He smiled at me, a gaze i returned but inwardly winced from. "My goodness, my little cunt, I think you are the best playmate I've ever had. I hope you are skilled. Are you skilled?" "Yes." No use in lying or false modesty or any form of pretense. "Can you cry or have you been robbed of that?" "I can fake it for you." "No, my little cunt- I love the way you flinch when I say that- I want you genuine. Now, what is it that your tricks, Johns, er," he floundered. "Clients," I supplied. "Yes, of course," he laughed merrily. "Clients. What do your clients sometimes do that you hate the very most. And, why do you hate it?" I bit my lip and thought. I hate it all of it it. What was the worst? What made my skin crawl? Why the fuck was I trying so hard to help this man hurt me? "They lick my face. I don't know why I hate it so bad," I shrugged. "Its disgusting." "Then beg me to lick your face. Crawl over here like a good cunt and beg me to run my tongue all over your dirty little face." So i did. And, he did. And, finally, it was enough. Time to play the game.
