My armour is made of pretty skirts

Today has been pretty terrible, and I’ve managed to write neither of the posts for my new ‘personal essays’ category that I’ve been planning. I did write something else, though, because I did remember today how nowadays my clothes feel like my armour, empowering me against the world.

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Another airport adventure

“Bend over slut.” I obey, wetness seeping into knickers, but I peek up at him as he deftly ties my hands together. His fingers move quickly, and while I’m still swooning a little at his skill he’s moved behind me and is tugging my knickers down. Two sharp smacks land on my bottom. “Head down, slut, let me use my fuck toy.”

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At the end of the day

Today was a long day. A good one, certainly, one that has left my muscles aching in a very satisfying way, but it has been long. I got off the train into the pouring rain this evening, and by the time I got home all I wanted to do was take off my wet clothes and wrap myself in blankets.

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