The Cost of Passion


“Do you know how much that skirt cost me buster?”

“Bend! Do it!”

“No. Not until—”

I hooked a finger onto the waistband of her knickers and pulled her backwards. She continued to complain but complied anyway. That’s strange, don’t you think? I was taught to respect women’s wishes. Mother said I’d do better if I did. Nina just placed her hands on the wall, bent over and did what had I told her to do. I kicked her feet apart.

“Bend over, I told you! Bend! More!”


Advance on her!

“Alright, I am! I am!” Her legs were separated about as far as they could go and she was bent at right angles to the wall. “You’ll pay for a new skirt, do you know that!”

I reached down for the sodden crotch of her knickers and grabbed them at the cleft of her body. She twitched as my hand entered that forbidden region. “Not those. I mean, I can just take them off and—”

Can you believe that? After losing such an expensive garment and making it her business to tell me about it, she still wanted to protect the tiniest, most inexpensive bit of cloth on her body.


We both know it’s not about protecting the knickers. It’s about preserving the last line of defence. A controlled surrender offers some dignity. I wasn’t interested in providing dignity, not to Nina. Those gates of hers were coming down regardless. Dignity was a luxury—something she couldn’t afford and wasn’t worthy of being given. I stood beside her and held her neck with my left hand. “You want this to happen.” I squeezed her knickers tightly and felt the warmth of her wetness ooze around my fingers.

“I don’t want this. I don’t want—”

She does! No is yes.

“You want it like this and I’ll show you that you do.”

I said no is yes.

More naughtiness here in my story SEETHINGS.