The Mirror of the Creative

I'm a creative artist, and the reason I'm considered a pervert is because my creations are about sex. But many women come to me
every week ; they're tired of the same old routine and crave novelty and
excitement. My female clients all have to sign a contract guaranteeing that they can't stop or quit during the creative experience and
must follow the arrangements, otherwise they have to pay a hefty penalty—how high? Three or four stories high!

Today is Saturday again, and you've arrived as usual. To be precise, we didn't make an agreement,
just a tacit understanding: you come every Saturday to experience my new creative project, and I always
set aside two hours for you.

This week's theme is mirrors. No matter how open-minded a woman is, if she sees herself having
sex , she'll be incredibly ashamed, right? And the tension brought on by shame stimulates even stronger pleasure; otherwise, why
would anyone have an affair?

Enough of the chit-chat, let's get to today's topic. I'm taking you to "Sex Dream Garden,"
a place specifically for practicing my creative projects, equipped with all sorts of specially crafted tools.

You've been here several times already, so you didn't gasp in amazement at the ingenious design or Momo's
perversion . Perhaps because we're old friends, we sat together very easily, chatting casually.

Your complexion was rosy; they say women who frequently experience orgasms are more beautiful, and you, around thirty,
still looked like you were twenty-two. Because we were so close, your breath occasionally
brushed against my face, carrying the softness and fragrance of a young girl—the intoxicating feeling of a spring breeze,
filling with warmth. This warmth hypnotized us, releasing a colorful dream. In truth, what I do is
create a real fantasy for women. At this moment, your charm and allure drew me into a dream as well. You
brushed a strand of hair from your forehead with your right hand, your eyes filled with coquettishness, glancing at me almost imperceptibly.

I was drawn to your eyes, a pool of spring water welling up within them, stirring a deep desire within me. That desire rose to
your lips, making them even more alluring, the slight upturn of your lips carrying a hint of seduction. I thought I could resist
anything except temptation, and without a doubt, the distance between our lips slowly disappeared. I had entered your
intimate zone, my left index finger teasing your adorable nose, a playful smile on my lips. You took my finger and
pressed it against your fleshy red lips, the tenderness of your lips flowing through my finger to me—was this what you wanted to tell me?

You quietly closed your eyes, seemingly giving up resistance, or perhaps awaiting my conquest. You wanted to pout
your lips to welcome me, but the inherent feminine reserve made you clench your teeth. I didn't let you endure the torment of waiting,
so I leaned in and captured your lower lip. Your lower lip was held between my lips, the tender flesh feeling my
pressure. My tongue swept across, you felt the softness on your lips, and unconsciously parted your teeth. I seized the opportunity to slip my tongue
inside, searching for the sweetness within your mouth.

You tilted your head back, your brows slightly furrowed, gathering all your feelings into your lips, afraid to miss a single spark of passion.
The lingering kiss between your teeth was the best aphrodisiac; your face flushed, the passion more
intoxicating .

Even before my fleshy hands had caressed you, your lower body was already aroused, a secret spring welling up. My
right hand went around your head, resting on your right shoulder, my forearm cradling your head for support. My left hand climbed up
your breasts, trying to conquer their firmness. Through your clothes, you seemed to feel the warmth of my palm,
involuntarily moaning softly, as if expressing your desire. I gently kneaded your breasts, pressing my hand close,
rubbing them in circles on your chest.

Your nipples hardened from my kneading, but your heart softened from my touch. You panted softly, desire luring you, making you
feel uncomfortable . Women in their thirties are like wolves, in their forties like tigers; you, starved, wished you could use your inner strength to burst open your clothes. I
quickly undressed you, letting the heat in your heart dissipate slightly. If I were to
serve you with traditional breast-licking now, you probably wouldn't sign the bill. So, I led you to a coffee table. The coffee table wasn't
long, it was very narrow, and the surface was very smooth. On it stood a dildo, the base of which was suction cup-shaped, firmly attached
to the coffee table.

