I look back on those last days, of her and I, and miss them. Don’t misunderstand, I miss them while knowing full well how wrong they were. How toxic we were. But I can’t help but remember how hot.
The girl was tied to the chair when Stacy and I began to fight. The girl, whose name I forgot so long ago, Stacy’s sub and therefor my sub, but deep down we all knew she was Stacy’s.
What did she think of that night? Stuck, helpless, panties wadded up and taped in her mouth, watching her master’s fight and fuck.
What had we planned to do to her? Something sweet? Something horrible? Probably the latter. That was how it went with us. A sickening spiral of human sexuality and cruelty. We clicked horribly and somehow pushed each other to greater and greater heights of debauchery and I wasn’t sure if I liked that any more.
When the fight started, something trivial, it grew. Loud voices raised in anger.
She was half naked at the time. Her large breasts swayed as she jabbed her finger at me.
I yelled back and started to feel myself getting hard.