Once again, three of my friends have birthdays on the same day; what're the odds? So, many happy returns of the day to
soft_princess,
cherryicee and
mariposa1962. I hope you all have wonderful birthdays ::many hugs and smooches::
I'm recovering from the twin embarrassments of discovering yesterday, thanks to the eagle eyes of
lovesbitca that when I archived Secretary, I missed out three whole chapters in part three. The weird thing? It still made sort of sense ;-) But there was some of my favourite smut missing which would never do, including this bit which I adore because I can just hear her saying it, overiding all his concerns,
"And I slid right down on it and then you pulled out and you fucked me over the desk, Wes. You fucked me over the desk. I don't give a fuck if it hurts, cause it's a good kind of hurt, I want you to fuck me over the desk."
Really, she can't say it any plainer than that and for one second, she wonders if she's over-stepped the mark. Been too pushy. Too domineering but then she hears the rasp of his zipper… ::melts::
And zippers are sort of what the second OMG, what did I do? is about. I started to iron my navy trousers and discovered a huge rent down the seam at the back. These were the trousers I'd worn to do my library volunteering and go with L to the speech therapist in.
I do seem to recall a faint tearing noise but when? And did I dare try them on to see just how much of my bottom had been on display? Was ignorance bliss?
I finally cracked (hah, hah) and tried them on and implored David to tell me if he could see vast amounts of my backside. The conclusion was, not unless I bent over. What, as I would when I was tidying the shelves, you mean? The only thing saving me from expiring from the shame is the fact that when I kneel to do that, I'm in an aisle and it's impossible for anyone to be behind me.
They're in the bin now and my blush is fading slightly.
I'm recovering from the twin embarrassments of discovering yesterday, thanks to the eagle eyes of
"And I slid right down on it and then you pulled out and you fucked me over the desk, Wes. You fucked me over the desk. I don't give a fuck if it hurts, cause it's a good kind of hurt, I want you to fuck me over the desk."
Really, she can't say it any plainer than that and for one second, she wonders if she's over-stepped the mark. Been too pushy. Too domineering but then she hears the rasp of his zipper… ::melts::
And zippers are sort of what the second OMG, what did I do? is about. I started to iron my navy trousers and discovered a huge rent down the seam at the back. These were the trousers I'd worn to do my library volunteering and go with L to the speech therapist in.
I do seem to recall a faint tearing noise but when? And did I dare try them on to see just how much of my bottom had been on display? Was ignorance bliss?
I finally cracked (hah, hah) and tried them on and implored David to tell me if he could see vast amounts of my backside. The conclusion was, not unless I bent over. What, as I would when I was tidying the shelves, you mean? The only thing saving me from expiring from the shame is the fact that when I kneel to do that, I'm in an aisle and it's impossible for anyone to be behind me.
They're in the bin now and my blush is fading slightly.