But did I really need to humiliate myself and crawl? I suck in a long, shuddering breath. He isn’t looking for a sugar baby but a submissive. A submissive who crawls everywhere, apparently. The pulse between my legs pounds hard enough that I feel it down my inner thighs. I squeeze them together, hoping the wetness of my pussy hasn’t shown through the fabric of my knickers. Humiliation isn’t arousing. I’m just excited by his presence. That’s all. It has nothing to do with being made to crawl or being called a good girl. Nothing to do with having to strip in front of him and then getting
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