Disclaimer: The text that follows contains imagery and language that could be a trigger for some and that you may not be comfortable reading. This is just a fantasy and in no way, shape or form do I, as the writer, condone this type of scenario outside the context of fantasy or consenting play. If you are uncomfortable with imagery related to rape, sexual assault, or abuse and/or being held against your will you may not want to continue reading. If this is the case for you I still appreciate you as a fan, feel free to check out other things I’ve written. For those of you
choosing to continue, enjoy.
We’ve had several conversations you and I. You know what you’re doing, you’re more manipulative than you like to admit and only someone like myself recognizes it; someone studied in the art of reading people and seeing deeper than shallow, socially acceptable appearances. I must admit, even being able to see these truths about you, you’ve already begun to demoralize me from the inside out. You’ve brought me to my knees mentally multiple times, perhaps even when you didn’t realize; when it wasn’t even your goal. But, the question I’ve asked you now is how worn do you want the knees I’ve fallen to while you corrupt me?
You’ve asked about my fantasy and I don’t share. Instead I share it here, in the safety of anonymity. I can’t bring myself to admit it to you directly, so I write you your own little story. Your face not looking back at me, my fears not reflected in your eyes. I write the story to protect myself from that very story coming to life. And so your story begins as such…..
I couldn’t help but imagine you finding me, capturing me, and hiding me away in your cozy little dwelling place. Pulling me up out of the darkness when you’re ready for me. Rope controlling me. Rope looped around my head, between my lips and teeth as saliva drips down my chest. Rope looped around my breasts, rope looped around my waist both serving as handles for leverage. Finally, even more rope looped around my wrists, binding them tight. For this I’ve gained consent from your girl. The moment you introduced my broken and disgraced little mind to her, she was proud of you for bringing me to her; her human sacrifice. I didn’t have to beg too long, however, I threw myself at her feet for good measure. Now she wants to witness me as a fucktoy just as much, if not more, than you want to use me as one.
You position me in front of your desk as you stand directly behind my body and bring your monitor alive. Funny how that’s where it all started for you. It’s where you decided you could exploit my worst character flaw, the part of me that makes me feel so vile, manipulative, and calculating: my craving to seduce those who are not mine to seduce. You switch on the livestream camera in hopes to savor this moment later and to garner an audience. I stare into my own eyes and see how pathetic I’ve become hoping you’ll come to adore me, hoping the inevitable exchange of reverence takes place, hoping that a part of you gives in to me just as I have given in to you. Then I see your eyes reflected back by the camera, they are filled with nothing but iniquity, wickedness truly. The only light peaking through is the flame of need to destroy me and bring me to my weakest point, to have me crying out to you for your salvation, or better yet, your damnation.
You shove my upper body forward and I’m hovering over your keyboard, your source of tactile stimulation as you once called it. Being stuck this way exposes me to you but you encourage my legs to part by slapping the backside of my thighs, causing a sting to radiate throughout the rest of my body, interesting how pain and fear can feel so much like pleasure. Those sensations still so separate for me in this moment as I’ve not given much consent to my own emotions flooding my mind. Funny the concepts of permission and consent. How often do we actually consent to our own pleasure, pain, or other varied emotions? How do we permit things we have no control over? Meanwhile, the only person you require permission from to indulge in these carnal sins is your girl and you’ve gotten it. My permission became null and void the moment I walked into this depraved mess. Null and void because the moment I entangled myself with you permission was a blanket statement. I had resigned myself to accept the fate you had for me. You’re ready and willing to sexually assault me as I’m unable to distinguish between enjoying it and loathing it, a secret I’ve shared that you are happy to capitalize on. You look down at your cock that’s grown with desire and utilize your own spit for lubrication. You make one last motion to spread my legs, to further expose my body to you and tell me to look at myself in the camera, to stare out to all the devoted followers who aren’t as lucky as I am right now. To grace those, who only wish they could be me, with my condolence. As if I’m staring into their souls confirming the very reason they should return the favor and revel in their own idolatry.
You begin to take me and my mind sinks into its darkest places, convincing myself that this is what veneration is made of, what faithfulness is made of. That without allowing myself to be taken this way I will never amount to anything. You see it in my eyes, disgust turning into lust and you welcome the humiliating moans slipping so easily out of my mouth due to the ropes. You move in and out of me without effort as the build up to this moment has cultivated quite a needy cunt. My body physically responding to the right mechanics in the wrong situation. You are literally taking my body as your own and I have no choice in the matter. Perhaps even if I had a choice, I’d acquiesce because I know to gain your favor I must.
This continues on for what feels like ages and you’re not letting up, you could keep going for as long as would please you, so instead, you wrap an arm around my waist and navigate with nimble fingers to my dripping cunt. You begin to toy with my clit, rubbing and pinching, a balanced dance of torment between the two. Your other hand snakes its way around my throat and I can pinpoint every inch of your fingers as they begin to compress against my skin, shortening my breathing. My legs begin to quiver as these small acts draw me closer to orgasm than any other strategy has yet. You continue to drill into me and my moans become wild, our eyes meet in the camera and you tell me to cum for you. I can’t hold back, once again my body betraying the resolve I hoped to maintain despite the many signs I was losing. My vision goes blurry and I collapse on your desk, concluding that my worst nightmare has been brought to life. I am nothing but a whore who’s mere being dependent on the existence of others choosing to use and abuse me. You lean over me continuing your work, this game not over until you’ve gotten what you feel you deserve, and whisper into my ear “I told you I wanted to make creative projects with you.” It was as though that was the dirtiest thing you had ever said to someone. That taking me in front of the camera was just some creative idea you put together that needed my collaboration. Your humiliation of me and my costar in this project is sealed with that statement and you instantly begin to cum. Your entire body is racked with pleasure, violent pleasure.
You return to your senses and pull away from me but not without saying “such a good girl, your continued worship and devotion will soon turn to obsession and you will surely be rewarded.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/bd5erl/obsessed_with_obsession