The air was thick, one of those days when everything felt magnified. We walked together, and as always, she was the center of attention. Our relationship was a firestorm, but something in her behavior pulled me to a strange edge—not anger, but a tangled thrill, somewhere between pleasure and awe.
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That day, she wore something designed to break every rule: a thin top clinging to her body, no trace of anything underneath, and pants so tight they screamed every curve. On the street, eyes followed her—men, women, even drivers craning their necks out of windows. She knew it, and her smile showed she relished the game. Her steps were deliberately slow, as if savoring every stare. And me? I walked beside her, and instead of anger, something stirred inside—a secret thrill that everyone wanted her, but she was mine.
At parties, the game grew sharper. One night, she showed up in a black lace corset, the fabric barely covering anything. The lights danced on her skin, and guys swarmed around her like moths to a flame. She laughed, leaned closer to one, her hand grazing his chest, then shot me a sidelong glance. It was like she was testing my reaction. And instead of exploding, I felt my pulse quicken. Her performance, her boldness, dragged me into a world I didn’t want to admit I enjoyed.
Even on the streets, the game didn’t stop. One day, in a short skirt that rode up with every step, she walked beside me and flashed a smile at a stranger, freezing him in place. Then she looked at me, those devilish eyes sparkling, and said, “What? Don’t you like it?” Her voice dripped with mischief. I just laughed, because the truth was, I was enjoying it—her audacity, her ability to turn the world upside down and still be by my side.
But one night, when we were alone, her tone shifted. She was sprawled on the couch, still in that black lace corset that seemed designed to drive people wild. “You know why I do this?” she said, pausing, her voice trembling for the first time. “Because I’m scared. Scared that one day I won’t be enough for you. This… it’s just to make sure you still see me.”
In that moment, it was like a curtain lifted. Behind all the theatrics, the clothes, the glances, was a girl terrified of fading away. And I, who thought I was just reveling in her game, realized something deeper was at play. She wanted to be seen—not just by strangers, but by me.
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