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Imagine walking up. I am seated at a table. In public. Outside. 

half agony.jpg

Now you are Bowing. 

Transaction briskly Handled. Cash on the table. 

And without a word,

Her eyes sear into your plasma.

You are sent off. With no hope of forgetting. 

Β 

You crawl away.

Depleted. Rinsed. 

Did anyone notice? 

Do you even exist? 


Β 

xo, Bardot. 

If you've become addicted to My presence yet too fearful to approach, tribute by using Square Cash to email labardotsmith [at] gmail.com or visit My Fetish Shop