What if I actually enjoyed it though? I knew how wonderful a hairbrush handle felt and to have something no bigger but in flesh and blood, something that wouldn’t stop thrusting because of the intensity of my orgasm, but carry on through to force out my pleasure in full. How could I not enjoy that? And my climax was not one that I could disguise. The smug f**k had undoubtedly learnt of my squirting ways and so I couldn’t just pretend that I had pissed on him out of contempt. Plus my c*m-gush was silken and sweet, not like urine at all. He would know his triumph for sure if he brought me such wet delight. I would see his smiling fat face everywhere. I wouldn’t be able to live with the knowledge that this carbuncle on legs had taken my innocence and made me wet myself. The nagging memory wou
