Halloween in college was different, it turned out. No help from her parents, difficult to go anywhere but a thrift store, no money or desire to buy anything complicated.
Her best friend, Kelsey, was a sophomore, and had done the whole process before. Kelsey had introduced her to drinking, too... and fraternity parties, and weed... Kelsey knew her way around a lot of things and seemed to love sharing everything with her.
So it should not have been much of a surprise when she approached Miranda one night in her dorm.
"What are you gonna be for Halloween?"
"Oh, I dunno. Haven't gotten there yet. Do you already have plans?"
"Yeah, I wanted to hit up Jimmy and his friends. Also, he's making a booze run that night so we'll have our vodka." She winked, and Miranda gave a small smile. Miranda liked her quite a bit but the two were really opposites; Kelsey was fun and adventurous and energetic, and like a perfect cliche Miranda was boring and embarrassingly inexperienced. With a lot of things.
Not the least of which being Jimmy, but that's an entirely separate story.
The two of them worked surprisingly well together as friends, enjoying each other's company and banter. And Kelsey took pride in being a "mentor", as she liked to refer to it. Miranda usually preferred the term "bad influence".
Miranda was curious about Halloween; Kelsey clearly already had everything planned out.
"Well, what were you thinking of being?"
Kelsey giggled and looked at her without skipping a beat.
"Brainwashed."
Something felt like it took the air right from her chest and held her by the pussy.
What the fucking... Nope, no time to even begin to analyze why that statement from her best friend -- a girl --
She swallowed everything.
"O-oh?" Her tongue felt thick.
Kelsey nodded and played with part of her hair.
"Yeah, like a Manchurian Candidate type thing! Easy costume, you know?"
Kelsey tried to steady her voice for a joke.
"So when you wake up, you'll try to kill someone?"
"No, silly! I'm a girl." As though that explained it.
Miranda shrugged at her. Kelsey gave that warm, oh-you're-so-cute-when-you're-clueless smile.
"Haven't you seen Mean Girls? Halloween is an excuse for girls to be sexy," she explained. Miranda was starting to feel dread and arousal in the pit of her stomach.
"Uh huh..."
"Well I was thinking," Kelsey said, "we could do a sort of joint costume? Where you had the trigger for me -- I've got this queen of diamonds card, like the movie -- and some time during the party you'd show it to me!"
Oh god.
"And when you're... triggered?"
Kelsey winked. "I want to keep that to be a surprise! But it'll totally be hot."
Miranda wanted to hide, or curl up, or beg to ask what it would be. She stayed silent and nodded and forced a smile.
Before she could even think.
"Alright, sure."
Kelsey beamed, so upbeat, and reached into her pocket to fish out... a playing card, extending her hand to give it to her.
Miranda took it with trembling fingers.
Queen of diamonds.
Kelsey was talking and she sounded so excited, but Miranda wasn't hearing her. When she left for the night after a few minutes, Miranda... Miranda *masturbated*.
--
How could she be doing this? How could she want this? This sick, hot little fantasy she barely even knew was there was something she began to obsess over.
The internet told her there were a lot of people who shared her desires. Stories, pictures, even audio files with the intent to... brainwash... unwitting listeners into... mindless drones...
Her brain stuttered over the thoughts. It took every ounce of willpower not to try them out. Miranda wanted to leave fantasy as fantasy.
And yet it felt impossible with the looming thought of Kelsey going wide-eyed and blank at the sight of that card in just a couple days...
But it wasn't real. This wasn't real. This was just a Halloween costume.
...of a girl, losing her will and self at the sight of a card...
...she didn't even know what Kelsey was going to *do* when she was triggered...
She fumbled with her belt and pushed her hand down her pants for the second time that day.
--
She swore off masturbating after the crippling guilt that came from that last orgasm. This was her *friend*, not some porn. It was ridiculous to think about her like this.
She didn't even know if it was wanting to see Kelsey like that, or if she was jealous that it was Kelsey instead of her.
Regardless... she shoved those thoughts down inside of her, and the tingle that went with them.
Kelsey was her best friend. They'd go to this stupid party, get drunk, get it over with, and everything would go back to normal.
As long as she didn't think about this anymore, in that way, she would be absolved.
The two had decided to grab a late dinner at the dining room, so Miranda grabbed her bag and headed to Kelsey's room.
The door, usually open, was shut.
"Kelsey? You there?"
No answer. Was she taking a nap or something? Jeez, Miranda had told her how over sleeping would ruin her for class the next day --
When she knocked, the door pushed open, not having been fully closed.
"Hey, Kels--"
She stopped short. Kelsey's computer screen, facing her, was taken up by a whirl of color, spinning ever inwards, and Kelsey... was staring at it, headphones over her ears, wordless, not even noticing her.
Her heart almost fucking stopped.
Miranda bolted. Shut the door behind her. Walked briskly back to her dorm room. Closed her own door.
*-- sitting staring blankly dripping at the spiral --*
Her pussy throbbed helplessly at the image burned into her brain.
*-- brainwashing herself --*
No. No, there was no way. No way this was real. This was absurd. She felt like she was going to be sick, she was so fucking turned on.
A knock at the door allowed her no time to process, again.
She considered not answering it, but she had already gotten up to open it.
Kelsey.
Miranda almost moaned, or screamed.
Kelsey smiled triumphantly.
"Well, well, how the tables turn," she said, "usually you have to drag *me* out of bed!"
...She literally hadn't heard or seen her.
Miranda was dumbfounded. She didn't know if she was relieved, or terrified, or...
"I- I knocked but you didn't answer."
*because you were busy --*
Kelsey frowned, confused. "Well that's odd. I've been in all night. Oh well. Ready for dinner?"
Shaky, Miranda nodded, and tried to forget about the girl she saw in front of that computer screen.
The girl she had dinner with was the same old lively Kelsey, babbling on about her professors and homework and the party Miranda had missed last night.
She got back to her dorm.
The party was tomorrow.
Queen of diamonds sat innocently on her desk.
Miranda masturbated.
--
The next day was a shaky blur. She wondered if it was all some disturbing dream. But every memory was so vivid, each time she even approached them they consumed her with shame, fear, guilt, *craving*...
7 pm came. It was time to go.
Kelsey wasn't dressed in anything terribly revealing, just her usual party fare. A tight black tank, skin-hugging jeans, and heels. Miranda wore a nice sweater. She wondered suddenly if Kelsey was going to strip.
