Jul 24
You don’t want to kill me— or so you say. There’s just something about that moment.. whether it’s the drugs, or the pain, or you not removing your hand from my throat quick enough— that moment. Right then when I black out, and go so… still, limp, empty quiet, pliant. Yours. An extension. One that still grips your cock so tightly as you use my unconscious body… it does something of you.
More than anything else.
“You look so pretty, just like this,” you say.
And I believe you.
I always believe you.
