You've Got to Burn

I don't know where you found them but they're strong. Bulging muscles, impassive faces; they are strong enough to hold me suspended above you. My knees graze the floor but can find no purchase. I can only hang, using every ounce of my strength to keep my shoulders whole.

You spend minutes just staring up at me from where you're lying. Telling me to turn my head towards the window, away. Chin up, to the left, down. All the clean angles. You nod.

They lower me slowly, four inches, you guide them so your cock slides up into me. "That's my good girl," you say. "My wet girl." You nod again, they keep me still. You thrust up into me, short hard strokes, evenly paced, the fat head making me want to cry.

You tell me to look up, face into the light. You want my cheeks to shine.