...In front of everyone, mindlessly revealing more and more skin, mouth hanging open as she --
*Please,* she begged her brain. *Please stop.*
"Ready to go?" Kelsey grinned wickedly at her.
She nodded.
This was it. They bundled up for the walk -- it was a chilly October -- and Miranda wanted desperately to forget to bring the playing card but ended up shoving it with clammy hands into her pocket.
They trekked across campus to Jimmy's dorm. Kelsey told him that most of Kappa whatever would be there too and that the party was definitely going to be lively.
When they arrived, the small room was packed and almost everyone was in costume. Some of the guys were dressed as members of the football team, others had animal head masks (an amusing, if odd fad on campus recently) and one was a toilet paper mummy, with material he had surely gotten from the dormitory bathroom.
Miranda watched her sidle up to Jimmy for a flirtatious hug. She smiled a little to herself. Kelsey never changed. Even brainwashed.
God.
If she was drunk this might be easier, so the two of them hit the bottle of vodka until the room was spinning.
"You need to show me the card." Whispered in her ear. Setting her on fire.
"I'm scared," she confessed quietly, drunkenly.
Kelsey grinned. "Why? It'll be soooooo fun..."
Did she really not know? Or did she know and... no... There was cluelessness in her words... but such a drive behind them...
*You're going to go away,* she wanted to say.
*I'm scared that I want to see that,* she wanted to say.
*I'm scared that I want...*
But Kelsey was up to something else.
"Hey guys," she announced, slurring a bit. Miranda wanted to slap a hand over her mouth but sat frozen.
"Guys. Can you guess my costume?!"
The room focused on them. Blood thundered in Miranda's ears. She wasn't listening to the shouts and guesses. No one knew but them.
Kelsey gleefully told them all that they were wrong and kept looking sideways at her. Expectant.
"Here's a hint," the girl said, and stared at Miranda.
Fuck. Goddamn it... There was no time left... she was so drunk...
She pleaded with her eyes, but Kelsey only flicked her gaze to her pocket.
*It'll be over soon...*
She pulled out the card, trembling, and flashed it in front of Kelsey's face.
The smile fell. The girl's eyes glazed. Time slowed down. Miranda's cunt screamed. Her heart pounded.
Kelsey looked her squarely in the eye, but her gaze was focused *behind her*.
That look was so, so fucking hot.
"That's this slut's trigger," she murmured, toneless.
Miranda wanted to die. This wasn't happening. The room around them was hushed and tense. She tried to ignore them. God she was going to explode...
She rose almost mechanically and walked towards her. There was whooping and cheers in the room, a bunch of drunk frat boys wanting some lesbian action, and it looked like they were going to get it but god, they had no idea what was going on here, no clue why Kelsey was so fucking silent as she came in to touch -- her -- shoulder -- and -- lips --
Warm, feminine breath on her cheek, lips dragging towards her own, and Miranda was dead frozen too, terrified and turned on... Mourning the loss of her friend but so blazingly attracted to the automaton in her place... Wanting so desperately...
Her lips were so soft and so hot and she moaned and the room faded away even as the cheering reached a crescendo.
"K-Kelsey..." *You can stop this now, stop the act, PLEASE --*
"Kelsey is gone," the girl whispered, and kissed her again, and Miranda damn near came on the spot.
She had never wanted anything so badly in her life.
The moment seemed to last forever, and when Kelsey pulled away, she looked at Miranda with the most empty eyes, and *smiled*.
"I'll make you a drone too," she breathed.
Miranda choked, cheeks on fire, pussy throbbing.
"H-how..."
*Because...*
*Because I...*
"Kiss me and let go of your will..."
Her eyes nearly rolled up, the room forgotten, the cheering unheard.
All that mattered were those lips and that brainless, blank girl that they were attached to...
Miranda leaned in...
...and gave in...
...and forgot.
Monday, October 26, 2015
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Power (scene log feat. cckitten)
(This one... Is a true story. What did YOU do last night?)
--
Words have power. The simplest phrases can turn the tone of an experience in a moment.
As she is touching my breasts, caressing me as we lay in bed together, I find a very clear desire in my head, sharp and cutting through the late-night haze.
And in that moment, I am overcome with the sense of power to take what I want.
"I want you to be *obsessed* with my pleasure."
She is not expecting it; I feel her body twist and convulse against me and the thrill of it hummed in my belly like a drug. I can't stop. I don't want to. Ever.
"My pleasure is the single important thing to you right now. Giving me pleasure is so deeply ingrained as a part of you. Feeling my responses and reactions is what you were *made* for."
Her touch is becoming more and more desperate. I'm getting off on how much I can twist her will. So is she.
"Everything about this experience of giving me pleasure fulfills and satisfies the deepest parts of you. You were made to please me. You were always meant to please me."
She is shaking, a little. Her fingers are becoming more enthusiastic. She's struggling to keep it feeling good for me with so much intensity in her own mind. I know all of this without words.
"The best part is that this is a learning process, learning how to better bring me pleasure. A learning process with moments of extreme intensity, and moments of a more quiet, slow burn... That ebb and flow is just so perfect and embeds itself inside of you so you can better focus on pleasing me..."
This forces her to stay in the experience even when I stop talking to enjoy the pleasure she is bringing me.
...I am fucking close. I can't stop strings of words from coming out to bend her further.
But I know tonight I won't get there without her mouth.
I grab her head and shove her whole body down the bed and between my thighs. She is breathing heavy on my cunt, so excited.
Her tongue is so very sweet...
I'm going to cum from my favorite toy tonight
My favorite toy that wants nothing more than to give me pleasure
...That I will make to later BE NOTHING but giving me pleasure
"My orgasm is what you live for right now," I tell her, and that's it, she's slowing to my favorite tease with her tongue, "Because my orgasm is the most perfect way of giving me pleasure and that is the most important thing for you... And when it comes you will feel it in your whole being..."
I need to stop talking to cum... Starting to lose focus myself... Scratching her neck. Face. Head. Want to hurt her. Want to keep her as engaged as her brain can handle.
"You are keeping yourself in trance for me with your own tongue... Focusing on that rhythm... on the feeling that gives me... until you bring me to that point..."
So, so fucking good.
And eventually, she got her reward. The most important thing in her world for that moment.
My control, my pleasure, my training, my orgasm.
--
cc will have instructions to read this, and potentially other things I give her periodically to remind her of her place. She *will* be trained into my personal pleasure toy. And training never ends...
