1. Journal Entry: 1952


    Date: 1/18/2016, Categories: Fetish, Hardcore, Masturbation, Author: RaisinBran, Rating: 100, Source: xHamster

    her skin, so thin one can see the impressions of her nipples, the way the robe was open slightly at the top offering a glimpse of the curve of her breasts, how her long hair clung to her damp skin, and of course, the redolent odor that came from her, unbearably sharp and poignant from having just showered. When she came back from getting a towel, I was waiting for her in my room. I made sure she closed the door when she entered. Anxiously, I watched her wipe the water that I had spilled and pick up the pieces of the cup, barely able to contain myself. When she was done, she gave me a smile that all was done, and began to leave when I told her to stop. She looked back, her hair swinging slightly as she did. Although she’d been in the room for no more than five minutes, the air was already rich with her scent. “Aren’t you going to tell me goodnight?” I asked. Embarrassed, she told me so. I then replied that I couldn’t hear her, which was a lie, and requested her to come closer to me. When she did I barely heard her, how lost I was within the realm of her aroma. I took her hand in mine and was annoyed when I saw how uncomfortable she looked. “Kiss me.” “Mr. Sanford?” “I want you to kiss me.” She shifted her feet from left to right and her uncertainty and hesitancy suddenly made me angry. “Now, Cecile.” She tried to move away, but I held on to her tighter. Her aroma was so encompassing. It was as if it wasn’t just the scent of the soap I smelled, but her, her as a woman. Looking ...
    back, I think it may have clouded my judgement. She shook her head and I got up to stand in front of her. Her eyes looked terrified, but I was so furious and insulted that she had defied my order that I threatened her that if she didn’t comply I would fire her and find ways to fire her entire f****y who worked for us. It’s odd how memory works. In retrospect, at the time I paid no attention to her shaking, or her sudden yelps of pain, or the tears she seemed to struggle to hold back, but now I remember it all vividly. What I have yet to understand, no matter how hard I replay the events in my mind, was why she kept coming back. Night after night, no matter how much I took her, how reckless, how hard, she kept coming back. She cried, yelped, squirmed, but the next night she would return. I would wrap her hair around my hand and tug, slap her face, then her rear until it turned red, call her names, yet the next night she would return. It became a sort of routine. She would come in around the same time every evening to ask if I was okay. I would tell her that I am and tell her to come to me. Timidly she would step forward until I grabbed her and took her in the manner I felt like that evening until I was done. Was it all a rouse to her? Some sort of game? Perhaps I wasn’t in as much control as I thought I was. A little over two months has passed and I have reason to believe that Cecile is now carrying. She has been throwing up lately and has confided in me that her appetite has ...
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