Call me Keira

Her choice to become a high-maintenance slut was crucial to her life. She didn't want to earn money. She wanted to cost money, to represent money. First, she was shy to accept this truth. There were still shades of doubts that what people had said in her youth could be right, that she needed to be free, to be independent to become her own woman. But being her own woman never really made sense to her. Becoming a full blown woman meant to be claimed and owned by a man, meant she was taking care of, spoiled and kept, not being on her own. She felt this truth long before she could grasp and accept it. She felt it deep inside and from the start. One beautiful day she stopped the flight and to deny it and started to dress like it, to live it. She dressed to be claimed. She dressed to be owned. She stopped being her own woman and enjoyed the attention. She stopped being independent and became happy. She stopped being free and embrace her femininity. She became a man's trophy and hobby, she became expensive and lavish and costly, and her man loved her for that, a spoiled queen on his lap at daylight and his whore in his bed at night.

Gone is the shy, hiding, reading girl. Gone is the young woman who dreamed but never acted, who wanted and needed but never got the chance to experience it. Gone are the wishes, the hopes, the illusions, and gone are the desperation, the loneliness and misunderstandings. Gone is everything which made her unhappy, decisions, thinking, strategies, and competitions. You simply needed to free her, to liberate her from all burdens, so you labelled her, marked her, upgrade and invested into her until one evening, she moaned freely and loudly and thankfully as your tailored-made Barbie, giggling, fulfilled and happy, in sweet painfully unleashed freed desirability.

Coffee?

🤎🤎