On Edge free porn video

Store jingles play over the loudspeaker. Customers bustle through the aisles, pushing and shoving to get the best deal while I wonder from under my cotton surgical mask. Do they notice? Can they tell?

Catching a whiff of my arousal rising from underneath my skirt, sealed into my already soaked panties by the tight fabric of my knit wool stockings, I can’t help but rub my thighs together to feel the wetness spread around my crotch, matting my trimmed hairs. The textured pattern runs up my legs, already ripped where I knelt on the hardwood floor not thirty minutes earlier. The tight elastic of the stockings and the blue and white striped panties glued my legs together then while you looked under my skirt at my bare ass.

You really know how to make a girl wet, don’t you?

Don’t think I don’t like the tease— you appraising me, running a solitary finger down my back before flipping up my skirt and forcing my stockings down, exposing my sopping cunt. When you made me face the open window, I felt it drip obscenely. Streaks of my arousal mark the back of my legs, showing white on the black fabric. I wonder what people think when they see me looking mostly normal but a little off. Can they tell?

You make me work for it, and you make me do things like now at the grocery store.

The royal blue sweater shows nothing. The thick wool hides my aching breasts, nipples constantly rubbing the itchy fabric with every step. My heart thuds and my face flushes as I disinfect my hands at the entrance, unsure if the alcohol spray will cleanse me of this smell, this cunt smell.

You really are funny with your little tasks. You make them sound so innocent.

“Buy ingredients for dinner, will you? Oh, and don’t forget the snacks,” you said while taking photos of my exposed cunt, occasionally spreading my cream around, smearing it into my thighs; making sure the droplets glistened for the camera.

God, I felt my clit throb when you did that, but I’m a good girl and refrained. I let you edge me, and if I do this, you will reward me.

Grabbing a small plastic basket, the same cherry red as my cheeks which are thankfully hidden under my mask, I peruse the aisles, but I can’t hide the jingling. Only you would make me go out with my collar. Can people tell? Do they know what it means? Are they aware that I’m your little cum slut? I would do anything to cum at this point, but you send me here, the fucking grocery store.

A ten-minute walk from home, alone and exposed for all to see. Modest tidings can be fooling, and you and I both know that underneath lies pure, unadulterated cunt. You made sure of that when you commanded I finger myself in front of you, gathering my juices and massaging it into my face and neck over and over until all I could taste was cunt. All I could smell was cunt, and now, wearing my own scent as lipgloss, I search for dinner.

Striding through the meat aisle, pupils dilated, every step rubs against my already swollen clit. God, I hate what you do to me. The only thing saving me is my plaid skirt. The polyester-cotton blend of forest green and navy hides the wet patch that’s seeping through the layers of fabric.

I’ve never found a cut of meat sexy, but you make me feel like one. Staring glassy-eyed at the pork cutlets and chicken thighs, I think of how you splayed me out— how I hope you will splay me out when you finally let me cum.

Piling ingredients into the basket without much thought, my mind fogs over. The polished steel bell tinkles out, drawing stares. It’s hard to walk. I think I might give myself away. I know you would like that, knowing others notice how desperately horny I am. Could you imagine if I let a stranger take me in the bathroom, or worse, with the fish? I suppose the fish would mask some of my musk better than that overpowering artificial daisy-scented perfume they put in the toilets.

Recycled cunt circulates under my mask as I enter the snack aisle.

Biting my lower lip, a man brushes up against me, hand cupping my ass. It could be an accident, or maybe I just smell like a whore and he knows it. He passes by without incident, but I’m so turned on, even that brush over the fabric almost made my knees buckle. You know I would never let anyone touch me normally, but today is not normal. I’m on edge. Very on edge.

With no one around, my hand nonchalantly works its way down. The outside of my slit sears painfully through the tight woolen stockings, juices oozing through the knitted fabric, the smell overpowering. I can't tell if it's my needy pussy filling my nostrils or all the cunt smeared under my mask like some sort of depraved perfume. I try to look normal, facing shelves lined with a colorful assortment of cookies and chocolates.

