Spent

I imagine myself tied to the bed – wrists and ankles spread wide, completely helpless. I can’t move. I can’t touch you. I can’t stop anything you’re about to do to me. I’m just lying there… aching, soaked, trembling—totally exposed, totally yours.

You take your time, because you know you can. Your fingers, your tongue, that Lush… every touch pushes me closer, every pause makes me whimper. You bring me right to the edge and then stop. Over and over. I’m twitching under you, begging, already losing control, and you just smile. Because I don’t get to cum. Not until you’ve had your fun. Not until I’m crying with how badly I need it. And I do. I need it more than anything.

When you finally give me permission, it’s not soft. You slide into me hard, deep, while I’m still tied down—still panting, still wrecked from the denial. I scream for you, arch off the bed, my body clenching around you like it’s been starving. And it has.

But you don’t stop. You keep fucking me while my body shakes beneath you, while my voice is gone, while the sheets are soaked from everything you’ve done to me. You don’t stop until I’m ruined, legs useless, spent and owned. Because that’s what I am. Helpless. Yours. And I never want it to end.