שטויות שרשמתי בפטלייף

Do you reckon you'd hold onto your creed, your tenets and your resolve when you're a dripping mess?

Not much ought to be whispered to you when you're tied down and blindfolded. All it takes is some light grazing and your knowing that you're helpfully helpless, at the mercy of your paramour.

Even the silliest things that could be uttered quietly by your ears could be a trigger, be it for solvency or adhesiveness.

The feeling of your lover's breath hugging your skin as they peck and unleash their canines on your supple skin, the way their body odor creeps into your nostrils and pushes you either into a trance or to the realization that you're helpless.

Be a puddle, be glue, be the prey that your little physique allows you to be in the sweetest of ways.

Be encompassed by care, by lewd behavior and the naughty thoughts that your paramour has espoused unto you.

You're an angel, you're a toy, you're little slut, you're adoribly coy.

You're a means to an end, you're the prize, you're a good little girl who deserves to finally cum.

The more the bindings get loose and removed, the lower your resolve will be.

You would get the choice to leave, but would you take it? Seeing your breasts clad in golden star stickers because you did magnificently, your juices coating your lover's digits and their eyes on you like you're the very first prize they got on Christmas morning.

The feeling of being explored without knowing what to expect, be it fingertips, a palm or their lips, anything in their disposal to make you want to scream for more... or beg for it.

Pant all you'd like, preferably in glee.

Your moans are sustenance, my little dear.

So let me ask you again, my little love.

Do you reckon you'd hold onto your creed, your tenets and your resolve when you're a dripping, hot mess?