Heat builds in my cheeks like slow-burning charcoal, growing in intensity while running my finger up and down under my skirt, slimy musk sticking to me. Hearing footsteps, I tense, quickly wiping my finger off on the hem. The bell rings out as I swivel my neck around to see if they see how much of a fucking cum slut I am. I need to look normal, but I don't think I can wait to pay at the cashier.

Swiping a combination of brightly packaged junk food at random into the basket, I rush to the counter. You said I needed to spend ten minutes shopping, but with my clit pressing against my bound panties, I don't know if I can wait much longer. The bell jingles while I run, almost bumping into other shoppers. Rubber-soled tennis shoes squeak on the floor, face burning up with humiliation, trying desperately not to get caught.

At the check-out, I dart my eyes around. Everyone keeps their distance. Is it because of the neon orange tape marking where to queue, or do I reek of cunt? I avert my gaze when I see the cashier's nostrils flare. Handing over a wad of cash with my sticky fingers, his eyes trace the black leather band of my collar. I think he knows.

Leather cuts through my neck while I stumble into the grocery store bathroom. Everything feels hazy, my senses heightened. Entering the first empty stall, I secure the shopping bags on a hook before locking the door. I can't help myself. I'm so close to cumming, but I know you won't let me. I know you like to torture your toys first, and that's all I am to you... your fucktoy to do with as you please. I hope this pleases you, Miss.

Fuck. My hands already grasp the elastic of my wooly stockings, peeling them halfway down my legs. A large strand of cunt juice connects to the inside of my panties. Running my fingers over my puffy labia, it takes all my self-control not to press them over my swollen clit. Arousal drips down in slow motion, drops forming over the glistening strands like translucent pearls. The toilet stall smells of piss, but it doesn't stop me. My mind already crossed the threshold of normal long ago. Now only the darkest desires remain. I feel my need, but I know I can inch even closer to the edge, feet already dangling off the cliff to sweet release.  My body chooses to shuffle ever nearer to the great fall.

From the pocket of my skirt, I pull out my phone. The timer shows I only have two more minutes of hell before you open your pearly gates to me. Fuck. I need the rush, the thrill. Unlocking the screen, ignoring your messages, I open the camera. Already tingling with excitement, I switch the viewfinder to selfie mode and angle it under my cunt to capture my insatiable need for you.

Click!

The camera shutter sends a jolt down my spine. I love the risk of getting caught, even loving the risk of you breaking my trust and distributing my private photos, my gifts to you as your little cum slut.

I take another and another. Each one making my clit throb more intensely, my need on display in the public bathroom stall. Placing one foot over the toilet seat, I try to capture the perfect angle, but the need overpowers me. Selecting photos to send with one hand, my other slides its way between my dripping folds, squelching as I slip two fingers inside. Losing myself, I move my fingers in and out while I press send, collar tinkling with every thrust. Now everyone will know I'm a raging whore. 

Eyes close. Tunnel vision sets in while I float away on clouds of pleasure. I find myself reaching the cusp, breaking your rules. The bathroom door swings open. A woman gasps in shock. I can't see, and I don't want to get caught so I stop. She must have heard my sopping cunt getting filled and the ringing from behind the stall. The bathroom door opens and closes again, then silence.

Fuck. I stand still— waiting, listening. The door opens again. Security? Footsteps approach. Looking under the stall, I see a pair of grey suede boots march my way with purpose. Chunky two-inch heels clack on the bathroom tile. Fuck.

Hand still jammed halfway up my cunt, I watch unmoving at the boots pacing back and forth in front of me. Unoccupied stalls sit empty and available, but these boots are here for me. I know it. My phone buzzes. Glancing at the screen with my available hand, a slew of messages pop up.

You filthy fucking cum slut. Couldn't even wait to get home to fuck yourself.

I know you're in there, camwhore. Did you cum when you heard the shutter click? I can smell you from here.

Open up and on your knees. Don't make me wait. It's time to teach my little fucktoy a lesson in restraint.

