt or- AHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Yeah, I laughed like that. That one panicked scream before total devolution.
I fucking exploded cackling in the middle of my sentence. This asshole did not even let me finish before he started brushing and murdering me in cold blood for the fourth time that night. This wasn’t just dying, this was him shooting me in the back of the head, Cartel style.
Holy fuck, the hairbrush.
This thing has just become my greatest adversary
Y'all know in tickle videos when it gets used and the lees go bonkers?
It is not an exaggeration
That thing is horrifying. The bane of anyone with ticklish feet. A love and hate relationship that I have never had with any other toy and really tests the limits of what I adore from tickle torture. This is the first time I’ve been properly worked over it by it, and goddamn what an introduction.
My soles felt like they were being set on fire. Like they were being stabbed by spikes, but instead of making me scream in pain they were making me howl in absolute mad laughter. If his nails were a million claws, then the hairbrush was a trillion spears that decided to bypass my skin entirely and directly play my nervous system like a guitar. He was brushing so hard and so quickly that I pretty much buried my face in the bed and left it wet with drool. I was punching and slapping the mattress, grabbing my head and pulling my hair, slamming my face into my pillow and smothering myself in it. Alternating between silent laughter and this deep “OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” type cackle that came straight from the depths of my stomach and soul.
And this man has natural ler energy, because he switched from foot to foot and never once did the tickling slow down the tempo. I don't know what the hell I was doing with my legs and my feet, I'm sure I must have been kicking and trying to cover my attacked ped with the safe one and overall trying to escape and be difficult, but he was glued to my soles. Following every frenzied movement of my tormented size sevens with talented ease.
And the worst thing is that there was a mirror in front of me and I could see my face as I was crumbling. Which only added to how fucking humbled I was by this thing, and made the cocktail of humiliation, embarrassment, and potent arousal flooding my brain all the more potent and delicious.
But yeah, eventually he stopped and he asked me if I was okay. As if he had not just executed me.
Let me reveal how hard he was tickling me with this one simple descriptor.
He broke the hairbrush.
He broke the hairbrush.
Snapped all the bristles in half like they were dry twigs.
I pulled this devil in and devoured him as thanks for this intense ass tickling. The best part is that he's more than happy to do this to me every time we're intimate. He said that he loves how much I love it, that my wants are his wants, so he'll happily indulge and banish me to the depths of madness while giggling over how cute and fun destroying his man is.
I need to try bondage at some point. Maybe a blindfold too to make me even more helpless and unable to rebel. He likes the idea and told me that as my queen, he wants to have even more control over me when he makes me his. That a masochistic slave like me needs to sit still and take it like a good boy and laugh his worries away. Sooo, fffffffuck yeah I won at life.
Because my angel is also a little demon, and the line separating Heaven from Hell is so very, very, thin.
It honestly feels like a dream. He’s an angel in the flesh and I sometimes have to pinch myself to remember that this is real and not a fantasy I’m living out. I have no clue how I made this happen, but I am so happy and proud of myself for making it real. It’s like I sleepwalked and stumbled my way into the best relationship I’ve ever had. Winging it every step of the way with a nervous and totally confident smile on my face.
And he is so damn attractive. I somehow managed to woo a supermodel with charms I am yet to identify in my disaster bisexual self. If I had to describe him, think of Venti from Genshin Impact, but Latino. He has completely hairless and soft caramel colored skin, long curly hair that I will never get tired of running my fingers through, a great overall shape that is a testament to how much he takes care of himself, the cutest face and most soulful eyes I have ever seen in a person, a very musical voice and laugh, and his feet. Oh my god, his feet. So feminine. Such high arches, sensually long toes, immaculate nails that he polishes white and steal my breath when I lay eyes on them, baby smooth soles, not a single hair or callus or fault to speak of, woof. I can go on and on. Needless to say, he has the best pair of feet I have ever had the pleasure of servicing. Better than any I’ve seen from even fetish models in this industry, man or woman be damned.
You know how the rule is that gals tend to have prettier feet than guys? Yeah, my bae told this rule to go screw itself, because he is perfect and he knows it.
Ahem.
Anyways, let us continue with this tale.
Yesterday was our first time getting intimate with each other. We have made out tons of times before and I even worshipped his feet last week, but…y’know, that ain’t the same as having S E X. So I took him to a love motel, cuz those are a thing down here where we live and they're as awesome and convenient as they sound. Even more so because we don’t live together yet and privacy is hard to come by under organic circumstances.
So we get there after a short drive and tons of jokes and telling each other how our weeks went. It doesn't take long for us to hop on the bed, undress each other, and begin exploring ourselves. My body and mouth end up covered in lipstick marks, his in my saliva because I’m licking him up from head to toe. And his feet get plenty of kisses, have their toes sucked a million times as if they were tootsie rolls I just need to get to the center of, and have their perfect soles gnawed on by my teeth like if it were a meal satiating me after years of starvation. Activities that get him moaning and biting his lower lip, because his feet are erogenous. Because sometimes the world just makes sense and everything will be alright.