The truly novel thing was that the smooth surface was actually a mirror. Your vagina was unbearably itchy, and
vaginal fluid was flowing out, telling of the emptiness of your vagina and the desire for fulfillment. You straddled the coffee table with your legs spread,
your left hand already anxiously kneading your full breasts. I stood behind you, my hands on your waist, guiding
you to slowly sit down. Adjusting your body, the glans of the dildo slowly pushed open your vulva, scraping against the layers of folds of the vaginal
wall , like a spring breeze turning the pages of a book, arousing your desire. You couldn't take it anymore, and you started thrusting
your hips , your vagina rubbing against my penis. Perhaps you were too thirsty, because with each thrust you sat down fully, letting the head of my penis press against your
clitoris.

I released my hands, moved a chair next to you, and admired the boundless spring scenery before me. You felt an itch in your vagina,
so you scratched it with my penis. Each stroke turned the itch into pleasure, sending it to your heart, and arousing even more
desire, making your heart itch even more. You were pushed forward step by step by desire, your hips thrusting faster and faster. You
had to bend over, supporting your upper body with your hands on the coffee table. Your body was so weak that you couldn't lift your head, so you hunched
your neck, tucked your chin in, and lowered your head.

Your mind was already clouded by lust, your eyes half-open and half-closed. Suddenly, you froze, your face burning as
if it were on fire. You see your reflection in the mirror on the coffee table, your vagina overflowing with lustful fluids, your labia
stretched open by a dildo. If this vagina belonged to another woman, you would surely turn away and close your eyes. But it is yours
, and what's even more shameful is that this vagina is still frantically manipulating a dildo.

Shame tells you to stop your lust, but the tingling in your vagina and the emptiness in your heart pull you onward
. Several forces tear at each other, making your body like a taut string, more sensitive. A gentle
pluck can resonate a powerful note in your heart.

With each stroke, the voice in your heart becomes a lewd melody, squeezed out of your throat,
becoming high and low moans. You use these moans to drown your shame, turning yourself into
an animal . At this moment, you exist only for orgasm.

Pleasure is like a rushing river, blocked by a dam, just waiting for a breach to burst forth in a torrent of climax.
The tension brought on by the shame of being violated made the dam, like a taut rubber band, even more brittle, while the body's sensitivity brought on pleasure.
It was more intense than usual. The climax quickly overwhelmed you, a gush of vaginal fluid erupting as you released with unparalleled pleasure
.

You snapped out of the euphoria, understanding the power of shame, and willingly submitted to my manipulation, becoming an
animal seeking climax—you had read my plan beforehand, to dress you up as a dog. You knelt on the ground,
wearing a dog-ear hair clip and a red collar with a bell around your neck. An anal plug was inserted into your
anus, with a white, furry dog tail attached to it.

You crawled to the wall, where a large mirror reflected identical dildos, also tightly
adhered . Five dildos extended horizontally, all the same length and thickness, differing only in height. I guided you, first
enjoying the one that was the same height as your vagina when you were lying down. You crawled backwards, your vagina pushing towards my penis.
I held your buttocks, helping you align yourself. Before I could let go, you eagerly thrust my penis into your
vagina, the head pressing hard against your clitoris. You let out a long "Oh," your voice filled with satisfaction.

I stood beside you, watching you thrust your vagina against my penis, your white buttocks slapping against the mirror,
creating waves of flesh. Your wanton appearance, coupled with the clear view of my penis thrusting in and out, made me, a
visually sensitive man, incredibly aroused. My lower body burned like molten lava,
ready to burst forth and erupt like a magnificent volcano. I knelt before you, my hard, throbbing penis erect, my right hand
supporting your chin. Without me even knocking, you pounced on me like a hungry wolf, biting—oral sex.

You were already dazed, all oral sex techniques forgotten, only knowing to open your mouth and manipulate
my penis. I held your head in my hands, thrusting my hips back and forth, my penis going in and out of your mouth. I
pushed forward, and your whole body was thrown back, your vagina hitting the dildo, then your buttocks
bounced , and you lunged forward, your mouth swallowing my penis even deeper.

"Little bitch, both your holes are full, are you satisfied now?" I
teased your shame as I did it. With my penis in your mouth, you could only make muffled sounds,
like a dog's low growl.

