super-trafalgar: better-than-her: When you’re sick of just being more beautiful, you can also try be
super-trafalgar: better-than-her: When you’re sick of just being more beautiful, you can also try being sluttier @better-than-her, yes, but look how flat she is. She needs to be sluttier to compensate … “You’re very beautiful, babe,” your boyfriend tells you, gazing at you appreciatively. You smile happily, drinking in his admiration. “And not just your face, I’m talking about here,” he carries on. “Man, your legs,” he says, his eyes moving downwards. More smiling from your end. “You should wear shorter skirts to show them off more.” “Isn’t this short enough for you?” you ask playfully, lifting the hem a smidge, and kicking your legs out straight to emphasise their length. He eyes them. “It could be shorter. You need to flaunt what assets you’ve got, babe.” “I’m not a slut, you know.” This comes out sounding more defensive than you intended it to. He laughs. “I know, I know.” Then he pauses. “Did you see Josie yesterday? In that top she was wearing. You could see her big juicy tits in all their glory.” You flush. “You know I’m not big in that department. I couldn’t wear what she does.” He laughs again. “You can say that again. You’re as flat as a pancake compared to her.” You flush even more. You think of the two of you in bed together and how he likes to play with your breasts; touching them, licking your nipples, pushing them together, rubbing his cock over them. “She made a point of bending over in front of me at lunch today. Josie, that is,” he says, carrying on blithely. “Made sure I got a proper eyeful,” he says. There’s a wistful tone in his voice. “That slut.” “Tell me about it,” he says, with that laugh again. “She smiled at me when she straightened up again just to make sure I knew she did it on purpose.” You wait, knowing there’s more. Knowing he’s playing with your emotions on purpose, keeping you in suspense, toying with you. “What else did she do?” you ask finally, not able to hold it in, or disguise the tone of - what? disgust, jealousy, insecurity, arousal? - in your voice. “Oh, nothing. Just smile and jiggle her breasts a bit.” He waits a beat. “Still, I had to go jack off in the bathroom toilets straight after. She had me rock hard.” “Oh, God.” You look at him. You can’t help looking at the crotch of his jeans. “That’s why I say you should flaunt your assets more, babe. Show me what you’ve got.” “What do you want me to do?” You voice comes out quiet, desperate, strangled-sounding. “Pull your dress up and spread your legs for me, babe. Show me what you’ve got. Be a slut for me.” You hesitate. You look around you to see if anyone could see the two of you. You think about what you’re wearing beneath your skirt. You do as he says. “Yeah, that’s it,” he breathes. “Be a dirty, fucking slut for me and make me hard.” You don’t say anything, just let him stare at your legs and your pink-dotted panties, wondering how long it will be before he sees a stain appear on them and realise just how much of a slut you are. -- source link