--
Words have power. The simplest phrases can turn the tone of an experience in a moment.
As she is touching my breasts, caressing me as we lay in bed together, I find a very clear desire in my head, sharp and cutting through the late-night haze.
And in that moment, I am overcome with the sense of power to take what I want.
"I want you to be *obsessed* with my pleasure."
She is not expecting it; I feel her body twist and convulse against me and the thrill of it hummed in my belly like a drug. I can't stop. I don't want to. Ever.
"My pleasure is the single important thing to you right now. Giving me pleasure is so deeply ingrained as a part of you. Feeling my responses and reactions is what you were *made* for."
Her touch is becoming more and more desperate. I'm getting off on how much I can twist her will. So is she.
"Everything about this experience of giving me pleasure fulfills and satisfies the deepest parts of you. You were made to please me. You were always meant to please me."
She is shaking, a little. Her fingers are becoming more enthusiastic. She's struggling to keep it feeling good for me with so much intensity in her own mind. I know all of this without words.
"The best part is that this is a learning process, learning how to better bring me pleasure. A learning process with moments of extreme intensity, and moments of a more quiet, slow burn... That ebb and flow is just so perfect and embeds itself inside of you so you can better focus on pleasing me..."
This forces her to stay in the experience even when I stop talking to enjoy the pleasure she is bringing me.
...I am fucking close. I can't stop strings of words from coming out to bend her further.
But I know tonight I won't get there without her mouth.
I grab her head and shove her whole body down the bed and between my thighs. She is breathing heavy on my cunt, so excited.
Her tongue is so very sweet...
I'm going to cum from my favorite toy tonight
My favorite toy that wants nothing more than to give me pleasure
...That I will make to later BE NOTHING but giving me pleasure
"My orgasm is what you live for right now," I tell her, and that's it, she's slowing to my favorite tease with her tongue, "Because my orgasm is the most perfect way of giving me pleasure and that is the most important thing for you... And when it comes you will feel it in your whole being..."
I need to stop talking to cum... Starting to lose focus myself... Scratching her neck. Face. Head. Want to hurt her. Want to keep her as engaged as her brain can handle.
"You are keeping yourself in trance for me with your own tongue... Focusing on that rhythm... on the feeling that gives me... until you bring me to that point..."
So, so fucking good.
And eventually, she got her reward. The most important thing in her world for that moment.
My control, my pleasure, my training, my orgasm.
--
cc will have instructions to read this, and potentially other things I give her periodically to remind her of her place. She *will* be trained into my personal pleasure toy. And training never ends...
Monday, October 5, 2015
...In the Window (short erotica)
"Excuse me, how much for your mind?"
Caroline jumped. The question came from a woman behind her; tall and curvy, in a loose sweater and tight jeans. Not the usual attire for a kink club, but Caroline was a little grateful for that, because she wasn't yet used to being in a place with so many people in so many various states of undress.
She gave a nervous giggle. The woman was still waiting with a patient smile.
"I, er. Well, I'm not sure it's for sale. I have to admit though, I've never been approached with that line..." She trailed off, and thankfully the music in the club thumped over her words to cover her stutter.
*Nor by another woman,* she finished in her head.
The woman laughed.
"That is a shame. To both," she added, pointedly making eye contact.
Caroline had to look down from it for a moment. Thankfully, the woman extended her hand for her to shake.
"I'm Hannah," she said. "Haven't seen you around here before."
Caroline shook it: it was a soft grip but she was surprised that there were calluses on her hand.
"It's my first time at... a place like... here." She was tripping all over herself like she was a teenager again. This was awful. She shouldn't have gotten dressed up in those garters she found in a novelty store last week... The revealing clothing was not helping her confidence.
Hannah never stopped smiling.
"Enjoying yourself?"
She tried to smile back.
"I think so. It's all a bit..."
"Overwhelming?"
Caroline finally made eye contact. The woman's face was difficult to read.
"Maybe."
The expression turned warm again.
"I hope not too much. You'll get used to it, but you should enjoy it while it's still nerve-wracking. You'll miss that feeling someday."
"Oh, maybe." Caroline thought on that for a moment. It did make quite a bit of sense. "Thank you."
The woman *winked*, and Caroline blushed, like it was a scripted scene from a movie. "Anytime."
*Didn't you want to ask...*
"Oh!" It jumped to her head -- the curious pick-up line. "Why did you ask if, um..."
"It's how I flirt," beamed Hannah, proudly. "Besides, you looked like you wanted someone to take it off your hands for a little while. Over thinking isn't great for nerves, you know."
"I- hah, well, maybe."
"Was I wrong?"
Caroline pondered. "How would I know?"
Hannah fixed her with a stare. "Good question."
This was getting a little too intense. There was heat in her cheeks. And between her legs. This was becoming very confusing, very quickly.
She cleared her throat and tried to lighten the mood.
"Besides, I think if I sold my mind to you, the payment would become moot if I was just..."
She flushed further with what was about to come out of her mouth.
Hannah prompted, emphasizing the word: "*Brainless?*"
Caroline moaned softly; she didn't mean to, but this woman's voice had just suddenly stroked her cunt so perfectly...
She was still staring. She looked *predatory*. Caroline wanted to moan at that too. She couldn't look away. She wanted to apologize, and excuse herself (*to fucking rub herself off at home for a week*) but she couldn't make her voice say it.
Silence. Her throat was dry. Finally...
"...Why..."
Hannah was quick.
"Because I intrigue you. Because when you think of me, you *wonder*. Because your pussy is starting to think for you."
*What did I do...*
"But..." The woman's expression softened, "if it's not for sale, then I suppose it's not something you have to worry about."
Caroline felt like she was standing in a daze. Her cunt was throbbing. Head was reeling. Did she miss her chance?
"I..."
Hannah checked her watch and cut her off.
"It is a shame, Caroline. And I hate to cut our chat short, as I have enjoyed it *very* much..." -- Caroline swallowed hard at that -- "But I must attend to a previous purchase of mine -- oh, here it is."
A girl, fully nude, was crawling towards her on hands and knees, and wrapped herself around Hannah's legs. Hannah ran fingers through the girl's hair, and tilted her chin up to look at her: Caroline saw utter bliss in those eyes, purest happiness and pleasure, with wet lines from her mouth -- ...drool...
"It was really nice to meet you, Caroline. If you change your mind..." Hannah grinned wickedly, and untangled herself from the girl to walk off. "You know where to find me."
