Feb 162012
 

She’s tiny – maybe 5’2”.  She has black hair and pale white skin.  Pulled back tight, as it usually is, her hair is straight, except for the curly bit behind the scrunchie.  Her eyes are shocking:  the whites, milky; the green, almost crystalline; the black, pitch.

Her breasts are small, no bigger than A-cups.  Her waist is tiny, her hips flare out – she has a surprisingly large waist-to-hip ratio.

Her teeth are pearly white, her smile (as I think I may have said before) infectious.  She is one of those people who truly lights up a room when she smiles.  Her ass is round, meaty, surprisingly big given her tiny size.  She has a few tattoos, in direct contrast to her innocent mien.  The tattoos identify her as the property of another, though she professes to be through with him, to intend to remove the tattoos.

She always dresses just across the line of sexy, into whorish.  I was embarrassed to be seen with her – her whorishness drew attention, when discretion was more of what I craved.  Her heels, too high; her skirts, too short; her tops, too tight; her lipstick, too red.  She never wears a bra (she doesn’t need to, but that doesn’t stop many women).  She rarely wears panties, though she would for me, because I asked.

Her fulfillment of requests was exquisite:  there was never a question, never a challenge, never a push back.

She introduced me to true submission, and I’ll always owe her for this.

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