The things that run through My mind...
The woman looked at me through the dimly lit space between us…
Well, she used to be a woman. The last few weeks had helped her shed her humanity and become what she’d always fantasized about being…an almost mindless mass of flesh and lust that could wrap her psyche around nothing but the overwhelming ache induced by countless days of unfulfilled sexual teasing and torture and her compulsion to have me near - for while I was her tormentor, I was also her only contact to touch, to sound, to feeling anything.
Now, a babbling, drooling, quivering piece of girl flesh, my touch sent her into convulsions and my presence caused a fresh spasm and a release of slut juice to slither out of her throbbing cunt uncontrollably and start making its way down her pale inner-thighs.
She had been pussy-drooling for the last two weeks at least – knowing my presence may result in physical stimulation of some sort, but knowing equally as well that sexual release would not be hers…perhaps ever. The sadistic devices devised to keep her on the edge of orgasm, but without release in my absence were effective to a great extent in her demise, but it was my presence that seemed to give her a hope that she had begged me to remove from her so long ago. It was that hope that I used against her.
I just loved to sit silent sometimes and watch her cycle from a whimpering, submissive little girl to a raging bitch, humping the air in a fruitless attempt for any significant stimulation and cursing me with her tongue and with her glare. Anything to capture my attention; push my buttons to get what she wanted…it all was rewarded only with my silent stare and my dark smile.
When my words did come, they caused as much suffering as did my touch.
She was mine. She had signed her freedom away. It was too late…
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Thinngs in MY mind
First: nice picture delayer, thanks for that
Second: The man in this story has no apparent emotional link/bonding to the women apart from "loving to watch her" - which is a bit different from empathy to my opinion.
Would you - Delayer - and in the other people reading here, agree to this?
In former days I would have envied this woman. Nowadays I can hardly cope to read this fantasies.
No obvious emotions seem to enhance power. Why do some of us do seek this state as active or as passive part?
Or in other words: Does "hot" sadomasochism NEED emotionally hampered actors (me included)?
Interesting point camsub,
Interesting point camsub, though I did enjoy this piece, I myself need an emotional link. If I didn't have an emotional link to my denier, I would not care to submit as I do.
Good comments
Thank you both for the comments. With no feedback whatsoever, I was beginning to believe nobody was impacted at all by this.
camsub66: Your point is valid and worthy of discussion. I agree completely that the deeper, emotional connection has everything to do with this; and while I did allude to more with the phrase, "When my words did come, they caused as much suffering as did my touch," I didn't elaborate in this short piece. It was just a short train of thought that flew over the dusty tracks of My mind at the time and I wanted to share it for some reason.
Any one who knows Me would testify that to really get something out of T/D, O/D, or D/s of any kind, I need to wheedle Myself into her brain and her heart to learn of her, touch her soul, caress her will until it bends into compliance with Mine.
I appreciate that someone appreciated this enough to at least comment. All feedback is welcome.
Delayer
Delayher@gmail.com