Filed under: Deviant Dreams
My cock is still hard and will be for a while. You’ll make me wait. I know you will. It gets you off knowing how much I need you. You rape me with your words. You bring me to edge and…”not tonight, baby…don’t you fucking dare cum until I tell you.” Every time I beg, you get wetter and wetter. And you tell me about the guys you’ve fucked. The cocks that slammed into the cunt that I long for. The fingers that pushed deep into your ass and made you jerk and moan. The orgasms that ripped through the body that I would give anything to wash gently, feeling every curve, every bump. They cum in your cunt, your ass, your mouth and you tell me to jerk it for you…”jerk it hard…fucking harder, you slut…don’t you dare fucking cum…don’t you fucking dare.”
The jealousy slices through me and the frustration. You fuck my mind like a sculptress, effortlessly twisting my mind, cutting deeply, smoothing it out, cutting again until you shape me into what you want. And I’m not good, sometimes. I step out of line, I push too far. My jealousy clouds my mind and I forget and I want to make this about me and I know that it’s not. It’s about you and what you want and how best I can give it to you. And my will doesn’t mean anything. When you ask me for my preference, it’s merely out of curiosity and maybe it strikes your fancy and maybe it doesn’t but it has nothing to do with my will.
I try. Every cock you tell me to suck, taking it deep into my throat while the knife flits just below my chin, every load of cum I swallow, every cock that fucks my ass until it bleeds as you cum hissing into my ear, (“fucking faggot…you think you’re taking those cocks for me?…I fucking doubt it…I…fucking…unnnnngh!”) I take to make you cum harder than before. I want it, want it so badly, to hear you cum, to hear the lust screaming out of your mouth. I’m your expiriment on yourself. It’s got nothing to do with pushing me, it’s about how far down will you dare yourself to travel? What limits can you push past? I’m the blow up doll in your private pit of foulness that gets deeper and deeper and when you pull the string in my back all I ever say is “Is that all you’ve got?”
The devil inside your mind didn’t look for you. You looked for him. You sought him out and begged for him to appear. Your days become full of new and more degenerate thoughts that flood your cunt, soaking your panties until he wonders why you need to buy more every week. Yes, baby, you wanna kill me and fuck my corpse, mummify me and pass me off as a full scale fuck toy, cumming so fucking hard as you watch your girlfriends lower their sorority-girl pussies onto my once warm cock. And you’ll never tell them that they fucked the slut that you killed for your own pleasure. You’ll keep that foul little secret inside you and every time you sit down to brunch you’ll have to excuse yourself half way through to cum hard in the stall of the bathroom.
How far, baby? Huh? Is that all you’ve got?
The greatest trick the devil ever played was not convincing the world that he didn’t exist – it was convincing the world that they didn’t seek him out.
Mindfuck should always be one word, baby, because it’s impossible to disentangle it.
Do I get to cum now?
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