The boots plant themselves firmly, coming to a halt in front of the stall, the hard sole of the right foot tap tap tapping impatiently.

Fingers still inside, I shuffle onto my knees, legs hobbled by the tight elastic, and reluctantly slide open the latch. I figured you followed me. Ten-minute walk to the store, ten minutes to edge without touching myself reeking of cunt— the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. It was never a one-player game. You would never deny yourself the pleasure.

Looking up from my position, my gaze travels up your body. Suede boots stop halfway up your calves, form-fitting blue jeans tucked into them. Further up, your fuzzy pink sweater accentuates your bright green eyes, glinting with untold cruelty. Like me, you wear a mask, but I can tell you’re smirking underneath. You won the game and you know it. Your dark shoulder-length hair frames your face in contrast to my own which is pleated, braid draped over my shoulder.

You look like a fit soccer mom. No one would guess who you really are, or what you do to me. Even though we’re the same height, from my position on the ground and with the added lift from your heels, I feel dwarfed by your presence.

Relocking the cramped stall, you run your eyes up and down my body, raising your eyebrows at my fingers still jammed up my dripping cunt. The cold porcelain toilet presses against my back as you inch your boots closer.

“You’re such a fucking cum slut. Look at yourself, frigging off in the grocery store.” Your strong voice drips over me like molten honey. I’m completely entranced, but I wish I wasn’t. You being here spells out only bad news.

I start to slide my fingers out.

“Keep them there. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it, you fucking camwhore? I enjoyed your pictures by the way, but they do mean you lose the game. Do you know what happens to little fucktoys who break the rules?”

My face flushes. Heat steams up the backside of my mask like a sauna, but I obey without question. Looking up, I spot you rummaging through your purse. It sounds heavy. That’s never a good sign. You toss it on the counter space behind the toilet. I suppose most customers use it to set their groceries down while taking a shit, but not you. You pull out a spray bottle and spritz it over the toilet seat. Even with my mask, the alcohol stings my nose.

“You’re fucking disgusting trying to cum in a public toilet.” Your harsh words rake my ears, but I sense your smile from underneath your mask— a smile telling me you know exactly what you plan to do with your little toy. My heart races, each thump threatening to burst through my chest.

“Now let’s see what you bought.” Grabbing one plastic shopping bag off the metal hook, it crinkles while you rummage around. “Chicken wings and frozen salmon? Really?” You scoff, “Is this the best you could do? What in the world did you plan to make with this?”

Gazing into your eyes, I answer sheepishly, voice muffled behind my mask, “Pot-au-feu?”

“Where’s the beef?  Where’s the carrots? The onions? You’re pathetic when you’re all edged-out. All you can think about is cumming. Maybe I should deny that too.”

“No, Miss, please, I need to cum. It’s been days. I can’t think clearly. I’m desperate.”

“How desperate?”

The bathroom door opens again. Footsteps oblivious to my predicament pass by.

I whisper, “Bad enough to masturbate in a public toilet.”

Your smooth hand runs over my face, yanking my mask down. The looped string painfully tugs against the back of my ears, making me wince.

“I think you’re going to need it more than that. Tell me again, cum slut, how badly do you need to cum?” It was a statement, not a question. My cheeks sear in embarrassment, wondering if other customers can hear our exchange.

“Bad enough to do anything.” I pause, gauging your reaction, “Anything to cum.”

“That’s better. Now let’s see the rest of the goodies you bought me.” One boot steps over my thigh while your weight presses into me, heel digging into the top of my stockings just above my kneecaps. The weight pins me further into the floor with my hand still up my cunt.

“Junk food? Are you getting your period soon, or did you swipe these while you touched yourself in a pathetic attempt to cum?”

“You said to buy snacks, Miss.”

“Hah, well I guess I did.” Your eyes twinkle, “Let’s see, three packs of the same milk-vanilla cream wafers, five chocolate caramel bars, and...” An airy laugh escapes your mask, “... that’s it. I can see you’re not in the right state of mind for simple decision making so I’ll forgive the indiscretion.”