Caroline knew.
Caroline jumped. The question came from a woman behind her; tall and curvy, in a loose sweater and tight jeans. Not the usual attire for a kink club, but Caroline was a little grateful for that, because she wasn't yet used to being in a place with so many people in so many various states of undress.
She gave a nervous giggle. The woman was still waiting with a patient smile.
"I, er. Well, I'm not sure it's for sale. I have to admit though, I've never been approached with that line..." She trailed off, and thankfully the music in the club thumped over her words to cover her stutter.
*Nor by another woman,* she finished in her head.
The woman laughed.
"That is a shame. To both," she added, pointedly making eye contact.
Caroline had to look down from it for a moment. Thankfully, the woman extended her hand for her to shake.
"I'm Hannah," she said. "Haven't seen you around here before."
Caroline shook it: it was a soft grip but she was surprised that there were calluses on her hand.
"It's my first time at... a place like... here." She was tripping all over herself like she was a teenager again. This was awful. She shouldn't have gotten dressed up in those garters she found in a novelty store last week... The revealing clothing was not helping her confidence.
Hannah never stopped smiling.
"Enjoying yourself?"
She tried to smile back.
"I think so. It's all a bit..."
"Overwhelming?"
Caroline finally made eye contact. The woman's face was difficult to read.
"Maybe."
The expression turned warm again.
"I hope not too much. You'll get used to it, but you should enjoy it while it's still nerve-wracking. You'll miss that feeling someday."
"Oh, maybe." Caroline thought on that for a moment. It did make quite a bit of sense. "Thank you."
The woman *winked*, and Caroline blushed, like it was a scripted scene from a movie. "Anytime."
*Didn't you want to ask...*
"Oh!" It jumped to her head -- the curious pick-up line. "Why did you ask if, um..."
"It's how I flirt," beamed Hannah, proudly. "Besides, you looked like you wanted someone to take it off your hands for a little while. Over thinking isn't great for nerves, you know."
"I- hah, well, maybe."
"Was I wrong?"
Caroline pondered. "How would I know?"
Hannah fixed her with a stare. "Good question."
This was getting a little too intense. There was heat in her cheeks. And between her legs. This was becoming very confusing, very quickly.
She cleared her throat and tried to lighten the mood.
"Besides, I think if I sold my mind to you, the payment would become moot if I was just..."
She flushed further with what was about to come out of her mouth.
Hannah prompted, emphasizing the word: "*Brainless?*"
Caroline moaned softly; she didn't mean to, but this woman's voice had just suddenly stroked her cunt so perfectly...
She was still staring. She looked *predatory*. Caroline wanted to moan at that too. She couldn't look away. She wanted to apologize, and excuse herself (*to fucking rub herself off at home for a week*) but she couldn't make her voice say it.
Silence. Her throat was dry. Finally...
"...Why..."
Hannah was quick.
"Because I intrigue you. Because when you think of me, you *wonder*. Because your pussy is starting to think for you."
*What did I do...*
"But..." The woman's expression softened, "if it's not for sale, then I suppose it's not something you have to worry about."
Caroline felt like she was standing in a daze. Her cunt was throbbing. Head was reeling. Did she miss her chance?
"I..."
Hannah checked her watch and cut her off.
"It is a shame, Caroline. And I hate to cut our chat short, as I have enjoyed it *very* much..." -- Caroline swallowed hard at that -- "But I must attend to a previous purchase of mine -- oh, here it is."
A girl, fully nude, was crawling towards her on hands and knees, and wrapped herself around Hannah's legs. Hannah ran fingers through the girl's hair, and tilted her chin up to look at her: Caroline saw utter bliss in those eyes, purest happiness and pleasure, with wet lines from her mouth -- ...drool...
"It was really nice to meet you, Caroline. If you change your mind..." Hannah grinned wickedly, and untangled herself from the girl to walk off. "You know where to find me."
Caroline knew.
A Watched Pot (short erotica)
Drooling mess of a body, throbbing pussy, muscles in her ass trying desperately to hump her against something. But there was only the hard chair under her, and while it created a deliciously wanton and self-degrading image, her pussy found no relief as it tried to seemingly seek the screen in front of her.
Not that it appeared to matter to the girl; muscles tensing and body churning without end.
He was fucking hard up watching her. His balls tingled at the thought of finally ripping those clothes off of her, satisfying his dick in that burning cunt, but she wasn't done yet.
No use in ruining the whole meal when there's only ten minutes left on the oven.
This was his favorite part. He loved the thrill of the chase; which pick-up line to use, which bar to hit, where to park the van and equipment. He loved knowing that some of the girls he took would sleep with him willingly, and yet he still broke them before he used them. He loved the ones that struggled, too; overpowering a creature weaker than him, because in the end, he was a catch and release kind of guy, and after they were free, his girls had the memory span to match the metaphor.
But this... He gave his cock a few hard tugs to ease off the ache. Oh, this was his favorite. Alone with his thoughts while he watched another dumb bitch be stripped to the essence of the animal that she truly was. Anticipating the end of the stimulating brainwave pulses and tape on the screen, where she would be so weak and stupid that all she can do will be to crawl to him, leaking fluids all over the floor, not even smart enough to speak anymore, just offering her holes.
Shamelessly. Unaware of her own humiliation. As any dumb animal is. As they all were before and all will be after.
His dick throbbed, seeking gratification, and he played with the head, lost in the paradise of his own thoughts. Eyes half lidded, watching the girl before him, who was becoming less and less of a girl by the second, and more and more of a masturbatory aid. Visual and auditory porn now, fleshlight soon...
The last thirty seconds on the tape was always the longest for him, and he knew that if she was even remotely aware of what was to come, it would be for her, too.
Not that it appeared to matter to the girl; muscles tensing and body churning without end.
He was fucking hard up watching her. His balls tingled at the thought of finally ripping those clothes off of her, satisfying his dick in that burning cunt, but she wasn't done yet.
No use in ruining the whole meal when there's only ten minutes left on the oven.
This was his favorite part. He loved the thrill of the chase; which pick-up line to use, which bar to hit, where to park the van and equipment. He loved knowing that some of the girls he took would sleep with him willingly, and yet he still broke them before he used them. He loved the ones that struggled, too; overpowering a creature weaker than him, because in the end, he was a catch and release kind of guy, and after they were free, his girls had the memory span to match the metaphor.
