She - Sleen

She was thrown at my boots. A ravished .. raped and beautiful woman. The raping had only brought out the best in her. She was made for it .. built for it .. thrived in it ... and it showed. She glistened with it.

Now .. that is not all women. But when you find it .. you collar it and throw it out there to excel. The use of men made her .. bigger ... better ... more beautiful .. sexy. Like a banquet of delicacies meant for the palette of men. She was the epitome of sexuality. She breathed it .. it rose off her skin like warm honey. Her natural scent was crafted by the Sky to awaken and inspire every primal base instinct that lived from the base of my skull to the base of my spine and we had an entire conversation without words.

The kind of woman to give men dreams and women nightmares.

How she survived free this long I will never know. But she is no longer .. and well ... she is also mine. Bonus. What her father and .. soon to be mate ... found disgusting in her for obvious reasons ... I found delight in. How could I not? She was not my daughter .. she was not my mate. Such sensuality worn all on the outside. Why would you cover that up and pretend it did not exist? Waste. I hate waste.

If there is a position that matches the thought of sexuality at its most primitive level .. I would have to say it is she-sleen. And so that is the name she was given from the start .. whether or not she will earn another is up to her. But right now it fits and .. amuses me at the same time. When you call her .. you should see all the other slaves react.

It so works for me.