Savaged Text

I like to get book reports on your orgasms; I like to know how and why they happened, I like to know their major themes and plots. 

Could you tell I was counting the moments, that time you came in under twenty seconds? I like your orgasms to start as rewards, and end as punishment, when you come, almost weeping, partially broken, desperately. 

Yeah, I like it when you come desperately. I like it when you need it, when it’s forced on you, when pleasure is driven into you hard and relentlessly. 

I like to know how you feel, what you’re scared of, what makes it even better. 

The irony is that you’ve got that sweet little pussy all day, and I only need it for a little while, just a bit, just a quick little slit of time, maybe in the middle of the day, or the middle of the night, just some quiet, private time, when I could run my lips and fingers, skate across the surface, like a stone skipping across the tautness of the water’s edge; where it meets the sky… Or I could plunge in deeper, and deeper. Go probing your mysteries, your breathing patterns, your depths. 

You have such depths for me to sink to. No bottom level to your kind of hell, whatsoever. 

I’m going to stick my cock in you like I’m working on a project for the science fair. “How deep can it go?” says the banner, and beneath it, are a bunch of pictures of you, your holes.

She pulled on the gloves, sharp and fast, like she was drawing a blade across my throat.

“I want to fuck you,” she said, like she was explaining something I couldn’t understand. 

Her cunt glistened like a patch of liquid honey; I was high and hallucinating or she was so fucking lustful she was going to drawn me in it.

“I want to fuck you,” she explained, “but you’re going to have to learn to let go a bit.”

I had nothing to let go of; I was stripped and strapped down, my intimate moments shining out to her like constellations guiding sailors home from the emptiness of the sea. 

Yeah, she took my cock with both hands, and she shoved right up inside that big fucking hole in the middle of her personality. 

I shuttered, and for a moment, forgot her name.

I sat back watching, as the girls met each other. I’d had them both stripped down and washed separately, and now they were meeting, as equals, nude except for their collars, unadorned except for the leashes that ran from their collars, to my hands.

I introduced them each by name, and let them crawl towards each other. They were on hands and knees, like they were about service me, orally, or like I was going to get behind one of them, and take them with long, steady strokes. 

But I stayed where I was. One hand holding both leashes. One hand moving slowly towards my hardened cocks, as they met on the carpeting. “Kiss her,” I told one of them, and she did, shyly at first, and then deeper. Tongues pressing deeper.

“That’s enough,” I say, when I can see they’re getting into it. Their cheeks are flushed, and their little cunts are already looking swollen and pink, like it’d be nothing short of physical pain to ask them to restrain from cumming hard onto each other. 

And they can, they could, they could do anything they’d like.

They just had to wait for me to give the command.