But this... He gave his cock a few hard tugs to ease off the ache. Oh, this was his favorite. Alone with his thoughts while he watched another dumb bitch be stripped to the essence of the animal that she truly was. Anticipating the end of the stimulating brainwave pulses and tape on the screen, where she would be so weak and stupid that all she can do will be to crawl to him, leaking fluids all over the floor, not even smart enough to speak anymore, just offering her holes.
Shamelessly. Unaware of her own humiliation. As any dumb animal is. As they all were before and all will be after.
His dick throbbed, seeking gratification, and he played with the head, lost in the paradise of his own thoughts. Eyes half lidded, watching the girl before him, who was becoming less and less of a girl by the second, and more and more of a masturbatory aid. Visual and auditory porn now, fleshlight soon...
The last thirty seconds on the tape was always the longest for him, and he knew that if she was even remotely aware of what was to come, it would be for her, too.
Jealousy Essay (4/15)
I am not poly.
This may seem odd, since I am in a relationship with two people, but I firmly believe it is true.
I am monogamous, I just happen to be in a triad.
It is a closed triad, which helps. I certainly couldn't handle an open relationship. I even have struggles dealing with play outside of my relationship, including feeling guilty when I play with others.
I am very prone to jealousy.
This is hard to admit and harder to deal with. I love both of my partners dearly. I want them to be happy. Logically, I want them to be happy with each other, because wouldn't that make them the most happy?
Emotionally, it is a different story.
I have "jealousy moments" everywhere. If they don't exist, I conveniently make them up. Oh, is that rope out of place? Did I wake up and hear them having sex? Please don't let me walk in on them as I get home from work...
Why should I react negatively to something that makes the people I care about happy?
Almost everywhere I look, people say that jealousy stems from insecurity. Personally I do not understand that or identify with it. I feel incredibly secure. I am not going anywhere. They are never going to get tired of me. They love me very very much. These are firm beliefs I hold true. I am lucky, because these "securities" do not waver or falter, ever.
So what is the fear? I will admit that I have a "thing" with feeling special, unique, and important. Is the fear about losing that? Maybe. A lot of jealousy moments have stemmed from that thought process. "But I thought xyz was unique to our relationship." "We just went to Friendly's, why did you go on your date there?" "But you and I *just* did a rope scene..."
The funny thing is that it is both a blessing and a curse to love a couple. On the one hand, they are both there for you if you need support. On the other, jealousy is almost always hitting from both directions.
They did needles = "why did he want to put needles in her instead of me?" and "why did she want his needles instead of mine?"
These are not thought processes I am proud of. They are also not logical. But they do hurt, even as I work through them and process them every single time.
Most embarrassingly, and this is a big one that may explain a few things: I stopped writing a lot because I wanted to keep my fantasies, stories, and experiences all to myself. In my head, if cc read my stories, she would either be jealous herself, or worse, she would find it hot and then she and DaSade would go off and play based on my fantasies.
Isn't that kind of horrible?
I don't know the purpose of this writing. Maybe admitting and putting it on paper will help in some way. Maybe I see this as confessional. The public exposure can allow me to atone.
Mostly I think the world should know that yes, we have an amazing, beautiful, healthy, and communicative relationship... but we have our problems. We do not belong on a pedestal. It terrifies me to think people might see us like that.
We are very happy. We are always growing. But we are not perfect.
(I would love to hear from other mono- or -ish people in nonmono relationships, or even how others deal with jealousy in any sense of the concept.)
This may seem odd, since I am in a relationship with two people, but I firmly believe it is true.
I am monogamous, I just happen to be in a triad.
It is a closed triad, which helps. I certainly couldn't handle an open relationship. I even have struggles dealing with play outside of my relationship, including feeling guilty when I play with others.
I am very prone to jealousy.
This is hard to admit and harder to deal with. I love both of my partners dearly. I want them to be happy. Logically, I want them to be happy with each other, because wouldn't that make them the most happy?
Emotionally, it is a different story.
I have "jealousy moments" everywhere. If they don't exist, I conveniently make them up. Oh, is that rope out of place? Did I wake up and hear them having sex? Please don't let me walk in on them as I get home from work...
Why should I react negatively to something that makes the people I care about happy?
Almost everywhere I look, people say that jealousy stems from insecurity. Personally I do not understand that or identify with it. I feel incredibly secure. I am not going anywhere. They are never going to get tired of me. They love me very very much. These are firm beliefs I hold true. I am lucky, because these "securities" do not waver or falter, ever.
So what is the fear? I will admit that I have a "thing" with feeling special, unique, and important. Is the fear about losing that? Maybe. A lot of jealousy moments have stemmed from that thought process. "But I thought xyz was unique to our relationship." "We just went to Friendly's, why did you go on your date there?" "But you and I *just* did a rope scene..."
The funny thing is that it is both a blessing and a curse to love a couple. On the one hand, they are both there for you if you need support. On the other, jealousy is almost always hitting from both directions.
They did needles = "why did he want to put needles in her instead of me?" and "why did she want his needles instead of mine?"
These are not thought processes I am proud of. They are also not logical. But they do hurt, even as I work through them and process them every single time.
Most embarrassingly, and this is a big one that may explain a few things: I stopped writing a lot because I wanted to keep my fantasies, stories, and experiences all to myself. In my head, if cc read my stories, she would either be jealous herself, or worse, she would find it hot and then she and DaSade would go off and play based on my fantasies.
Isn't that kind of horrible?
I don't know the purpose of this writing. Maybe admitting and putting it on paper will help in some way. Maybe I see this as confessional. The public exposure can allow me to atone.
Mostly I think the world should know that yes, we have an amazing, beautiful, healthy, and communicative relationship... but we have our problems. We do not belong on a pedestal. It terrifies me to think people might see us like that.
We are very happy. We are always growing. But we are not perfect.
(I would love to hear from other mono- or -ish people in nonmono relationships, or even how others deal with jealousy in any sense of the concept.)
Seeking (short erotica) (4/15)
(Woke up, needed to write this.)
--
**'Seeking: girl who wants to be controlled from the inside out. M4F'**
Hello. I will keep this short. You've read the title already. We both know why you are here.
We want the same thing for different reasons. You want someone to fuck the brains out of your pretty little girly head. I want someone I can use with the intelligence of a sex doll.
I want a girl who is smart enough to know that this is a bad idea but dumb enough to show up anyways.
Let's talk.
