Everyone has a story. No one has a clean slate.
Two of those lines are from a suicide attempt & after 4 years of creams, concealers & ointments they are still there, though less in appearance i have attempted suicide 4 times since I was 13 years old. I have been beaten several times to the point of hospitalization, I have been raped 3 times on 3 separate occasions, and I have had a miscarriage among it all. But right now? Right now I am working my ass off to fix all that. To make a better relationship with my family, to have a good relationship with the Man I am deeply in love with, and I am 11 weeks pregnant. I’m not perfect, gorgeous, or brilliant. No one is. The point of this is, it gets better. As ridiculous as it sounds or as bad as it may look, it gets better.
I have #’s 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, & 7. How could I not love someone with the same problems?
I moaned as he pressed deeply into me. I was as close to him as possible, yet I was deceiving him & that knowledge hurt more than any wound ever inflicted on me. I had, from the beginning, sworn that I would harbor no emotion for my Master. Yet here I was, filled with his thick length, completely in love. I pulled away from him & rolled onto my side as tears rolled down my face. He cradled me quickly, tears welling in his own eyes as the fear that he had hurt me shadowed his features. I bit my lip, crying still, and held him, fear building in the pit of my stomach. “I… I’m so sorry, I never should have… I’m sorry… I love you.” I closed my eyes expecting rejection from the only man I had ever trusted like this. He wiped the tears from my fice & gently kissed me. “I know, baby, I know.” He slowly pulled me into a comforting hug & kissed the side of my neck & I let out a soft sigh, blushing when he looked up at me. “Please… don’t stop…” I said softly, looking away. He layed me gently on my back & trailed kisses over my neck & chest, stopping to gently suckle my already hardening nipples making me writhe under him. He continued trailing searing kisses lower. I gasped when I felt his tongue gently run over my clit & then press into me. I moaned enjoying all the pleasure he made me feel, enjoying being his, even if this would be the last time. I bucked against him in my first climax that night. Smiling he sat up & positioned himself over me. I blushed hard as he slowly slid his hard cock into my already dripping pussy, streatching me in the most pleasurable ways. I whimpered & pulled him to me, desperate to be as close as possible & buried my face in the side on his neck. Tears welled in my eyes, “I… I love you, Master. I love you & I will never regret that.” He kissed me gently, holding me so carefully, giving the impression that he were afraid that I would break like an antique doll if he simply touched me. I shuddered in his embrace as he thrust into me again & again, driving me closer to my second, third, and fourth climaxes. I bit my lip when he said he was getting close to his own release. “Master… don’t pull away? Pleae, cum inside of me?” I whispered. And he did, filling my tight pussy. He pulled me close to him and held me through the night. It would not be over because of my emotions or his quickly developing ones, for that matter.
Valentines day has the highest suicide rate every year. I don’t care if you follow me here or not, if you need to talk, I will listen.