cry, but the pleasure maintains its steady assault, so insistent I can’t fall too far into the misery before I’m lifted up again on the euphoria.
After awhile the feelings begin to blend. It’s all one thing, pleasure-pain. There is no division. All at once, I lose that feeling and everything separates out again. I can pinpoint each individual sensation and I imagine it’s somehow the same as how a vampire’s senses operate, how he might be able to hear a cricket a mile away and a dishwasher downstairs as two distinct perceptions.
Now there is the pleasure of the vibrating rubber, the pain of various implements, and objects entering me. A lubed plug in my ass, then some toy in my cunt. Then the plug is replaced by a cold, lubed metal object slowly fucking my ass.
I was an anal virgin. It should have hurt or at least scared me more, but my body has surrendered so strongly that I feel like a piece of driftwood floating down the river, unable to be harmed because I flow so beautifully with the current.
Everything happens at once, making me aware for the first time that Christian isn’t the only one involved here. He’s only got two hands, and too many things are occurring without breaks in between. As if to put a fine point on it, pain, pleasure, invasion, and hands caressing me are all simultaneous experiences. It’s as if Christian is whispering in my ear, taunting me with the horrible truth that it’s not just him.
A light, rod-like object sends fire along my thigh, while a dildo of some sort is plunged in and out of my now sloppy-wet cunt. A hand strokes my cheek, wiping up stray tears. Another hand pets my hair. A tongue licks at the pulse point on my wrist, another at the pulse point of my throat. They want to feed. They want to drink my life right out of me. They’re drunk on my arousal, waiting for permission to get drunk on my blood.
I’m struggling again, trying to fight through the haze of sensation, afraid one of them will hurt me, that Christian won’t be able to make them stop. My survival instinct has pushed through miles of water to break the surface of reality. I’m afraid he might step away and leave me alone with them. I can’t communicate my fears. Tears stream down my face, slipping from underneath the blindfold to pool on the ground beneath me.
Suddenly the tongue that was stroking over my throat is gone, and a hand is gripping the back of my neck. It could be anyone, but the possession in that touch unmakes me, and I know beyond all doubt it’s Christian. He’s still here. He hasn’t left me. He’s watching and he knows where I am. I remember that he can feel my distress, and he’s reminding me he’s with me and he’s in control. I let myself fall backwards into the sensation again, holding onto this reminder.
All at once, everything stops except the vibrations. Tongues and hands and tools of pain are gone. The plug is gone. The toy is gone. Then someone is inside me. There is no doubt or fear. I know it’s Christian. That transcendence happens again, only this time it isn’t just a merging—it’s a complete and utter surrender. Mine.
I was helpless with him before, but now the feeling has been impossibly heightened. I shudder as I come for what seems like the millionth time tonight. Fangs are in my throat. I can’t even feel the pain this time; I’m too overstimulated. But the drugged feeling comes and I don’t feel like I exist anymore. I wonder if I’m spiraling into the void, but it’s an illusion because I perceive it. If it were nothing, a true void, I wouldn’t be able to feel it. I hold onto this as he seals the wound.
The gag comes out, and a wrist is in front of my mouth. I drink like the good girl I am, while I lie here still exposed, knowing I’m watched by a hundred glowing eyes.
When he pulls his wrist away, he doesn’t gag me again. I don’t say anything. I don’t scream or cry or beg or accuse. I just lie there, trying to absorb what’s just
After awhile the feelings begin to blend. It’s all one thing, pleasure-pain. There is no division. All at once, I lose that feeling and everything separates out again. I can pinpoint each individual sensation and I imagine it’s somehow the same as how a vampire’s senses operate, how he might be able to hear a cricket a mile away and a dishwasher downstairs as two distinct perceptions.
Now there is the pleasure of the vibrating rubber, the pain of various implements, and objects entering me. A lubed plug in my ass, then some toy in my cunt. Then the plug is replaced by a cold, lubed metal object slowly fucking my ass.
I was an anal virgin. It should have hurt or at least scared me more, but my body has surrendered so strongly that I feel like a piece of driftwood floating down the river, unable to be harmed because I flow so beautifully with the current.
Everything happens at once, making me aware for the first time that Christian isn’t the only one involved here. He’s only got two hands, and too many things are occurring without breaks in between. As if to put a fine point on it, pain, pleasure, invasion, and hands caressing me are all simultaneous experiences. It’s as if Christian is whispering in my ear, taunting me with the horrible truth that it’s not just him.
A light, rod-like object sends fire along my thigh, while a dildo of some sort is plunged in and out of my now sloppy-wet cunt. A hand strokes my cheek, wiping up stray tears. Another hand pets my hair. A tongue licks at the pulse point on my wrist, another at the pulse point of my throat. They want to feed. They want to drink my life right out of me. They’re drunk on my arousal, waiting for permission to get drunk on my blood.
I’m struggling again, trying to fight through the haze of sensation, afraid one of them will hurt me, that Christian won’t be able to make them stop. My survival instinct has pushed through miles of water to break the surface of reality. I’m afraid he might step away and leave me alone with them. I can’t communicate my fears. Tears stream down my face, slipping from underneath the blindfold to pool on the ground beneath me.
Suddenly the tongue that was stroking over my throat is gone, and a hand is gripping the back of my neck. It could be anyone, but the possession in that touch unmakes me, and I know beyond all doubt it’s Christian. He’s still here. He hasn’t left me. He’s watching and he knows where I am. I remember that he can feel my distress, and he’s reminding me he’s with me and he’s in control. I let myself fall backwards into the sensation again, holding onto this reminder.
All at once, everything stops except the vibrations. Tongues and hands and tools of pain are gone. The plug is gone. The toy is gone. Then someone is inside me. There is no doubt or fear. I know it’s Christian. That transcendence happens again, only this time it isn’t just a merging—it’s a complete and utter surrender. Mine.
I was helpless with him before, but now the feeling has been impossibly heightened. I shudder as I come for what seems like the millionth time tonight. Fangs are in my throat. I can’t even feel the pain this time; I’m too overstimulated. But the drugged feeling comes and I don’t feel like I exist anymore. I wonder if I’m spiraling into the void, but it’s an illusion because I perceive it. If it were nothing, a true void, I wouldn’t be able to feel it. I hold onto this as he seals the wound.
The gag comes out, and a wrist is in front of my mouth. I drink like the good girl I am, while I lie here still exposed, knowing I’m watched by a hundred glowing eyes.
When he pulls his wrist away, he doesn’t gag me again. I don’t say anything. I don’t scream or cry or beg or accuse. I just lie there, trying to absorb what’s just
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