--
Michelle trembled and let her palm sweat on the mouse for a few moments longer before she closed the tab and took some very deep breaths. Her stomach turned with how she needed that. Her brain played over and over in flashes of moments of meeting this man, how that would go...
She sits down, he pulls out a pocketwatch...
He brings her a cup of coffee with that smile of a predator, that smile that says she should have gotten her own cup...
Her head lolls in the passenger seat of his car as her cheek rolls into a puddle of her own drool...
His cock is out
She can barely keep her eyes open but she needs to
Back at his apartment
Ragdoll thrown on the bed
Legs strewn apart
What good is being a girl if a man with a big strong cock can't use her
Too dumb to say no
Too dumb to say yes
Smile plastered on her face as he gets what he wants
Cumming cumming cumming cumming.......
--
Michelle opened her eyes. Her fingers were soaked and there was a wet spot on the chair. She suppressed the wave of shame and finally shut down her computer for the night.
Maybe tomorrow, she would contact him.
--
**'Seeking: girl who wants to be controlled from the inside out. M4F'**
Hello. I will keep this short. You've read the title already. We both know why you are here.
We want the same thing for different reasons. You want someone to fuck the brains out of your pretty little girly head. I want someone I can use with the intelligence of a sex doll.
I want a girl who is smart enough to know that this is a bad idea but dumb enough to show up anyways.
Let's talk.
--
Michelle trembled and let her palm sweat on the mouse for a few moments longer before she closed the tab and took some very deep breaths. Her stomach turned with how she needed that. Her brain played over and over in flashes of moments of meeting this man, how that would go...
She sits down, he pulls out a pocketwatch...
He brings her a cup of coffee with that smile of a predator, that smile that says she should have gotten her own cup...
Her head lolls in the passenger seat of his car as her cheek rolls into a puddle of her own drool...
His cock is out
She can barely keep her eyes open but she needs to
Back at his apartment
Ragdoll thrown on the bed
Legs strewn apart
What good is being a girl if a man with a big strong cock can't use her
Too dumb to say no
Too dumb to say yes
Smile plastered on her face as he gets what he wants
Cumming cumming cumming cumming.......
--
Michelle opened her eyes. Her fingers were soaked and there was a wet spot on the chair. She suppressed the wave of shame and finally shut down her computer for the night.
Maybe tomorrow, she would contact him.
Happy (short erotica) (2014)
*[author’s comments: wanted something short, hot, and slightly lighter than what I’ve been writing recently. based loosely off of a few experiences in my life, but has no real analogue. this one wrote itself.]*
--
Probably shouldn’t have introduced him to hypnosis.
Really truly probably shouldn’t have.
The problem with fetishes, innate and learned, are how addictive they can become, how it nags at your brain and screams for more and makes your chest pound with want. All the time.
Struggling under him as he pins my wrists and puts the weight of his knees on my hips and thighs to keep me still, thrashing against him.
We’re playing again; he likes to subdue me and I like to be subdued. It was one of his first admissions to me in our early sexual explorations. He was almost nervous to bring it up, but as soon as he saw my eyes light up, I saw his glint in turn with cautious excitement, and it’s been one of our favorite staples ever since the night he first forced my arms to my sides.
“Shhh,” he croons, his soft tones in contrast to how hard his hands are gripping. “Hush now, little one, it’ll all be over soon enough…”
He’s holding a glass of water over me, trying to pour it into my mouth, but deep down I know it’s not water --
“I won’t let you -- not this time!” I give a hard kick and it jostles him such that the liquid sloshes out of its container to dribble down his arm. He growls at it and then me, the playfulness ebbing away to show the seriousness underneath it. I feel a flicker of fear, addicting in and of itself.
“Cunt.” Spat. I’ve frozen, nervous that I messed up, and he takes the opportunity to quickly transfer the glass to the dry hand and take the wet hand and smear it onto my face.
I panic, but I can already feel it soaking in through my pores -- not the most efficient method for it to get in my bloodstream, this I know, but enough to slow my reaction time…
“Gonna get you all drugged up and horny for my cock,” he murmurs, for suddenly his lips are next to my ear and I’m not sure how they got there.
Strength is mustered, digging deep for the utterance of “no!” and I give one last thrash as my tongue starts to feel thick and I purse my lips against the upcoming attempt…
Water -- liquid -- whatever, tips out of the cup and is poured onto my face, shocking in temperature, such that my mouth opens in surprise, and immediately the mistake is noticed.
It drips down my face and onto my tongue and into my throat and I cough and sputter and *swallow*.
“Drink it up… drink it up, little bitch, and get ready for the ride of your life…”
My lips and mouth and face begin to burn with a slow heat, and I can *feel* it rushing down into my belly and up into my brain. That desire, so latent before, becomes a mad urgency to be filled. I know I’m moaning and I know he’s laughing but it all feels so far away; the craving is the only immediacy I know.
“*Now!*” my lips shriek. “*Now now now now now* --”
My legs are spread so wide that they hurt, thrusting my hips up, and everything is blurred except for the sight and knowledge that I am about to get exactly what I need.
“This is your fault,” he grunts, and I don’t care. “You wouldn’t be a fucking mess of a drugged out, hypnotized slut if it wasn’t for you in the first place --”
Don’t care. Don’t care. Don’t care. Spread my legs further.
“Are you happy now? *Answer* me!” Punctuated by a hard slap on the face that I can barely even feel. Mouth opens. Sound comes out. I am so, *so* fucking close...
--
He asked me the same question without the harshness later, as we lay in bed.
“Is that even a question?” I was dumbfounded. He withdrew for a moment back to the nervous teen I once knew.
“Maybe you think it’s silly, but it’s important to me.” Purpose and determination that I couldn’t place was in those eyes, the ones I fell in love with. I curled my leg around his and squeezed his chest.
“I’m pretty sure I get more out of it than you do, most of the time.”
He snorted, but it was relieved.
“Glad you think so.”
I smiled, and paused. “Are you?”
He looked down at me, chin resting on his chest, and I felt the flutter inside me again.
I don’t remember if he answered; I didn’t really need him to anyways.
--
Probably shouldn’t have introduced him to hypnosis.
Really truly probably shouldn’t have.
The problem with fetishes, innate and learned, are how addictive they can become, how it nags at your brain and screams for more and makes your chest pound with want. All the time.
Struggling under him as he pins my wrists and puts the weight of his knees on my hips and thighs to keep me still, thrashing against him.
