That thing shouldn't have privacy.
The Anon that wanted me to share my likes meant to expose what I like. Posts which turn me on. I couldn't because of rules, but I promised to share ones that affect me.
This one does. This one was long fantasy of mine, perhaps even before I started experimenting with power exchange and slave dynamic. The concept of being used in glory hole is something that is embarrassing and arousing at the same time.
The fantasy that might be done only to so extents because I have strict health concerns. To some extents, because partly it might be role-played and done in safe manner. Only partly, unfortunately.
And I am grateful Master that he makes it possible in such ways. I should tell about it once.
I don't know why I am wired this way. I wasn't doing anything, just opened Tumblr and got the post. The fire in my belly almost immediately started to burn.
And then I find myself doing the edging in my "edging corner". The camera and lights are on. Touching myself and reading the post. Imagining myself in the position. Me being on my knees helps. Feeling the toy in my dripping hole and the plug in my ass helps too.
I close my eyes, and I’m there. I am not in the safety of the house. I’m in that dive bar bathroom, the kind where the tile is sticky and the air smells of stale beer and cheap cologne. I shouldn't have privacy, not from myself. I can't hide from the anticipation.
I’m kneeling. The floor is cold against my knees, but the darkness is warm, intimate. I know the drill. I’ve practiced it, the trembling of my body is what makes it so real. I’ve practiced the edge, the trembling of my body, the way the toy slides inside me and the plug stretches me, keeping me ready, keeping me both full and hollow. But more importantly open.
I’m dripping wet before I even touch the wall.
And then, I feel the presence. The shadow.
He’s not gentle. He doesn’t ask for permission. He shoves his cock through the hole. It’s thick, veiny, and it smells of musk. It's salty, animalistic, intoxicating. I can hear him breathing, hear the rustle of denim, the click of a lighter. It’s raw, male, demanding.
I don't see a man. I just see the flesh and the warmth. I just see a cock that needs to be pleased.
"Nice to meet you, Sir," I whisper into the dark, tasting the anticipation on my tongue.
I wrap my lips around him. It’s sloppy. I don't care about technique, only friction. I can taste the salt of his sweat and the tiny, bitter taste of precum as it leaks onto my tongue. I rub my wet pussy against the floor, the toy inside me buzzing, matching the rhythm of my mouth.
He groans, a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through the wall and into my. And I love it. I love the loss of control. I am no longer a woman. I am a mouth. I am a hole.
"Nice to meet you, too," comes the muffled response, a gasp of pleasure.
I work him harder. I deep throat him, fighting the gag reflex, letting the tears well up. I can smell the musk, cloying and heavy, filling my nose. It makes me dizzy. It makes me wetter. I’m sloppily sucking him off, spit dripping down my chin, coating his shaft, running down my neck. It’s filthy. It’s degrading. And it’s exactly what I need.
He starts to thrust, and I open my throat for him, welcoming the intrusion. I can feel his pulse against my tongue, the power of him. He’s using me, draining himself into me. I don't think about the consequences. I don't think about tomorrow. I just worship him. I worship the cock.
And then, he hits that spot. He pushes deep, and he holds it there.
And in reality I am right on the edge. I have to stop. In the fantasy he cums.
I swallow him down, every drop, licking him clean because that’s what I’m there for. That’s what I was born for.
My body is trembling out of lust. I want more.
I sit back on my heels in the dark, panting, my face coated in spit and the evidence of our encounter. The fog lifts slightly, and I look at my hands. They look normal. I am here. But deep down, in the brain, the heat is melting it all away. I am just a slut who loves to serve. I am empty, and I am full. I press the button to stop recording. Lights are off.
That is the situation. That is the reality.
