Relief is close by. Sex videos They never listen. You don’t know. Involuntary. No fucking manners. Matter-of-fact:
‘Use your words, or I won’t understand what you need. How your muscles squeeze around my fingers when my palm delivers the searing, stinging relief you need, almost as much as the orgasm you know will follow. Why has this cunt pushed in, in front of me? Show him. Panting, not at what I’m doing, yet, but at the shadows and echos of the outside world and your ‘real life’, in your head. Why can’t she just calm down for five fucking minutes? The treacherous ‘married’ who, adored by most, sidles up to you and would ‘accidentally’ brush his grey-slacked penis against your arse in the coffee queue, if only his gut didn’t obscure it. You speak again. Not to test it, but to feel the pressure increase around the soles of your feet, and ankles, to which your wrists are bound. ‘OK. Show him. We’ll see. Show them. Why don’t we count together? Twice?’
‘No… More…’
‘Fifty?’
You’re silent. The screaming inside you will subdue, as the metronome starts and the relentless, rhythmic beat begins. And so you resent and revile your own baser instincts- your tearing, teeth-on-edge irritation at yourself that your own wants and desires pull you off the predictable, relentless beat, towards your off-beat, fallible pulse instead.