We’re playing again; he likes to subdue me and I like to be subdued. It was one of his first admissions to me in our early sexual explorations. He was almost nervous to bring it up, but as soon as he saw my eyes light up, I saw his glint in turn with cautious excitement, and it’s been one of our favorite staples ever since the night he first forced my arms to my sides.
“Shhh,” he croons, his soft tones in contrast to how hard his hands are gripping. “Hush now, little one, it’ll all be over soon enough…”
He’s holding a glass of water over me, trying to pour it into my mouth, but deep down I know it’s not water --
“I won’t let you -- not this time!” I give a hard kick and it jostles him such that the liquid sloshes out of its container to dribble down his arm. He growls at it and then me, the playfulness ebbing away to show the seriousness underneath it. I feel a flicker of fear, addicting in and of itself.
“Cunt.” Spat. I’ve frozen, nervous that I messed up, and he takes the opportunity to quickly transfer the glass to the dry hand and take the wet hand and smear it onto my face.
I panic, but I can already feel it soaking in through my pores -- not the most efficient method for it to get in my bloodstream, this I know, but enough to slow my reaction time…
“Gonna get you all drugged up and horny for my cock,” he murmurs, for suddenly his lips are next to my ear and I’m not sure how they got there.
Strength is mustered, digging deep for the utterance of “no!” and I give one last thrash as my tongue starts to feel thick and I purse my lips against the upcoming attempt…
Water -- liquid -- whatever, tips out of the cup and is poured onto my face, shocking in temperature, such that my mouth opens in surprise, and immediately the mistake is noticed.
It drips down my face and onto my tongue and into my throat and I cough and sputter and *swallow*.
“Drink it up… drink it up, little bitch, and get ready for the ride of your life…”
My lips and mouth and face begin to burn with a slow heat, and I can *feel* it rushing down into my belly and up into my brain. That desire, so latent before, becomes a mad urgency to be filled. I know I’m moaning and I know he’s laughing but it all feels so far away; the craving is the only immediacy I know.
“*Now!*” my lips shriek. “*Now now now now now* --”
My legs are spread so wide that they hurt, thrusting my hips up, and everything is blurred except for the sight and knowledge that I am about to get exactly what I need.
“This is your fault,” he grunts, and I don’t care. “You wouldn’t be a fucking mess of a drugged out, hypnotized slut if it wasn’t for you in the first place --”
Don’t care. Don’t care. Don’t care. Spread my legs further.
“Are you happy now? *Answer* me!” Punctuated by a hard slap on the face that I can barely even feel. Mouth opens. Sound comes out. I am so, *so* fucking close...
--
He asked me the same question without the harshness later, as we lay in bed.
“Is that even a question?” I was dumbfounded. He withdrew for a moment back to the nervous teen I once knew.
“Maybe you think it’s silly, but it’s important to me.” Purpose and determination that I couldn’t place was in those eyes, the ones I fell in love with. I curled my leg around his and squeezed his chest.
“I’m pretty sure I get more out of it than you do, most of the time.”
He snorted, but it was relieved.
“Glad you think so.”
I smiled, and paused. “Are you?”
He looked down at me, chin resting on his chest, and I felt the flutter inside me again.
I don’t remember if he answered; I didn’t really need him to anyways.
The Hotel (a dream I had last night) (2014)
*I woke up this morning and realized immediately that I needed to tell DaSade about the dream I just had. While hurriedly firing off texts with uncaffeinated fingers, I knew cckitten needed to hear it too. And you know what, so does the internet, because it is rare that dreams are this coherent in storyline and filled with subtle details. ...And this hot. I won’t be embellishing because I don’t need to. I hope it is enjoyed as much as I enjoyed it.*
--
I’m back walking downtown. I don’t drive in anymore unless I absolutely have to; driving (and parking, oh god) is just a nightmare. No, I’m walking the few blocks, past the shops and restaurants, checking my phone every few minutes for the time, and to see if he’s contacted me.
It’s been barely two minutes since I last checked, and no, he hasn’t texted since last night.
It’s expected, of course; he’s not one for chit-chat. Nowadays, the most I’ll get is usually a text the day before with a time. Sometimes a question mark. Never the place, not anymore. The place is always the same.
The hotel comes up on me, lit arches with the name nestled tightly between two high-rise corporate buildings. I push the glass doors in and get a room from the woman at the desk. Her eyes are on me but she is looking past me, even as I'm handed the keys.
I'm numb to the process at this point. The first time, I was a new customer, unsure of the procedure of purchasing a room. The next time, it was a different girl at the front. A few times later I began to dread walking in, because they recognized me, and recognized my patterns of coming and going. There was a distinct shift when they went from being familial back to sterile customer service.
They saw shame, and I knew they assumed I was a prostitute.
Of course I tried to rationalize it, because I'm not... But my brain was quick to remind me of what plays in my mind even now as I walk the stairs to the second floor:
*"You're not. You're just doing this for free."*
I open the door to my room and toss my bag in the corner. Each layout is the same, despite having a different room each time. Dulled, flowery bedspread; tan carpet; sore-thumb white radiator under the window. I take out my change of clothes and lay them on the bed -- lacy thigh highs, a bra, and a skirt -- and then I start to strip, detached.
No, I'm not a whore. I'm not a slut either, despite the adage. I don't entirely know what I am. I don't entirely know if I'm *willing*. There is something to be said for the fact that I keep coming when he contacts me, but I rarely even get physical pleasure out of what we do.
Fully changed, I sit on the bed, and check my phone one last time before it is set on the bedstand, and I wait.
Always I am here first, always I wait for him to come, and to...
"Fuck me" isn't even the right turn of phrase. Maybe "use me" is.
--
I leave after he does, as per our arrangement.
The walk out of the building is much worse, but often I can hold onto that dissociation long enough to ignore the judgment of the staff and make it to the street where I am just another face in the crowd once more. The anonymity under the sun is welcome, and so is the walk back to my house. It's cleansing to see the buildings in reverse order from when I come in. I have the memory of the hotel room but it is just a memory now. Less threatening. I can get back to my life.
--
A few days pass before I get another text. It is an earlier time than usual; 11:15 am as opposed to the afternoon liaisons. I check my schedule to make sure it is OK, and decide to take the car so that I can run a few errands in town for the rest of the day.
I leave early to ensure I am on time with the traffic. Getting into the city is backed up at the tolls, but after a while I make it and have time to grab a bite to eat before I head to the hotel.
My phone buzzes, my heart jumps to my throat.
