1. Trust


    Date: 7/17/2015, Categories: BDSM, Shemales, Author: klammer, Rating: 100, Source: xHamster

    to figure out what hers were saying, there with the dim light from the streetlamps, and caught in a struggle between fear and desire. I'd never thanked her properly, she was hinting, or so I thought, and I'd lied to her and hadn't trusted her. Could I trust her even enough to tell her that I liked her gift? &#034Yes,&#034 I croaked, answering my question and hers. She kissed me again, and the release of tension was enough to let me decide what I'd seen in her eyes. Fear. Fear of being hurt, of being lied to, again, probably. This time, when she broke the kiss, she laid her head on my shoulder, and her fingertip followed the tip of my tongue. It was an old trick of hers; she'd always been fascinated with the fact that I savored her kisses so much that I had to lick them all up when they were over. &#034Will... Can you show me, if I come in?&#034 she asked, in an oddly thick voice. That question was more or less equivalent to a handful of speed. My poor, abused heart, that had just spent several minutes crowded into my throat, and then brittle as glass, took off like an Olympic sprinter. It didn't have far to go, really. Nancy had always had it in her keeping; it fled there, where it had always been well-treated. I made an absurd little whimpering sound, and squeaked, &#034Y-yes.&#034 She hugged me tightly, for a long pair of moments. I absently returned the hug -- I mean, really absently. Most of me had run for shelter somewhere, and I felt weirdly detached, like in the ...
    middle of an acid trip. There and not-there. She pulled back, finally, and whispered, &#034Come on,&#034 taking my hand to pull me out her side. As if she was afraid to let me get too far away. In that oddly detached mood, I let her lead me to the door, and watched as she repeated my actions from the car, surrpetitiously blotting tears from the corners of her eyes. We went in, and she led me to the bathroom. My hands were trembling convulsively when she let go of them, and took my coat. She disappeared, and I found the makeup, still operating on autopilot. When she came back, a moment later, I had tears standing in my eyes again, because the lipstick had mostly missed my lips. I started to wipe it off with the back of my hand, feeling horribly ashamed, but she stopped me, then gently cleaned my lips and my hand with tissue. Her glance, now, seemed compassionate, and I hoped, desperately, in the part of me that was shrieking in terror, that she would let me off the hook. She did, sort of. I guess. She put the makeup on me; I just stood there, obediently. &#034There!&#034 she said, finally, turning me to face the mirror. &#034That wasn't so hard, was it?&#034 &#034Yes!&#034 I gasped, and then laughed, half-hysterically, before bringing myself under control. Her eyes looked concerned, when I caught them in the mirror, reaching up to blot the tears again. &#034You'll run your mascara,&#034 she warned softly, and I gasped a laugh again, as she slid her arms around me from behind. I ...
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