The tickling then begins, which is what we have been getting at since the beginning of this story. Which is what I have excitedly been waiting for ever since our first date, when we held hands beneath the moonlight and walked through the trees and the grass, my nervous ass sweating cold sweat and his amused grin letting me know it was okay.
Now, you would think that it would be him who’s getting rekt tonight. Unfortunately, this little femboy is barely ticklish at all despite his adorable appearance suggesting he would be more vulnerable than a bundle of raw nerves. In heavy contrast, I am deathly sensitive pretty much everywhere…aaaaand he knows it.
So, into the saddle I hop. First tickling session with my boyfriend, and I couldn't be more giddy. I work Saturdays and I could barely concentrate on what I was doing, because my imagination was wilding out thinking of what was going to happen to me at this very moment.
I lay face down on the bed and explain that my armpits are my worst spot. I told him the day before something to the effect of “dominate me with ruthless tickles and make me realize how much of a bitch I am before your dominance. Remind me, in no uncertain terms, that you are my queen. My angel and mystery.” Kinda corny, but hey, we all say cringe shit in the throes of passion, hah!
So, the instructions are to target my pits, which are one of my deathzones, and basically go all out until I tell him to stop.
I stretch my arms to my sides and he's immediately in there.
He has long, manicured nails, so his tickling style is tons of catty scratches. But like really really fast scratching. Tasha from Tickleabuse, pretty much.
Which naturally means that I lose my shit in approximately one millisecond.
I’m instantly laughing my ass off and thrashing on the bed. He pins me down by sitting on my back and goes to town on my armpits. Thing is, his scratching is not only fast, it’s very soft. So the skin doesn't get desensitized so quickly. The muscles don't get sore. Which means this can go for a long time and tickle just as badly as it did when it started. You know how when tickling someone it’s best to not stick to one spot for too long? Yeah, my boyfriend is not one for following rules. And it doesn't matter, because this invasion of my hollows is just as fatal by the fifth minute as it was on second one. Something I didn't realize could happen, but I am now the unwitting guinea pig proving that it can.
As I'm finding out in between my yelps and buckling and twisting and thrashing and screaming and vomiting out peal after peal of frenzied laughter.
So yeah I'm just convulsing and dying and flailing and drooling all over the bed as I cackle my soul out and completely lose the ability to close my mouth. I sent him a tickling video the day before so he'd know the level of intensity I was looking for and my gawd he learned. He must have analyzed the ler’s technique, because this is a refined tickling process I am being subjected to and which screams experienced. And my mister was not a ler until this night, unless there's something he ain’t telling me about. Now wouldn't that be a pleasant surprise.
Eventually I start getting really tired and my body’s involuntary attempts to escape start slowing down. My cackling dies out and I’m just there gulping for air. He notices. "Babe, you look tired. Is it too much?”
"No...huff...go after my...huff...feet. Let's switch things up."
So he moves down. Lays down by my soles, which are facing upward, and his fingers make contact with the bottoms of my size sevens. And I proceed to die for the second time in one day.
Because his catty scratching is fucking hell on the soles.
As soon as he starts it's as if I'm struck by a celestial bolt from Zeus himself, because I'm brimming with vitality that comes out of nowhere and yanks me from the grave. I'm howling like a madman and my back arches so hard I nearly throw him off of me.
I can't see what he's doing because I'm face down. I just sense what feels like a thousand fingers dancing all over my feet with horrifying softness that is plain unbearable, like a trillion little claws or spiders that have decided my pedicured foot bottoms, because of course I got them pedicured and doomed myself, are a comfy home.
He jumps from spot to spot, his fingers are like lightning, and I'm convulsing while I laugh away my dignity and smash my fists against the bed and pull on my hair and muffle myself with the pillow because I'm starting to get desperate and need to get it out somehow. And I ain’t about to mess up and slap him on the face with my feet, or uppercut his chin.
Up until now, I've been the dominant one in the relationship. I grew out my full beard for him because of its manly charms and his attraction towards them. I drive him everywhere, I set the dates, I am the one hungry for his touch and his warmth and his body and his kisses and his neck and his feet and his everything. But now I am the slave. I am the morsel being consumed. I am the tickle toy being mercilessly played with. My boyfriend is laughing while he tortures the shit out of me and is saying "wow, I've never heard you laugh like this before!" which only makes me laugh harder, because teasing and tickle talk are unfair hacks against us lees.
In my dazed delirium I also tell him to go after the tops of my feet with his nails because that spot is really vulnerable to super light tickling like he is so masterful at executing. Why do I tell him this? Because I'm on a rollercoaster ride and the thrill needs to keep increasing. If my death is to take place inside this motel room, then it must be glorious.
And...yeah
I was screaming like a girl. Not going to sugarcoat it. I don't know what kind of voodoo my prince practiced with his nails, or what aberration of nature I must be, because the tops of my feet are even more sensitive than my soles. My laughter shoots up to these high-pitched screams which to him must have sounded cute but to me were terribly undignified. I scrunch up my toes in an attempt to block out the sensations, but that act does jack shit to protect the tops of my feet because the only thing it accomplishes is to wrinkle out the soles. Y’know, the bottoms. Decidedly not the tops.
