I got an extra belt.

I noticed his belt on my dresser this afternoon, coiled like a snake.  Dark brown, almost black, smooth and well-made.  Its low-key fanciness surprised me.

I pulled it through my fingers and watched its shine bend and flex with my hands and smiled.  It was a nice meaty weight.

I’ll think of him, he who couldn’t be bothered to text me after sex, when I wrap it around the throat of my next sublime and willing lover.  If he ever calls to get it back I’ll tell him the dog ate it.

Eat your heart out, asshole.

February Photofest

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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