“Thank you, Miss.” My juices continue trickling down my hand. Not giving into desire and finger fucking myself in front of you takes all of my self-control.

“Do you want to cum, edge-slut?”

“Yes, please. Oh god, please. I’m so close.”

“Naughty little cum sluts don’t get to choose where or how they cum.” Your heel continues driving into my leg. The thin fabric starts to tear under its unrelenting edge.

“No, you can’t do this to me. I need this. I’m desperate.”

“Where’s your manners, cum slut?” Your voice snaps against me like a whip while you line up the wafers and chocolate bars on the counter behind the toilet one by one. Gazing intently at you, I follow your hands as they open up one of the wafer packages, removing a rectangular cookie, eying it.

“Miss, please. I said I’d do anything.”

“Later. Give me your hand, the one up your cunt.”

Never breaking eye contact, I reluctantly slide my fingers out. They glisten with my arousal. You grab my hand roughly around the wrist.

Rubbing the cookie over my hand, my juices smear into the crispy wafer until crumbs stick to my palm, smothering it. Gloopy strands stick to the top. My lips part expectantly, but your intentions are cruel.

Snapping the wafer in half, letting crumbs sprinkle over my face, you place it on the edge of the toilet seat. You remove your heel from my leg. I keep my mouth open, but my eyes widen and my breath quickens, realizing what’s expected.

I hesitate. No amount of alcohol spray will get rid of the rancid piss smell emanating from inside the toilet bowl. Maybe I’m misunderstanding what you want me to do.

Grabbing me by the collar, you force me to turn around, still on my knees, thrusting my face over the rim. The jangling from the bell echos off the porcelain. Thankfully, it’s mostly clean.

“Taste your need, fucktoy.”

My face dangles precariously over the bowl, lips brushing over the cum-coated cookie on the toilet seat. Eyes shut tight. I try not to think how disgustingly depraved this is. If this is how you want to use me, if this is what I need to do to cum, then I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.

Blood rushes to my cheeks as I relent, opening my mouth and grabbing the wafer halves from the porcelain rim with my teeth. Time stands still while I struggle to eat it all hands-free. Cautiously, I turn to look at you, emerald eyes cutting through me.

“You missed some, cum slut.”

This humiliation can only go on so long, but I’m so fucking horny, I would even lick the toilet seat. Fuck, I actually run my tongue over it, picking up any spare cum-crusted crumbs. Does this please you, Miss? Does it please you enough to finally let me cum?

Without saying a word, the toe of your boot works its way between my legs, rubbing back and forth over my sopping slit. The friction from the suede mashes my clit. Bell tinkling softly, breath rasping, I grab the outer ledge of the toilet bowl, feeling you take me there. Reaching the cusp once more, you pull your foot away leaving me devoid of your touch, yet again hanging precariously over the edge.

“You’re going to need to work harder than that.”

A slimy patch glistens over the top of your boot.

“Clean it up, toilet-slut. Then I’ll consider fucking you like the three-hole whore you are.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Shifting my position on my knees to bend over, kissing the cum-covered suede, I eagerly lick and suck off every gooey strand. I can’t stop. I’m completely depraved, and the more you deny me, the further I’m willing to go.

My bare ass sticks out from under my skirt. You make me so uncontrollably wet. If someone barged in now, I would be completely available for them to fuck senseless. Tugging my braid,  you guide my face up to meet your eyes. With one hand you unbutton your jeans, teasing me with a tuff of dark brown curls that match the drapes.

God, you are so fucking gorgeous. I'm so edged-out I don't even care that we're cramped together in a toilet stall. Who knows how many people are passing by while you humiliate me.

"Pleasure me, fucktoy. Make me cum and I'll give you that reward... maybe.” A smirk shines playfully across your eyes. You’re the worst teasing bitch in the history of bitches, but I don’t care. I’ll take you there.