In life, you are a dignified woman, respectable, and desirable. Now, you are dressed as a dog,
crawling on the ground like a dog, and being made to have sex like a dog. Even worse,
the calls you a dog. Such shame—if lust hadn't consumed your mind, you probably
would have eaten my penis like a cheap sausage.

The wondrous power of shame manifested itself once more. You held your breath, and the pleasure, like gas in a balloon, rapidly expanded.
You wanted to moan unrestrainedly, to shout out your pleasure, to release your desire, but my penis, stuffed into your
mouth and blocked in your heart, was all blocked. The dam began to fill again, the pleasure rising higher and higher until you could no longer hold back, your vagina
collapsing once more, and your juices gushed forth.

Then I took you to try penises of various heights, each angle adapting to your vagina, each
penis giving you a different sensation. Finally, the mirror was covered with your juices and semen,
flowing down the surface, leaving long trails.

You had played for too long, orgasmed several times, your body almost limp, and self-control had become
extremely difficult for you. You felt a strong urge to urinate, seemingly unable to hold it in any longer. Although you lay weakly on the ground, you
were embarrassed to urinate in front of a man, especially naked. You asked me to help you to the bathroom. I knelt on
the ground, lifted your upper body, and helped you sit up, leaning against me. I wrapped my arms around your chest, kneading your
breasts, and whispered a mischievous grin in your ear, "Momo's going to add a little something extra for you."

I held your legs, like I was helping a child urinate, and carried you to the wall, positioning you to face the mirror.
Then I squatted down, holding you, and playfully whistled "shhhhhh" in your ear. Looking at
your exposed vulva in the mirror, even a slut would be ashamed and lower her eyes, let alone being
held like a child urinating by a man. You were powerless to break free, trying to cover your face with your hands, but they wouldn't obey.

The strong urge to urinate couldn't overcome the barrier of shame; no matter how I tried to coax you, you just couldn't pee. Yet
the intense urge kept assaulting you, almost driving you to the brink of collapse. You desperately wanted to
end the torment of urination, but couldn't overcome the barrier of shame.

I got tired of holding you, and seeing your anxious state, I decided to help you. I laid you down on the ground, and you
sat apart, leaning against me. I reached out and took some of your vaginal fluid from your vagina, smeared it on your sensitive
clitoris, and gently rubbed it in circles to help you relax.

I slowly massaged your clitoris, whispering sweet nothings in your ear to help your whole body and mind
relax. You moaned again as pleasure overwhelmed your clitoris. I
gently massaged your lower abdomen with my right hand to help you urinate.

I had only been massaging for a short while when you suddenly cried out, and another gush of vaginal fluid spurted from your vagina. Accompanying
this orgasm was a strong stream of urine, which shot towards the mirror, creating brilliant splashes on its surface.
Seeing yourself urinating in a man's arms, clearly witnessing the urine shooting out of your vagina, and
this shameful scene being seen clearly and completely by the man behind you, you inexplicably screamed again
, experiencing another orgasm in your vagina, only stopping when you finished urinating.

Your tension and excitement made you scream uncontrollably, the frenzied pleasure bringing you to multiple
orgasms . This time, you were completely limp, silently collapsing in my arms, only the violent
heaving of your chest allowing me to faintly hear your heartbeat. I comforted your body, trying to calm you down, and when you finally
regained your composure, I gently called for you to get dressed, but you had already fallen asleep.

Sleeping on the floor isn't good, so I picked up your soft, delicate body and placed you on my bed. I covered you with a
light blanket and looked down at you. A childlike smile graced your lips. I guessed you were probably dreaming,
dreaming of returning to your teenage years, laughing and playing in a colorful world. I leaned down
and gently kissed your forehead. "Sleep now, here with Momo. Enjoy your dream. When you wake up, you'll be dressed in your magnificent, heavy
clothes again, transforming back into a respectable young woman."

URL 1:http://localhost:909/htmlBlog/169106.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=169106&aspx=1

Previous Page : Cleverly Taking Over the Sisters

Next Page : Mr. Stephen

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

The Mirror of the Creative

comment Open a new window to view comments