I want this

This. I want this. Oh god, how much I yearn.

I want the cold, unyielding stretch of the plug pushing slowly into me. Teasingly, tauntingly, twirling between your finger. A little further in, a tiny increment of withdrawal, then deeper until

oh

the bulb is firmly lodged within me, stretched skin closing around its slender neck. You tug gently on the chain, and say-

“How does that feel?”

“Good.” I manage, in a hoarse mutter

“That’s all? Just ‘good’? Come on, oh great writer of smut, you can do better than that.”

“I feel….pinioned. Toyed with. Turned on.”

“That’s a promising start,” you say, and tap me on the shoulder. “Kneel up and spread your legs.”

Pulling the chain between my thighs, you watch my face as its chilly links meet my warm skin, smirking at my tiny gasp.

“Hands in front.”

You’ve shortened the chain, the cuffs pull my wrists down to the limits of my arms’ extension. As long as I maintain this straight-backed posture, there is cold metal pressing against my clit, between my labia, at the ring of muscle that stays the plug’s egress. The cuffs hold my wrists in a firm grip, you tightened down the ratchets to restrict my movements within a narrow range of comfort, grinning nastily at me as you did so. I am chained to myself, cunt cut off, sliding, smooth metal parts already warm and wet like they’re becoming part of me.

What might you do next? I ask my imagination, sorting through mental images, reviewing the library of what gets me off, the dirtiest, most depraved scenes, the ones I polish and redirect at length while I wait for sleep to pull me under.

I’m facing the wall, bare nipples brushing against the matte paint, trying to stay balanced atop stiletto heels and a spreader bar.

Perhaps you’re behind me, stalking about with a crop or a cane, something to make me jolt and whimper.

or

watching me from across the room, making sardonic commentary on my ridiculous excess of libido; how amusing it is to get me all worked up; that if I’m lucky, I might be allowed to use the wand when you fuck my mouth, but only if I’m a good, quiet girl and keep still for a while longer.

cut to

squatting against the wall with my knees wide apart, pinned like a butterfly with your cock down my throat, jerking and drooling as you cradle my head in your hands, stroke my hair and thrust deeper, running out of air but fiercely determined to eke out every second of this crammed-full, helpless submissive abandon.

then

Gagged and spread wide across the bed, squirming for escape from the clit-sucker toy you’ve taped into place; two orgasms down and yelling in desperation for deliverance from the next, while you laugh and chide me for being so utterly insatiable,

Yes, this. All of this.