I inch closer, letting my face nuzzle your mound before gently sliding your jeans and panties down. Arousal coats the bottom of the black cotton. The addictive smell of musk fills my nose. Before I can take time to appreciate it, my face is stuffed deep into your velvety folds, my braid suddenly a reign for you to pull me closer.

To think I don’t even know your name, but I let you use me as your masturbatory aid, let you fuck my face hard with your cunt— marking me like a wild animal pissing all over its territory. You take and take, using me until I can’t be used anymore. Relinquishing it all so I can let go, relax and recharge. For all I know, you have a family, a career, a separate life.

I am your secret, and you are mine.

Juices ooze over my face, a wet spot forming over the cotton mask yanked down over my chin. Mouth open, tongue out, I graze and suck on your clit. Your face contorts with pleasure while my eyes gaze up at you. A difficult task seeing that your drenched cunt smothers me to the point of suffocation, filling me with your scent. Your hand paws at your small breasts over your sweater. Knowing your reddish nipples are pointy and hard underneath only makes me cream myself more.

God, I love how wet I make you— almost as wet as me. Sensing you reach the edge, I don’t hesitate to allow you to jump off the cliff into pure bliss. Your pleasure is mine, and I drink every last drop from your spasming cunt as you orgasm.

Leaving my lips clasped over your slit while you ride out the waves, my heartbeat crashes against my chest. Finally, this should be enough. Now you will pleasure me, Miss. At least... I hope you will.

The grip on my braid relaxes, your ragged breathing slowly subsides. Pulling my face away, strands of your arousal connect me to your dripping sex. I look into your eyes waiting like an eager puppy, hoping you throw me a bone.

“You’re such a good little fucktoy. Don’t worry, I’ll give you your treat.” You rebutton your jeans while gently stroking my hair.

Toilets flush. Footsteps pass by. Sinks splash water over the acrylic countertops, but we are in our own little world. None of the risk matters anymore. All that matters is cumming.

Obediently on my knees, I watch while you slide your mask over your chin. You’re crimson lips tease me with a wry smile. My eyebrows raise when you grab one of the chocolate bars off the counter, unwrapping the foil and taking a bite. Soft caramel trails out from where you bit down.

“Do you like chocolate?” you ask smugly, dragging out each bite, slowly chewing, tempting me with its rich, alluring aroma.

“Yes, Miss.”

“Hmm... Maybe I can share, or maybe I won’t. I know how desperate you are to cum. Maybe I should make you wait until I finish my snack.”

This isn’t how I expected this to go. You’re cruel in the worst way. Frustration balls up in my stomach, but all I can do is beg for release. By this point, I'm whimpering.

“No, please. I did everything. I need to cum.”

“Didn’t I already tell you? Nasty little cum sluts don’t get to choose where or how they cum. I do.”

Fuck. I’m completely at your mercy.

The unfinished chocolate bar dangles from your mouth while you grab another one, peeling off the wrapper. Taking the half-eaten one out from between your lips, you make sure to give it a lick up and down its cylindrical form. Saliva pools in my mouth, the sweet smell irresistible.

“Show me how you use your fuck-lips, then I’ll fuck your fuck-hole.”

The melty chocolate bar covered in a trail of spit, caramel dripping down its shaft, now sits directly in front of my drooling mouth. Of course, my mouth isn’t the only place that’s drooling, wet and a complete mess.

Greedily, I take the chocolate bar between my lush lips, caramel and all. It tastes a little like you. I can’t help but moan while sucking up and down the sugary shaft. Scents of desire flood over my eager tongue. Melting chocolate seeps out the creases of my mouth, mixing with your dried up cum from earlier. You continue unwrapping the remaining chocolate bars one by one with your available hand all the while gazing lovingly (or should I say lustfully) at your desperately edged-out fucktoy.

“Good girl.” You let go of the now partially dissolved chocolate bar, leaving it rammed in my mouth. “I’m going to make you cum, but you’re such a noisy little cum slut. I think we should keep the chocolate bar where it is. You look good with your mouth stuffed.”

