My hair is snarled and tangled and sticky, from the hard grip of his hands, from my head being driven into the mattress, from sweat, from the cunt-cream he rubbed through it. My face is tracked with tears, from the vigorous throat fucking, from the harsh sting of his cum in my eyes, from the joy of serving him; I don’t wear that much makeup but what there was of eyeliner and mascara has followed the twin rivers and stained my cheeks. My lips are swollen, from stretching to fit around him, from the relentless friction of his thrusts. My chin is slobbery from gagging and sucking; the torrents of drool have coated my breasts and below. My eyelashes are sticky and clumped into points, from the jets of praise that coated my face and filled my eyes. My bottom and thighs are covered in lines and stripes and blotches and handprints of red and crimson and purple, from… from how this all started.
He tells me that, when I look like this, I am at my most beautiful. It took me a while to see through his eyes, but I now know that to be the perfect truth.
— Frenulum
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