Only in retrospect do I realize how she kept me aroused,
sending me pictures each morning to remind me of what she looked like, feeding
me my own hormones like a drug, addicting me, stirring me up, until I couldn’t
think straight, and would do just about anything to please her, a personal
servant, a sissy with my cock locked up in the palms of my hands, and now,
realize how pleased she must have been, knowing she could make me do anything
she wanted, pulling this string or that, causing sensations in deeper part of
me, and I think of that time – after I became irrelevant– when she sent me
texts to meet her, telling me she didn’t mean me when I got there, and my head
so over inflated, my blood already in a boil, I saw in the corner like a
scolded child, waiting for her next command, and even now relishing a bit of
it, thinking how pleasant it would be for her to control me, though I think,
too, she may not have completely know how much power she really had.
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