Easier said than done. My body heat slowly tempers the chocolate, mixing with drool that trickles down my chin, over my mask and onto my sweater. Soon, only the caramel core will remain. The sugar parches my throat, but it also makes me salivate. I do my best not to swallow the chocolate bar whole.

“Sit on the toilet, but keep the stockings on. I don’t want my little fucktoy running away when I’m finally about to play with her.”

I try to let out a ‘Yes, Miss,’ but only muffled gargles and a constant stream of liquid chocolate and spittle dribbles down my face. Without pulling my stockings up, I lift my plaid skirt and sit bare-bottomed over the toilet, legs still firmly bound together with the elastic of my stockings. You look a little too happy about my predicament.

Grinning, you take the remaining four bars of chocolate, grasping them in your right hand. To be honest, I’m a little worried and a little scared. Even with the makeshift chocolate gag, there’s no way I’ll be able to keep quiet when you decide to ravage me like the fucking whore I am. Even if by some miracle I manage to not let out even the smallest gasp when you finally touch me, the bell on my collar and the squelching that will inevitably leave my needy, achy cunt will draw attention... if it hasn’t already.

“I don’t think you deserve me touching you. That would be too good for a filthy toilet-slut so desperate she will do anything to cum in a public bathroom. No...” You pause, the edges of your lips curl up. I can only imagine what depraved thoughts are running through your head, and to think I agreed to this. You’re the reason parents warn their children about talking to strangers. I should have never talked to you at the bar, never accepted your invitation into your cold black heart and (most importantly) never let you work your way into my needy cunt. Now I’m addicted, and I can’t stop.

“... No. I think these snacks you bought for me will suffice. I bet your pussy will eat them up like it ate up my fist last Sunday. Now lift your legs, fucktoy. Show me that needy fuck-hole."

Reluctantly, I raise my legs. Underneath my wool sweater, my swollen nipples rub against the itchy fabric while I shift my position. By this point, the melted chocolate and gooey caramel glues my mouth firmly shut.

With your left hand, you push my hobbled legs further up, pressing my knees against my chest. My upper body drives further back into the counter.

“Hold your legs up. Show me how much of a filthy cum slut you are,” you command. Your voice low enough to only be heard by me, but each word travels through my edged-out mind, making my clit throb painfully. I wrap my arms under my thighs, giving you easy access to the only parts that matter, my holes that are yours to use however you please.

You appraise me again, watching my need drip into the toilet bowl in long viscous strands. Rubbing one of the chocolate bars over my slit, I feel jolts of electricity pace through my clit. My body flinches on contact, making my bell tinkle. I swear I hear someone stop outside to listen.

You don’t mess around. Sliding the first bar into my needy cunt, you thrust it back and forth. Before I can sink into euphoria, you pull it out, leaving me empty. Streaks of melted chocolate stick to the outside of my mons.

My eyes plead with you from my chocolate caramel-covered face not to stop. After all you put me through, I think I deserve release.

“My needy little cum slut wants more?” You mock. “Maybe she will get it after we use all her holes— a three-hole fucktoy for her Miss.”

Humiliation burns through my face like an open flame, my breath choppy as I inhale the combined smells of cunt and chocolate through my nose.

You reposition the slightly melted, cum-covered chocolate bar at the entrance of my puckered star. I instinctively clench, but the combination of cum and the high cocoa butter content of the chocolate confection lubes up my tight asshole. A guttural moan escapes my throat as you shove it in inch by inch, leaving only enough of a nub sticking out to angle it around the inside of my rectum. You know I don’t cum from anal. By this point, the tease is tortuous.

My arms and legs ache from their uncomfortable position. You don’t need rope to truss me up. Your powerful demeanor is enough to hold me captive. I love being your fucktoy, especially when you torture and degrade me like this.

“Does my greedy little cum slut need to cum?”

I nod my head vigorously. The twinkle in your eyes lets me know that as cruel as you are, you want to please me too.

“Let’s see how greedy your pussy really is.”

I do my best to lift my legs higher, offering up my cunt to be used. The chocolate up my ass melts into a gooey mess. Only the sticky caramel keeps it all inside. God, I’m such a filthy, disgusting orgasm-deprived whore.

