Big T

So I've been seeing Big T since January, and it was a typical hot couple of months before he was caught cheating. Against my better judgement I carried on seeing him, but the trust was gone and I made it clear that it was only down to certain fantasticly huge attributes of his I continued to see him. With a slim London black book, I'm not in a position to go cutting off my clit to spite my pussy... Occasionally I'll ask him if he'd just fuck me - I'd happily quit my other men if I could have him regularly enough - but he won't promise me anything.

Me: "Tell me you won't lie, and tell me you'll just fuck me?"

Big T: "I can't say I won't lie, and I can't say I won't fuck other women."

Me: "ok..."

Now the feminist voice in my head begs me to say what comes naturally but my hungry pussy contests the opinion and shouts it down... 'please! please! I need him, I need him...' And we all know which voice wins everytime.

Humiliation. Shame. Embarrassment. These are what I made to feel like in order to sate the hungry pussy's demands. I don't realise at the time, but when I notice I am hiding the fact I am seeing Big T from my friends, I know this is what I feel.

Wet. Throbbing. Swollen. These are what I made to feel like when my phone rings and it is Big T calling...