Callidus

Cheryl whimpered, rocking forward and back on top of the motel’s bedspread. She’d been sitting long enough that she wondered if her aching sex might actually be soaking through to the mattress. The thought died, happily, as the spiral twisted in front her and robbed her of everything but the desire to keep watching…to keep plunging deeper.

She couldn’t quite focus on it, but somewhere, at the edges of her mind, she knew she was waiting. She knew that, at some point, the door to the cheap room would open and someone would be there. She imagined them holding a leash and blindfold; handing her a pair of heels that weren’t designed for walking. She imagined what other indignities the motel’s mattress would endure beneath her clenching, thrusting body.

She imagined she heard footsteps outside the door and the sound of a key slotting the lock. Then, Cheryl let the coarse fabric of the bedspread have its way with her quivering clit. As she barked and grunted out a savage climax, cheryl imagined the face of the person who would walk through the door and put their collar on the slave waiting inside…