Smiling triumphantly, you slide one bar up my cunt, letting it gather my juices. The outer shell begins perspiring from my internal body heat. Then you grab the second bar while twisting the first one around, stretching my squelchy fuck-hole. You make room for number two. It’s a tight fit. From my caramel-sealed lips, a muffled scream struggles to escape as you force my velvety walls to stretch to accept its new occupant.

“You’re such a glut. You should see yourself right now with all your fuck-holes covered in chocolate and cum. I think it suits my greedy rule-breaking fucktoy well that she’s taking her punishment on a toilet that reeks of piss and pussy.”

Your insults scrape down my body like nails, leaving bright red marks on my flushed face, but a rush of arousal pumps through the rest of my body with each harsh word. I love how you degrade me. It makes me so fucking hot. I don’t even care to think how I’m going to clean up after this.

Teasing me with the final chocolate bar, you rub its tip over my aching clit, making me twitch. You use your other hand to jam the other two sugary shafts further up my cunt. My head jerks back and my collar jangles loudly as I try not to rip off the caramel and chocolate sealing my lips and scream at the top of my lungs.

Without the reward of your soft skin against mine, I’m reduced to getting fucked by the very snacks I bought in my edged-out, fogged-out mental state. I should have thought out my purchases better. If I knew this is what you had planned for your little plaything, then I would have bought cucumbers instead.

The two bars up my cunt twist and meld together while you screw them inside me, rubbing against the gloopy remains of the caramelly chocolate you shoved up my ass earlier. You stop rubbing my clit, teasing my already full pussy with the third bar. I don’t think it will fit, but I also said the same thing about your fist last Sunday. I might be a size queen.

Breathing sharply through my nostrils, I can only watch as you slowly force the third bar up my used-up cunt, stretching it grotesquely. Fuck. Moaning, no longer caring about being heard, I feel the candy press against nerve endings that I didn’t even know existed.

“Such a greedy, filthy cum slut.” I can sense you getting worked up over my humiliation. Your dilated pupils can barely hide your unrestrained lust, your breath panting like an eager dog.

Thrusting in and out, using me, forcing me to hold my stockinged-hobbled legs up as high as I can, you take me there. You take me to the cusp. Chocolate and cum drip out of my holes like a depraved fondue fountain of perversion as you finally push me over the edge in an orgasmic free-fall.

Convulsing, my bell rings out to the world that I’m cumming harder than I’ve ever cum before. After days of edging, after days of being in a constant state of arousal, I crack, melting into the toilet seat like the chocolate melting out my raw cunt.

“You’re such a fucking cum slut.” This time your words comfort me like a soft downy blanket while you remove the gooey confections from my cunt and ass, or at least what’s left of them.

Tossing them away in the small trashcan usually reserved for pads and tampons in the far corner of the stall, you cover the evidence of our tryst with balled-up toilet paper. You help me drop my legs down gently over the toilet seat. Still coming down from the high, I feel like I might collapse on the tile floor. You are better than drugs, more addicting than heroin. I know I’ll be back for another hit of Miss sooner than later.

Grinning at me from ear to ear, you stroke my hair gently, brushing your fingertips delicately over my earlobe. You grab another wafer cookie from the open package and slide it into my chocolatey mouth.

“Hold still for me.” Giggling, you rummage through your purse, pulling out a 35mm rangefinder camera. Old school, I think, but there’s something special about the black and silver surrounding the lens— sleek and suave. Holding up the viewfinder to your eye, my reflection greets me in the glass. Sticky caramel, chocolate, cum and drool streak my abused face, the rectangular wafer sticking out of my coated lips like a cigar.

Click

You capture my essence on film for your ever-growing private collection. I smile, knowing you will masturbate while reliving our play when you develop it.

“You are the perfect fucktoy.”

I eat the wafer before replying, “And you are the perfect Miss.”

“See you next Sunday?”

My messy grin smiles up at you. “Let’s make it a date.”