Sir,
I love your hands. I find myself lost in contemplation of them, losing track of time with a grin on my face. Bony, veiny. Aged by time and experience. Strong. Then I stare at your ring finger — at the ring itself. And I dissociate in bliss. How fucking hot.
In the bath, you in front of me — my legs on your sides. Your left hand on my right leg. Softly touching, carressing. Me happy, looking at that ring — which belongs to another but is brushing against my soft skin.
After the bath comes play time. You go for one finger, two fingers. Me, so horny, so ready. Then you slid the most important one, the third — the one wearing the ring. Not stopping on such good way, you fit the fourth, filling me completely.
That ring finger deep inside me, that ring touching the most intimate part of me. Absolutely fantastic, delicious.
Yes, I’m deviant. Yes, I’m going to hell. But I already had my ticket anyway. So might as well succumb to my darkest desires.
I’m happy that you belong to her. I don’t want to belong to you, nor you to me. She or both of you made a great choice with that ring. It’s beautiful. Gold, shiny, thin enough but not too thin — engraved with delicate cuts alongside.
So pretty — on your hand, on my leg, on my pussy.
Mesmerizing.
Yours for this time, the magpie.
🪐