I re-read the quote in the book again.
“...we melted into each other. When he caught me watching him watching me in the mirror, he turned his head and spit into my mouth”
How could that line have possibly elicited a reaction from my treacherous cunt? That’s disgusting. People don’t really do that during sex do they? There’s no way I would ever let anyone do that to me.
Except I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
My head was saying “Ewww…germs…wrong! Nooooo….” and yet I wanted to know what it felt like, I imagined the feeling of wetness, the intimate violation of forcing me to take it, the humiliating edge of being brazenly spat on.
It was an early glimpse into my sexual revolution to come, how things that made my head say “no” could tap into the secret desires of my cunt, the seeds of ideas beginning to grow, ready to be fed upon when I was open to it.
He’s looking at me with such bafflement I wonder if I’ve managed to forget how to human again. I’m sure I used words rather than growls, despite being rampant and desperate for him. I try again, just in case…
“Please…just fucking spit on me…” begging him with my eyes and words.
There’s that look again, I can almost hear him process “She can’t possibly mean that…” before burying his face between my thighs. It has the desired effect, making me sopping wet for him to enter but I really did mean it. I want him to spit on me.
By now I know I love it. As suspected my treacherous cunt was right, as she often is. Once I’d let the seed of the idea grow I’d embraced spitting for being everything I had wanted it to be, a sinful desecration from bodily fluids unleashed in warm wet wrong-hotness.
I want it to hit hard and wet against my naked skin, lying beneath you, exposed. Cover my cunt with your saliva, look me in the eye as you do it, degrade me, and make me filthy with your mess. Spit in my face and smear it around, tell me I’m a dirty girl.
Lien’s surprise at my reaction when he finally relented to my request was quickly replaced with an evil gleam in his eye. I practically saw the realisation that he now had another easy button to be used to his advantage; a defilement that is a simple, quick and immediately effective.
Now I recognise that look in his eye that says its coming and I automatically flinch. I turn my head away, try to escape, still responding to the impending shame, the humiliation of being coated in his filth.
He asks me…. “You know what’s coming don’t you?” I don’t have to answer; my cunt speaks for me by clenching tight and treacherous around his cock.
“Spitting on you is fucked up, you know it is. I love those looks of anticipation. Feeling you twitch.”
My own responsiveness to this particular brand of deviance is mirrored in Miss Kitty. There’s crossover in the weapons available in our combined kink arsenal. Proud perverts, we share enthusiasm for the specific ammunition that can be used to fire arousal.
Riding her, I take the hard “monster-cock” deep, pushing the base back onto her, grinding against her groin. She writhes beneath me, responding to the vibrator pushed against her clitoris, held in place by helpful assistant and voyeur. Face to face, lips connecting in wild kisses, hands caressing naked skin, a harmony of hot noises as her thrusting becomes more rampant. “Every time I cum I fuck you harder” she giggles in gratitude, the wand working its magic.
She looks beautiful laid back on my bed, lips slightly parted, hair loose and wild, practically glowing. I see a flash of something pass over her face, a longing in her eyes, a filthy depraved smile working at her mouth which opens a fraction more, tempting me.
“I want to spit in your mouth” I sneer.
“It’s like you read my mind” she delights, the smile soon replaced with a look of shamefully-disgusted lust as I fire my saliva into her face. I recognise my own reaction as her hips respond, bucking hard, her hand in my hair, pulling back down onto her. Fixing me in place to pound at me, rampant from the debasing act. Exactly the way I would react.