Macha Femmes

vivian da silva macho femme bravado

vivian da silva macho femme bravado

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She teetered on five inch heels, drunk on whiskey and macho femme bravado. The cement floor of the bar’s basement was cold and my knees began to ache. The quickness of my breath and the urgency of my hearts beat made the dull pain in my knees seem distant. She pulled my hair tightly bringing my face closer to her painted mouth. I smelled the sweat of her neck and the soft perfume of her hair. My pussy ached in response as warmth spread through the wet folds of my lips. The overwhelming waves of desire made me think of the good whiskey she poured from her tiny gold flask.

“Are you sure you’re not going to fall?” I whispered, trying carefully to form the words around the blade in my mouth. She pulled my hair more tightly and I could see the glint of the silver blade reflected in her dark eyes. She slipped the cool blade deeper into my throat and I wondered if the metallic taste in my mouth was my own blood — this too seemed unimportant.

“I can wield a switch blade any old time. Drunk or sober,” she snarled. I believed her, closed my eyes and did my best not to gag.

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