שטויות שרשמתי בפטלייף

The hours went by at a snail's pace, you have undergone so much edging that you should have been awarded a PhD in being edged by your lover; and yet - it never seems to get any better.

Pleading like a starved peasant in the middle ages, hungry to feel that explosion of emotions that you get from finally reaching that climax you thought you deserved.
But you have not yet gotten your succour, a build up of raging emotions in the physique of what could only be construed as a grown woman who hasn't gotten the chance to grow out of her brat phase.

He may prod, he may fiddle, he may play you like an instrument for his own amusement and you'll be none the wiser for it - for you are a toy, his toy.

Every vowel and every groan fueling the machine, like gasoline to a fire and keeping it ignited.

Using his hands, his fingers and his tools like a conductor at an orchestra, an orchestra consisting of only you. Every moan and every groan is a wonderful melody, but the climax of the show has yet to be revealed.

Would you end up begging for the room you're in to sound like a standing ovation?
Would you end up drenched just from feeling his breath on your skin, his whisper in your ear?
Would you be able to contain yourself once he allows you to finally cum?

Cum once, cum once more, cum until his fingers look pruney from being in a fluid rich environment for a prolonged time.

He may demean you, he may tease the living daylight savings out of you, he may drive you up a few walls..
But he'll always want you happy.

Be his pet, his toy, his lover, his home.