Her panties

Her Panties

Here is an excerpt from a book I just read........ which exemplifies my slave girl perfectly....... read it and enjoy.......... and read the book! There is a reference at the end of the excerpt.........

This is the letter she wrote to her Prof:

Dear Sir,

I am these panties. They describe me best, with a dangling ribbon on each side. To whom could they belong, if not some Lolita? Yet they don’t simply belong to me; they ARE me and my body.

I happen to have worn them often when I made love, perhaps never with you, but that doesn’t matter. The ribbons hold back my impulses and my senses; they are the ties that, apart from leaving a mark on my skin, restrain my feelings. Imagine my body wearing nothing but these panties. If one knot is untied, only one of my spirits is released: Sensuality. The spirit of Love is still impeded by the other knot. Thus, whoever has untied my Sensuality will see only the woman, the girl, or generically the female, capable of receiving sex, nothing more. He possesses only half of me, and it is probably what I want on most occasions. When someone unties only the knot of Love, I shall give another part of me, a part that is small but deep. Then the day may come when my jailer arrives, offering me the keys to release both my sprits: Sensuality and Love are set free and take wing. You feel good, free and satisfied, and your mind and body no longer ask for anything, no longer torment you with your requests. Like a tender secret, they are freed by a hand that knows how to caress you, that knows how to make you throb, and they glow at the mere thought of that hand.

Now smell that part of me which lies exactly in the center between Love and Sensuality; it is my Soul, which seeps through my fluids.

You were right when you told me I was born to screw. As you see, my Soul too wishes to be desired and gives off its smell, the female smell. Perhaps the hand that freed my spirit is yours, Prof.

I daresay only your sense of smell could fathom my fluids, my Soul. Don’t scold me for saying this, Prof, if I go too far. I feel I must do it because at least in the future I won’t regret losing an opportunity before grasping it. This thing creaks inside me like a door that needs to be oiled; its noise is deafening. When we are with you, in your arms, my panties and I are free of any impediment, any chains. Yet the spirits have met a wall in their flight, the horrendous and unjust wall of time, which passes slowly for one, fast for the other, a series of figures that keeps us at arm’s length. I hope your mathematical intelligence might offer you some hints on how to solve this terrible equation. But not only this: you recognize only one part of me, even though you have liberated two. And that isn’t the part I would like to let live on its own. It’s up to you to decide whether to bring about a change in our relationship, whether to make it become more … “spiritual”, a tad more profound. I put my trust in you.

From 100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed, by Melissa P.