ANGELICA THE PLAYTOY

SALTY AND BITTER

I squealed and moaned as his finger struck gold inside me. He stared in my eyes as he moved his finger up and down inside my coochie, I pinched my n*****s and squeezed my t**s as he stared lustfully into my eyes. I struggled hard to control myself, to stop myself from releasing before him as I pulled on his d**k hard. He let out a moan like a wild beast as his chest pounded.

"Harder, harder!!" He begged me to stroke him harder.

I moved my hands up and down faster, trying to meet up with his pace, my blood boiled, my legs fidgeted, my hart raced; one hand on his c**k, the other in my breast, squeezing and pulling at both of them. Suddenly it shot out, a splatter of c*m all over my stomach, some landing on my breasts. Instinctively I scooped a little from my breast and tasted it; salty as always, he looked at my and a smile lit on his face.

*************************************************

I am 26, but life has thrown me some tough stuff that made me grow up fast. I lost my parents in a car crash when I was just two - I was right there in the car with them when the accident happened, but somehow I came out okay. What seemed like a good family trip at the start ended up with a two year old in the ER. The accident changed everything for me. I often think about how different my life might be if my parents were still here to give me guidance, because from the way things went after then one might say I was actually jinxed.

At that time, my mom's elder sister was the only relative willing to take me; a two-year-old infant in. The rest of my relatives were more interested in fighting over their share of my parents' properties, questioning how they acquired them, rather than caring for me, the child they'd left behind. They didn't even consider setting aside anything for my welfare, or my education.

My aunt, a petite woman with a bitter streak, raised me. She wasn't cruel, but she was indifferent, and her bitterness often spilled over onto me, the orphan she'd been saddled with. She went through the motions of caring for me, but her heart wasn't in it.

To my aunt, I was just a duty, an obligation she felt forced to fulfill by providing me with the basics - a roof over my head and food on the table. She didn't really notice me or show any genuine interest in my life. I felt like I was just a presence in her household, not a person worthy of attention or love.

In contrast, her family members - her husband and sons - showed me a bit more kindness and care. Although I later found out that their motivations weren't entirely pure, their actions still made a big difference to me. Despite their reasons, they were more caring and accepting than my aunt, who was supposed to be my closest relative. It was ironic that I found more warmth and acceptance from them, rather than from my own aunt.

As I grew older I began to notice changes in my body. I observed that my peers seemed to fit into certain body types - some were straight and thin, while others were plumper. But my own body was curvy, and I couldn't help but notice the differences. I'd study the shapes and forms of other kids my age, wondering why I didn't fit into any particular mold. Unlike most of my mates I didn't fall into the average American girl figure, instead my breasts had become extremely full and my hips to waist ratio was unrealistic. You'd think it was a family thing but all my aunt's and cousin had that box figure.

With no one to talk to about these feelings and concerns, I felt isolated. My aunt was distant and only interacted with me when she needed something, like sending me on errands. I longed for guidance and support during this confusing time, but it seemed like I was on my own, trying to navigate these changes without any direction or reassurance.