A Lucky Whore

Yes, I can feel it.

There is no way to ignore it; the tangible, unmistakable trace of disbelief coupled with apprehension when control is no longer a possession of mine.

How amusing and predictable my response must seem, for one who is experienced enough to understand. Enticing, more so, is the knowledge of what may be accomplished with a female such as I, whose ability to steer away from the shameless exposure of her own vulnerability, has wavered.

Yes, I recognize it.

There is no way to ignore it; the stench of my own filthy arousal as it builds within me and pours out through my words, actions, and behavior.

How overwhelming and consuming my responses become, when one who is experienced enough to take, manipulate, and use me, does no more than just that. Painful, more so, is the knowledge that after each time such occurs, I am more grateful than the last for the experience.

Just a lucky whore, I am. No more, no less.