ghost (they/it)

Doesn't it feel like something is missing? Something that should be deep inside those achy needy holes between your legs?

Clench your holes 4 more times.

Good boy. Wouldn't it feel a lot better to throb around my thick strap? My thick dick cockwarming you, letting you spasm while it's inside?

Go ahead and clench 4 more times.

Or, better yet, should keep a toy in both those tight holes of yours as often as I can, and for as long as possible.

There’s the hazy-eyed drugged-out empty thing, who lives in a foggy world in its own mind. Comfortable and sleepy. Docile and sedated. Kept calm by its own fuzzy mind and memories. It doesn’t know it deserves better. It doesn’t know it’s been dehumanized or even was once a human. On some level it knows it’s being kept, but the idea of resisting is so distant and uncomfortable that it’s just easier to stay in the cage, no matter how secure it actually is. This pet barely feels the pain, jolting it only momentarily from its haze.

Then there’s the clear-eyed, pissed-off but entirely broken pet. It knows exactly what’s been done to it. It knows it’s been degraded and dehumanized. It knows what it once was, knows it doesn’t deserve that treatment, and would bark and bite if it still believed it would help. It’s docile because it’s given up, but that doesn’t mean it accepts it. It does what it needs to do to survive. Maybe it fears me, but it will protect me anyway. The life it had is gone, the option to get away is gone, and it will at least fight to keep what it has, no matter how much it hates it, hates me for what I’ve done to it.

i love the feel of his cunt against my shaft, the wetness smearing along my length as we rock. i love the way he gasps when i notch my t-dick just under his hood, the little jump of his hips as he chases the sensation. i love the rhythm we find, our bodies speaking a language only we know.

i love the way his thighs clench around mine, trapping us together. i love the wetness, the mess, the way his slick makes my whole groin shine. i love looking down and seeing the glisten of us both, the way his t-dick peeks out as I press the tip against his.

i love the burning pressure low in my gut as we rut, the way his moans get higher and breathier. i love when he wraps his hand around both of us, guiding the friction, his palm sliding over our heads. i love the broken sound of his voice when he says ‚fuck, yes, that’s so good.‘

i love the moment we both tip over. i love his shudder, the way his eyes roll back, the pulse of his cunt against my cock as he rides out the aftershocks. i love the way we stay tangled, still grinding through the mess, not ready to stop.