Sometimes your moral ambiguity's not in check.
It's alright to be that way, after all... you've been trying to build up an immunity to the splendor and beauty of what has been done to you.
After countless hours of being used like a toy, filled up by semen or a warm velvety hand that spread you apart like nothing you've never thought possible.
After the countless times that you've felt a firm hand over your neck, squeezing whatever air out of your throat that tried to go down to your lungs and revitalize you with more of that oxygen that you've been deprived of.
After all of the countless times you have been fingered and things shoved into your mouth and holes, your body learning what impact play is..
The first time you stand in public with your significant other, with your dominant, your top and the muse to all of the melodies you've released and sang while moaning, whining in sweet pain and ending up a wet mess to be pampered, tended to and held.
Their hand is on your cheek, lightly caressing your face and averting your eyes upwards towards them and the innocent gaze that looks back at you, telling you that you're going to be rewarded later on in the day.
Be it at home, in the park behind a bush, in the public bathroom stall, taken aside and being given what your body's been aching to for what it's gotten used to; that mental conditioning of expecting something else from a situation that usually won't merit it.
That dress you beautifully graced with your curvaceous figure, lifted up in a place of their choosing and either one or both of your orifices used to their heart's content. You're a plaything, after all.. Or at least, that is what you tell yourself.
You're their toy, you're their treasure (Their Schatz). You're a wonderful little creature that deserves to be rewarded for your good behavior.
Have you been good? The reward may not be as eternal as one can think, but you'll enjoy it nonetheless. You've trained yourself to admire the person who made you their source of admiration; though the roles are obviously not the same.
Your hair, ever so softly as their fingers run through it and hold it in a tight knot, just to make you look at them or make you squeal for them.
Your neck, ever so warm and velvety as their hands grip onto it, making you remember how fun having oxygen is and letting them see how your eyes roll backwards from the sensation you're receiving.
How about it, little toy?
Care for another trip down memory lane ?