Thursday, 19 May 2011


I don't know how I got here, it doesn't really matter any more, all of that is far away.  All I know, all I've known for as long as I can remember, is being suspended in this web, this strange network of soft, rubbery black threads, crisscrossing my body, supporting me, imprisoning me.  They move sometimes, I don't know if they have minds of their own or if they're being directed.  I'm so tired all the time, that I just sag, helpless to escape, and let them do what they like.

I know another round is starting when tendrils slip into my ears, the soothing whispers start, and my head begins to loll. At first I'd try not to listen, but the voices were too insistent, too persuasive, and so now I just nod absently along to the suggestions, feeling as if a good friend is giving me advice, or perhaps trying to seduce me, I don't really care once the strands around my clit start to lick me and gently slide up inside.

Deep feelings of arousal and wellbeing pulse through me, washing everything else away, the strings have become my lovers, my desires, my controllers. I come for them again and again, and as they absorb my wetness, it makes them ripple and shine.

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