I could sense that no matter how hard you try, you are unable to get rid of your new-found addiction. I expected some form of hesitation when I placed my tip against your lips but...*None* At least you should've flinched or thought, for a brief moment, about what you're doing and its impact on your moral/ religious values. But abso-fucking-lutely *none*.

You seemed to give no shit about what we're doing right now would seem like to the eyes of the society. And I'm not your therapist to analyze you like my client. But your behavior is enigmatic. I've heard you talk with your family and friends. Although I couldn't make out the meaning of it, on a particular occasion you asked me to turn down the music because you were talking with your "lover boy" or something along those lines. **IF** you were engaged to someone, my words wouldn't be able to emphasize the intensity of what we are doing right now.

*I shook my thoughts away and decided to bring my zoned-out eyes back at you*

"Mhmmm yes, brown sugar. Just like that." A few moans and random low grunts escaped my lips. Despite the man slut I am and the number of BJs I've received, getting head from you just hits differently.

I tightened my grip on your hijab, guiding you on my cock aggressively. So aggressive that your knees were up in the air for a split second. You were being *man handled* without me realizing it.

"You're such a sweet slut. Are you aware of that?" Praises. Praises and more Praises. All owing to the fact that she's breaking a major rule imposed by her community for a few minutes of heightened pleasure.

"You are doing a good job but you can do a great job. I know you're capable of that. Go ahead and give me that Hawk tuah. Give me that gawk gawk 3000"

I decided to take a hit at your ego. Of course you were doing a great job but I wanted you to think that you could do a better job. There's always an option to be better.