As I go through my day I can’t help but get distracted.
Distracted by the way my body aches when you say “suffer for me”. Feeling it come alive and need, anxious to endure for you. To ache for you. To need.
Distracted at thoughts of your control. Recognizing the desire to submit to your will. The thrill that rushes through me as I remind my body that it no longer dictates when its needs will be met. That even the hand that threatens to stray between my legs is forbidden without your permission. Feeling the web of control tighten around me like a safety net, keeping me anchored and secure.
Distracted with fantasies of being used. Recognizing the joy of place and purpose. The rush that comes from embracing this role. Being your toy. Your entertaining slut. A toy whose pleasure is incidental. A toy whose usefulness stems from your whim.
The distraction a pleasure of its own
Mmmmmmmfff. Thank you, toy!
distractions
I’m going to do this until you’re a squirming, wet puddle.
Then I’m going to work on the other one.
Because lessons are fun.
Because this sort of scene is a total turn on for me (”Here, let’s show you how to do it properly.”)
Because I know at least one person who follows this blog who’ll really like this one.
I was going to have a really productive normal day, I swear.
I’ve watched this like 10 times, idk what that says about me but here
(Source: https://player.vimeo.com/)
I want you to read me with one hand,
rushing with your eyes
hungry for the raw parts.
I love it when you search and devour.
