My lover, no more. Those sweet embraces soaring the hearts to cloud nine, passionate kisses, Hades be damned; it stroked my loin to wetness. Our night escapades, like horny bunnies in heat, lover the drill to the soul, the night enjoys.
I saw it all… what did I see? The pink make-up, I use rose red—the reddest of rose. Pink is so girly and childish; vermillion red is seductive and slutty. I’m allowed to be.
“Where is your neck-tie?” I asked.
“I lost it,” he said. His favourite tie lost? What a tale… unbuttoned shirt, lilac scented perfume; I use lavender peach and love a perfect gentleman.
I saw through it, like an eagle. My gaze shredded the deceit. Remembered two moons ago, it was a short passion, a pleasure I begged for shamelessly, you heaved like an abused horse.
No more Whitlock, I paid a visit to your harem. Veronica, curvy and a right breeding mare; slender Rosita, a new changed sheet. Lover you were the first layer, the reason for her first bleed.
“He is a beast.”
‘Violent yet passionate, rough yet charming.’
What’s the tea beloved daughter? Cynthia speaks of you with awe, your prowess is bedazzling. I grapple with the stones, my hands slipping from the edge… just a little more, I’m dead. My walk to the cliff, Anna pushed me.
My love. I’m a shamed woman, a slave to a pleasure beast. My dignity, you drilled into slippery cavern.
He did it first… how does it feel? I look out last summer. My rose red lipstick, my lavender peach perfume and my perfect body clad in bikini. Summer-tanned men are looking Whitlock.
‘Appetizing, graceful, flirty, excellent player.’ I’m everything they want for summer, till they return home to their wives, me to an empty bed.
Come to bed with me, I’m a chained tigress, unlock my passion and feast upon my overripe cherry. No more, I’m a shamed woman. Now I shall act like one, a title befitting to Whitlock’s women.