He released me, carefully feeding me my own semen, which I dutifully licked from his fingers, before having me get down on my knees."All right bitch, ...ow it's time for you to start by begging me, your master, to let you put on some lipstick before you can blow me."Fighting the urge to cry, and hence make myself look even more pathetic, I lowered my eyes to the dirty ground as I heard myself whisper "Please..."He loudly interrupted me, "Louder bitch. And be sure you call me Master!"I swallowed. I think we all bear our scars, some seen and some invisible. You have yours, I have mine. Somehow, when we are together, mine don’t seem so deep or important. I think it’s the transformational power of how I feel, and that’s a fact too. I remember saying to you once, ‘What does one do about gravity, it’s just a fact.’ The only reasonable answer: one weaves facts like the how I love you into the fabric of a life, even though true love is, by definition completely unreasonable. So I will be your. More

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