Dipping a finger into my cup of love, he slowly swirled it around in me, like a teaspoon stirring the sugar in a cup of tasty coffee. It was not difficult for me to do this. I opened my lips for him to kiss me, but he left a long spit into my mouth. He didn’t let me lick it a little first to get used to it. With my feet behind my neck and my head tilted slightly forward, I could see my own landscape, my pubic mound, even my cleft, in full detail. The man was telling my dad what position he wanted to take me in. The valiant knight’s head who had tickled me the first time I saw him, who had made me tremble from my toes to the back of my neck, now dangled, bruised and battered, at the door of the princess whose he had struck countless times. He didn’t let me lick it a little first to get used to it.
