Then there was the other woman. She was hurt. Hurt by her own rejection of the norms of the society in which she was raised. She wondered why the man ...he loved didn't treat her like a princess. She thought she should be worshipped and spoilt. She was still in there. She was my vanilla conscience. As I dried my face with the bath towel, I tried to convince her that what she didn't or couldn't understand was that she was being worshipped and spoilt. She had never been listened to as intently as. His hands wrapped around her hips and jerked her towards the edge until her ass was slightly hanging off. He traced his fingers along the edges of her panties, prying them ever so slowly to the side, baring her shaved pussy to his gaze. Wasting no time, he wrapped one arm around her thigh, the other hand holding her panties to the side, and leaned in to swipe his tongue up the length of her slit. A moan escaped her, and her hips pushed forwards, looking for more. He happily obliged with another. More

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