And now that the image of him is burned vividly onto your retinas, he's next going to make sure that the mental image of him is burned vigorously into your brain.
You've already made eye contact.
Next will be the nod, the permission, the invitation to approach.
Soon, you'll hear his voice. Filtered by the helmet, amplified by his wearing his helmet, it works its way into your ears and your mind as the epitome of confidence, control, and most of all authority.
Before you've even realized what you're doing, you've simply stated "ACCESS GRANTED".
You don't see hidden behind the helmet, but you hear in his silence, his smile, his approval, his acceptance. And oh you so very much want his smile, his approval, his acceptance.
So, when he slowly puts his left boot down on the ground, you feel it, pulling, like a leash not yet clasped to the collar not yet wrapped around your neck, dragging you down, dragging your eyes down, past his crotch, perched astride his crotch rocket, down, further, knees, down, head, down, to the ground.
Your ears hear the command "LICK" and you do.
But your mind hears the instruction "LOCK".
And with that, your destiny is ordained, and it will only be a matter of time before you are sent home to stew, to percolate, to ferment, to allow the cravings to simmer.
And soon, but not remotely soon enough, your phone will ding with the first of many, many dings, and the message from an unknown shortcode will simply indicate the address where you first spotted HIM. And your body will process the command before you even realize the implication. Not that you would stop your body if you had any hope to, since your mind is as enraptured as your body is enthralled.
And the loop will repeat, as it has week after week after week, program after program being introduced to you subliminally, subaudibly, subconsciously, the covert instructions seeping in as steadily as your tongue overtly drags itself over his boot, in public, allowing your body to be taken , invite by invite, as your mind is taken over, byte by byte.
And FUCK it makes you hard, on some level, knowing EXACTLY what is happening.
And waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop.
And soon enough, but not remotely soon enough, the ding on your phone, from a number you're sure you've never seen before, will show a different address from the one you've never seen before, not far from the location you don't remember ever having been at, where, upon arrival, a door will be opened, and HE will direct you to enter.
And your body will do as it is told, and your mind will shiver with excitement and whatever lies beyond the portal.
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