p.s. tell your buddies about this blog!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
(Continued from previous post. The first post in the series is here.) I try to move and get some rhythm. But my delight at waking up impaled gradually turns to dismay as I realize you're toying with me. You're pinning me down with your muscles and I can't get more stimulation than you're allowing. I writhe and wimper, but you're merciless for several minutes. I can't use my hands because you have me by the wrists as well. My existence has been reduced to the bed and your muscle -- within and without. You can feel every quiver. (to be continued...)