Mr Spicer’s NSFW Blog

you said you were visiting family. there was a video you sent me of you and your baby cousin running in the park. i remember, because that's the last thing i was looking at before i felt the cloth clamping over my nose, the drug knocking me out.

the next time i woke i was somewhere else. blindfolded, tied up, chest tightening with panic, thinking: was this you?

you said you were out of town.

i could hear the footsteps. it had to be you. right?

really, try and surprise me, i'd laughed. do your worst.

god, i really, really fucking needed it to be you.

i almost whimpered when i realized the hands that landed on me were still gloved, unrecognizable. i did whimper when those hands pulled my legs open. i think i started begging when the hands started groping me without a word, cutting off my clothes; i started asking who it was when fingers forced its way inside me, finding me already slick and leaking; i started crying when i didn't get an answer, only spit in my hole.

it was your name i sobbed out as i was fucked; if that was still a question, a cry for help, a desperate wish, or a plea, i couldn't say. and then, as i was pulled closer: your low laugh against my neck. your kiss on my nose, familiar. i don't think i knew a sense of safety could flood my mind as strongly as fear until then: the relief intense as i arched into you, as you fucked me, as i came.