A new fantasy.

Fuck it.
Let's just get to it.

The evening finds me stripped bare and lashed to the bed, turned sideways so my head hangs off the side.

I swallow as you step into view, looking absolutely radiant in a pair of khakis and a dress shirt, hair tied up, the outline of an unfamiliar but not unexpected bulge clearly visible through the fabric.

I'm a bit nervous… never expected I'd want to be here, not until very recently…

But I lick my lips.

And you stand for a moment frowning down on me, hands on hips.

Then as quick as a whip, you drop trou… and I see it only for a moment, just long enough to realize I don't recognize it, just long enough to wonder about the tube leading up and out of the harness…

But then it's in my mouth.

I can imagine your frown shifting to a grin as my body reacts instinctively to you… a faint vibration in my jaw reminding me that visual stimulus isn't all you get from this.

But then when I see it… when I realize there's a second source of vibration… and where it is…

God, baby. I told you. I don't even half understand it, but I can't help it, and just on sight, just at the mere thought of it…

The amp goes up to 11.

A few moments later, just after I first noticed your breathing change… my view, still only of your thighs as they start to shake…

You gasp.
And suddenly there's a new taste in my mouth.
Salty.
Sweet.

Delicious.

Because it's you.

(at least in my head)

And as the trembling in your thighs is still settling, you back away. As you start working your belt, I flex my jaw and think “well… at least I don't ever ask her to take that much…”

But there's a wet spot on my belly.
You aren't the only one who drips when you're this turned on.

And I start wondering how you might choose to service my own needs as you slowly start undoing my tethers…

Then revel in the unrelenting ache when it turns out you're just shifting me, letting me get my head back onto the bed, on a pillow…
Before you tie me back up, still rigid with need, still trembling for release.

But then you curl into a nearby chair, humming First Day of My Life to yourself as you start working on some work you brought home… Shushing me gently as I moan and grind my hips, desperate for any kind of sensation…

And I love every last aching moment of it.

Yours. Purple. Painful. And yours.

PS—At the risk of dredging up a bad memory… still worrying that I might be a “standard being”?