WHY DONT WE GORE THE BOYS MORE

what if i showed absolutely no signs of stopping even when you ran out of voice to scream with? what if the only way to make it stop was to grind your broken vocal cords together and gurgle out "please kill me"? no one could blame me for what i do next. you're asking for it. go on. "please kill me". it'll make it stop. that's your safeword.

The feel of dirt under your knees

The smell of piss in your hair

The sound him grunting as he cums

But you weren't sleeping yet. Lethargic, yes. Calm, absolutely. But don't these surgeries usually put you to sleep...?

You tried to voice your thoughts as the surgeon shaved your head. For a frustrating minute, you feared you might not manage it at all, but eventually — thankfully — the surgeon came round with a knowing look.

"You'll be awake for the whole procedure, sweetheart. This isn't your grandmother's lobotomy," he said with a reassuring smile. "We take great care to only remove what needs removing, and that requires us to monitor your brain activity. Don't worry. You won't feel a thing."

Not for a little weekend fun. I mean for long enough that you stop counting the days. Long enough that the rope starts to feel like it belongs etched into your skin, like your wrists have always been bound behind your back and your ankles have always been spread apart and this is just how your body is shaped now. I want you to forget what it feels like to close your legs.

And I want to be the only thing that feels good. That’s the part I keep coming back to. I want to edge you stupid on my cock and then pull out and let you sit there shaking and desperate with nothing to grind against because I’ve taken everything away. Nothing to fall back on. Just your own wetness dripping down your thighs and the memory of how I felt inside you and the slow maddening understanding that you can’t do anything about it until I come back and give you more.

But don’t worry, I’ll always come back. That’s how the addiction works. I’ll fuck you slow and deep until your eyes roll back and your brain turns off and you’re right there right at the edge and then I’ll stop. Pull out. Watch your hips try to follow me. Watch you pull against the ropes trying to get closer to the only thing in your world that makes the ache stop. You’ll beg. You’ll say things you’d never say if you had the use of your hands or any dignity left. And I’ll stroke your face and tell you you’re doing so well and slide back in just to feel your whole body shake with relief.

Every time I use you you’ll gets more desperate for it. Every time I pull out the absence gets louder. Eventually you’re not thinking about the ropes at all. You’re not thinking about being untied. You’re only thinking about my cock. When it’s in you you’re alive and warm and full and safe. When it’s not you’re empty and aching and counting the seconds. Two states of being. Full of me, or waiting to be.

I'd go down easy when they push me to my knees, open my mouth without hesitation as they guide their cock just deep enough to gag me, to keep me quiet and content. They'd talk to me as I warmed their cock, my brain so fuzzy and yet hanging onto every word, every reminder that I'll always be theirs, that I'll never be alone so long as I'm owned. That I'm desired and wanted and good, so, so good for them, that I'm special and cared for and could never be replaced. I won't be able to argue with their praise with a throat full of cock and a mind so eager, so desperate to believe it, that for a while I just do as they say and accept it all.

By the time they decide I've listened well enough to deserve to get fucked, my poor cunt will be so wet and needy that they'll hardly have to try before sliding all the way in, filling me up and letting me feel their claim from the inside out. Just because I've earned a fucking doesn't mean I get to cum yet, no, I have to prove I've been listening. They make me repeat every loving, possessive thing they told me, every word of it until I don't hesitate to praise myself easily, until I don't think to doubt the words spilling from my mouth.

mhhh you don't exactly stop me from pissing, just whenever i try to relieve myself all that liquid gets soaked up by those little balls in my dick. not so little anymore...

it's such a weird feeling, the emptying of my bladder that would usually come with flowing relief starts expanding another part of me instead?? until you can see the outline of each pearl up the length of my dick, until it's jiggling with their hefty, bouncy weight. until my slit is starting to stretch open around the first orb as they get so big i can't fit them anymore.

then at last would you help me birth them? wring my dick and coax them out one by one through my taught pisshole. watch me scream as they stretch my dick to the limit as they crown, so impossibly big compared to when they went in.

or do you just want to watch as my desperation to piss despite my clogged urethra has me beating it, fucking the couch, grunting with the effort of urging them along my cock despite the pain, until they pop out with an explosion of cum. my now loose hole just lets them roll out along with the torrent of piss it was holding back.

Minutes upon minutes, maybe even hours of just teasing. Nothing more than light touches, maybe some groping or licking. maybe even having a vibrator used or being fingered if they're feeling generous. But no real relief, no satisfaction, no getting what I really want out of it.

Only when I'm so out of it with desperation for more that I can't even bother to feel embarrassed or ashamed, only when I'm begging and crying incoherently do I finally get to feel them inside me, fucking me. Only then do I get to cum, get any satisfaction. And then they just keep going. Keep fucking me until all that's left in my little brain is the pleasure, the need to be filled up.

My mind so broken from the intense shift from so much teasing to being fucked so hard that I'm left just craving being used as long as they like <3