And then he goes after my toes.
And I scream out the dreaded “not there!” because my toes are a deathzone within a deathzone. Which of course meant he zeroed in there and I died a third time that night. And you know what? I splayed my toes right open for him to get in there and drive me insane, because I’m not going to let anyone say that I don’t take tickle torture like a champ. Because I live for this. I crave this rush of endorphins. I exist to be destroyed and unmade my ten wiggling fingers and my beloved to whom they are attached.
So there I am, being emasculated by this angelically beautiful femboy and his devilish nails, and I start screaming in this even more high-pitched wail that does not fit my deep voice at all and makes my bae stop out of concern.
I'm just crumpled there in the bed, catching my breath and feeling like my body is made from lead instead of meat, and he sits by my side and strokes my hair while asking "so...you really like this?"
"Yes, of course. I'm fucking loving every second of this. Let’s keep going."
He sits on my back and into my armpits the fingers go again. Because who needs air? Who needs something as silly as a break? Not me, of course!
And now his technique is getting better.
Now he's not just scratching at my pits, he's digging into the muscle very aggressively.
Jumping from arm to arm. From armpit to armpit in extremely rapid succession and not allowing me a single moment to adapt to the assaults. Pinning me down beneath his weight and entrapping me in my hysterics.
Internally I'm going "fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckohshitohshitohshitohshit." And of course he’s laughing too and telling me that I should have just told him rough tickles like this are my weakness. That he was afraid of hurting me, but now he sees that this is what I want and he won’t hold back anymore.
Because he was holding back all this time.
And I go into silent laughter because I'm so overstimulated that I don't even know how to react. My upperbody is sore as fuck, not because he's hurting me with his fingers, but because I've been involuntarily convulsing so much that I’m basically working out my triceps and back.
He stops. I don’t know if hours or minutes have passed, but he stops and I collapse on the drooly and sweaty mattress.
"Soooo...are you good? Wanna do something else?"
I get off the bed and move to the nightstand. I hand him the hairbrush and the baby oil.
Because I'm stupid.
And horny.
Dumb as rocks and wholly in love.
I'm face down again, he's massaging the baby oil onto my soles
"Ok, so I just brush really fast and hard?"
"Yup, the baby oil eliminates the raking’s friction, so you can go really fast and it won't hurt or- AHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Yeah, I laughed like that. That one panicked scream before total devolution.
I fucking exploded cackling in the middle of my sentence. This asshole did not even let me finish before he started brushing and murdering me in cold blood for the fourth time that night. This wasn’t just dying, this was him shooting me in the back of the head, Cartel style.
Holy fuck, the hairbrush.
This thing has just become my greatest adversary
Y'all know in tickle videos when it gets used and the lees go bonkers?
It is not an exaggeration
That thing is horrifying. The bane of anyone with ticklish feet. A love and hate relationship that I have never had with any other toy and really tests the limits of what I adore from tickle torture. This is the first time I’ve been properly worked over it by it, and goddamn what an introduction.
My soles felt like they were being set on fire. Like they were being stabbed by spikes, but instead of making me scream in pain they were making me howl in absolute mad laughter. If his nails were a million claws, then the hairbrush was a trillion spears that decided to bypass my skin entirely and directly play my nervous system like a guitar. He was brushing so hard and so quickly that I pretty much buried my face in the bed and left it wet with drool. I was punching and slapping the mattress, grabbing my head and pulling my hair, slamming my face into my pillow and smothering myself in it. Alternating between silent laughter and this deep “OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” type cackle that came straight from the depths of my stomach and soul.
And this man has natural ler energy, because he switched from foot to foot and never once did the tickling slow down the tempo. I don't know what the hell I was doing with my legs and my feet, I'm sure I must have been kicking and trying to cover my attacked ped with the safe one and overall trying to escape and be difficult, but he was glued to my soles. Following every frenzied movement of my tormented size sevens with talented ease.
And the worst thing is that there was a mirror in front of me and I could see my face as I was crumbling. Which only added to how fucking humbled I was by this thing, and made the cocktail of humiliation, embarrassment, and potent arousal flooding my brain all the more potent and delicious.
But yeah, eventually he stopped and he asked me if I was okay. As if he had not just executed me.
Let me reveal how hard he was tickling me with this one simple descriptor.
He broke the hairbrush.
He broke the hairbrush.
Snapped all the bristles in half like they were dry twigs.
I pulled this devil in and devoured him as thanks for this intense ass tickling. The best part is that he's more than happy to do this to me every time we're intimate. He said that he loves how much I love it, that my wants are his wants, so he'll happily indulge and banish me to the depths of madness while giggling over how cute and fun destroying his man is.
I need to try bondage at some point. Maybe a blindfold too to make me even more helpless and unable to rebel. He likes the idea and told me that as my queen, he wants to have even more control over me when he makes me his. That a masochistic slave like me needs to sit still and take it like a good boy and laugh his worries away. Sooo, fffffffuck yeah I won at life.
Because my angel is also a little demon, and the line separating Heaven from Hell is so very, very, thin.
Last edited:
