The wind was blowing gently through the trees around your apartment; not too loud but just loud enough to create a soothing whooshing sound every so often. The temperature was perfect; not freezing cold, but not warm or humid either. The lights in your apartment were dimmed, creating the perfect ambiance, soft enough to allow the lights from outside to cast a soft glow on the place, making it just bright enough to see what you were doing and where you were stepping.
You were in bed with your boyfriend Taekwoon, surrounded by a plethora of soft, comfy pillows, one or two beneath you. You were at peace emotionally, but a powerful storm was raging through you in every other way. Emotionally, you shifted between states of pure overwhelming bliss and intense feelings of joy, stemming from the fact that sexually you were currently your boyfriends an insatiable little sex doll.
You were currently laying with your legs to your chest lost in his dark brown eyes; currently hooded from pleasure, yet still seemingly burning holes into the very fabric of your existence with the intensity of the look in his eyes. A mixture of raw carnal lust and an almost reverent adoration of your body. Mentally, you were a broken mess of a slut.
The only barely coherent words that you could think and vocalize was a cyclic string of begging for Daddy to go faster so that you could cum as he moved with slow, and deliberately deep strokes until he was satisfied with your desperate pleas for a release, only to chuckle darkly and, just barely increasing his speed, double the force of his movements, driving himself deep within your core and, as far as you were concerned, the depths of your sanity until you were screaming his name, over and over, like a prayer.
Then ultimately, your pathetic whines and whimpers as over-stimulation inevitably kicked in as you came down from your high only to realize that he just. Didn’t. Stop. You’d look up into his eyes, a slight pout on your soft, supple lips, a haze in your eyes and desperation in your voice as you softly begged.
Cries of “Please. Please Oppa” could be heard between your whimpers followed by whispers of “I can’t take anymore. Please-” which would be cut off by a chuckle, then his soft, melodious, yet firm voice saying, barely above a whisper,
“No, Daddy isn’t done with you.”
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