by Carrie
Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 87
My mind has been adrift. But life twists and turns. I got something in the mail. The handwriting was Little John’s. He writes like a jay-walker. The address was written with the most volatile penmanship (a man who quits his education quits a part of himself that is lost forever).
A photo slipped out. I saw a lovely girl, long legged and graceful, was this Photo- Art? A new exhibition that I should see? No. It was me. In my snow white lacy satin bra and panties sitting at the edge of a bed slipping on stockings, after a fucking, or should I say whoring. He scribbled on the back, “I’m sick a as a dog. Come back. Woof woof!”
Bad boy charm. Was he telling me that he missed his lovely Wasp Park Avenue whore, or just me, and only me? Could I tell him that I missed whoring? Missed slutting? Missed getting fucked and abused? No. But he knew. He knows the slut in me.
I looked at the photo again and remembered what happened next. He entered, slapped my pantied bottom and said in that sweet way of his, “Good girl.” Then he put me over his knee and spanked my bottom hot. So hot that I kicked and screamed and yelled as meaty hard slaps snapped across my flesh and echoed across the room. When he was done with me he threw me on the bed and fucked me. The door opened during my fucking and another client came in. He fucked me next.
It was getting late. Thisley appeared, “Madam, your car is waiting.” I slipped the photo back into the envelope. I had an appointment to keep. But I knew where I really wanted to be.