But it's a text from my father instead.
"saw ur car downtown, wanna grab brunch at the mexican place?"
*Shit.* I've been caught. He can't know what I'm doing here. I told him I was just doing some shopping.
I check the clock. 10:45. If I swing it right, I can do this, but it will be tight. I text him back that yes, I will be there shortly.
...And I have to text someone *else* that I might be a little late, and explain the situation.
It's long, and it's sent, and I hope that he understands. The phone goes off almost immediately.
"Ok. let's try to avoid this in the future."
But I can hear his tone. There is no "we" in this. I got a free pass this time, but next time I may not be so lucky.
And I still don't understand why the idea of losing our arrangement makes my stomach sink with dread. Trapped, but not by him.
--
Brunch is pleasant, the restaurant is new and all of the food is fresh and housemade. My father is happy to see me but I get the distinct sense that he knows I am hiding something from him. Like getting lunch with him was a test. I know I made the right choice by coming.
I fend off his queries with the classical nonchalant answers and it seems to appease him, but when I hug him goodbye he holds me longer than usual, like he doesn't want me to go.
I push it out of mind and get to my car, passenger seat holding my bag with another outfit. The car stays in the lot, the bag will come with me as I walk. But I have to wait to make sure my Dad is gone back to work. I pretend to text while watching him drive off, with a careful eye on the clock.
11:30, not too bad. It's time to go.
My walk is rushed and halfway there I realize I've forgotten the shoes for the outfit, but it can't matter now. I am already keeping him. Who knows if he will be there already. Maybe he's waiting outside to watch me go in. Maybe he's already upstairs. Maybe he's just going to make me wait longer for my transgression. Maybe he won't show up at all.
Keys in my hand, blurring my eyes and mind to the people around me, I ascend the stairs once more, and resign myself to whatever this time will bring.
--
I’m back walking downtown. I don’t drive in anymore unless I absolutely have to; driving (and parking, oh god) is just a nightmare. No, I’m walking the few blocks, past the shops and restaurants, checking my phone every few minutes for the time, and to see if he’s contacted me.
It’s been barely two minutes since I last checked, and no, he hasn’t texted since last night.
It’s expected, of course; he’s not one for chit-chat. Nowadays, the most I’ll get is usually a text the day before with a time. Sometimes a question mark. Never the place, not anymore. The place is always the same.
The hotel comes up on me, lit arches with the name nestled tightly between two high-rise corporate buildings. I push the glass doors in and get a room from the woman at the desk. Her eyes are on me but she is looking past me, even as I'm handed the keys.
I'm numb to the process at this point. The first time, I was a new customer, unsure of the procedure of purchasing a room. The next time, it was a different girl at the front. A few times later I began to dread walking in, because they recognized me, and recognized my patterns of coming and going. There was a distinct shift when they went from being familial back to sterile customer service.
They saw shame, and I knew they assumed I was a prostitute.
Of course I tried to rationalize it, because I'm not... But my brain was quick to remind me of what plays in my mind even now as I walk the stairs to the second floor:
*"You're not. You're just doing this for free."*
I open the door to my room and toss my bag in the corner. Each layout is the same, despite having a different room each time. Dulled, flowery bedspread; tan carpet; sore-thumb white radiator under the window. I take out my change of clothes and lay them on the bed -- lacy thigh highs, a bra, and a skirt -- and then I start to strip, detached.
No, I'm not a whore. I'm not a slut either, despite the adage. I don't entirely know what I am. I don't entirely know if I'm *willing*. There is something to be said for the fact that I keep coming when he contacts me, but I rarely even get physical pleasure out of what we do.
Fully changed, I sit on the bed, and check my phone one last time before it is set on the bedstand, and I wait.
Always I am here first, always I wait for him to come, and to...
"Fuck me" isn't even the right turn of phrase. Maybe "use me" is.
--
I leave after he does, as per our arrangement.
The walk out of the building is much worse, but often I can hold onto that dissociation long enough to ignore the judgment of the staff and make it to the street where I am just another face in the crowd once more. The anonymity under the sun is welcome, and so is the walk back to my house. It's cleansing to see the buildings in reverse order from when I come in. I have the memory of the hotel room but it is just a memory now. Less threatening. I can get back to my life.
--
A few days pass before I get another text. It is an earlier time than usual; 11:15 am as opposed to the afternoon liaisons. I check my schedule to make sure it is OK, and decide to take the car so that I can run a few errands in town for the rest of the day.
I leave early to ensure I am on time with the traffic. Getting into the city is backed up at the tolls, but after a while I make it and have time to grab a bite to eat before I head to the hotel.
My phone buzzes, my heart jumps to my throat.
But it's a text from my father instead.
"saw ur car downtown, wanna grab brunch at the mexican place?"
*Shit.* I've been caught. He can't know what I'm doing here. I told him I was just doing some shopping.
I check the clock. 10:45. If I swing it right, I can do this, but it will be tight. I text him back that yes, I will be there shortly.
...And I have to text someone *else* that I might be a little late, and explain the situation.
It's long, and it's sent, and I hope that he understands. The phone goes off almost immediately.
"Ok. let's try to avoid this in the future."
But I can hear his tone. There is no "we" in this. I got a free pass this time, but next time I may not be so lucky.
And I still don't understand why the idea of losing our arrangement makes my stomach sink with dread. Trapped, but not by him.
--
Brunch is pleasant, the restaurant is new and all of the food is fresh and housemade. My father is happy to see me but I get the distinct sense that he knows I am hiding something from him. Like getting lunch with him was a test. I know I made the right choice by coming.
I fend off his queries with the classical nonchalant answers and it seems to appease him, but when I hug him goodbye he holds me longer than usual, like he doesn't want me to go.
I push it out of mind and get to my car, passenger seat holding my bag with another outfit. The car stays in the lot, the bag will come with me as I walk. But I have to wait to make sure my Dad is gone back to work. I pretend to text while watching him drive off, with a careful eye on the clock.
11:30, not too bad. It's time to go.
My walk is rushed and halfway there I realize I've forgotten the shoes for the outfit, but it can't matter now. I am already keeping him. Who knows if he will be there already. Maybe he's waiting outside to watch me go in. Maybe he's already upstairs. Maybe he's just going to make me wait longer for my transgression. Maybe he won't show up at all.
Keys in my hand, blurring my eyes and mind to the people around me, I ascend the stairs once more, and resign myself to whatever this time will bring.
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