Internal chatter clogs the tattered pathways of the mind as it stumbles aimlessly down thought cluttered trails.

His fingers deftly coax the first orgasm from my body, momentarily causing a short in the brain’s perpetually whirring circuit.

Remnants of musings obscure the ground, memory fragments crudely daubed on crumbled aging walls.

Pleasure ripens as desire awakens.
He asks for another, and my body responds.

Cognitive graffiti designed to distract.

I know this game, we’ve played it before.

Reflections pool in staccato breaks.

Lips find lips, heat builds.
He’s making demands now, insistent, no longer gentle exploration.

Rents in the path begin to appear, momentary confusion.

I recognise that sound.
He’s speaking to me now.
He still wants more.

A pause.

“I can’t” I hear myself say
“Yes, you can”
For can, read will.
It’s a statement of fact.

radio silence

He expects me to deliver.

Awareness of self, surroundings, Him.
He surrounds me, lust cultivated.
He’s enjoying this game of extract the orgasm from the Flutterby.

“Cum for me, slut”

I grimace, I writhe, I swear.
I cum.
Evil motherfucker.

His mouth forms a grin against my lips.
He knows I cannot resist.

He’s teasing me now for his own sadistic pleasure, orgasm performing a mesmeric ballet just out of reach.

My mind is now empty.
Awareness only of what is happening to me.
It’s grounding, centering, the maelstrom of mental turbulence defeated.

“Don’t you dare cum”


I claw at the bedsheets, at Him, I don’t know how much longer I can hold it back.

Breathing shallow, rapid, His begins to match mine.
He builds the pleasure, then backs off, builds, backs away….I’m…..His toy, to do with what He will.

I whimper, He grins.
I plead, He denies.

Without warning he speaks.

I have no choice.
My body obeys.

He pulls me to Him, holds me close, soothing, whispering, comforting my shaking body.
I cling to His words, His voice my only remaining link to reality.

“Good girl”