Page 9

Sundrop: May 2022

Psychopaths are not supposed to be able to feel emotions like love. I love Cole though, I know I do. And maybe it’s not love like other people feel. For a long time, I wondered if my strong emotions for him were just a heightened sense of the lust, anger and obsessiveness that I do feel in abundance.

He is mine; he belongs to me. I don’t care about his feelings on the matter because as far as I am concerned, he must love me in return. No other possibility is imaginable to me? How could he not love me? How could he not want me? Want to be with me? That doesn’t make sense to me. I am obsessed with him, and it takes so much internal strength to not go crazy because then he will just end up becoming one of my victims.

I can’t say I haven’t thought about killing him. If he won’t have me in this life, I can have him in his death. I could keep his body, for a time anyway. I don’t see anything wrong with that. In fact, I feel like he should be flattered that I do want him, in whatever way I could get him. Even if it’s only for a short while.

I’ve studied enough of human bodies and serial killers to know that bodies don’t keep for very long. I could have him like that. I reason with myself. A short while is better than the nothing his rights to choose for himself afford him now.

I wondered if the quality of his flesh would be retained better in the winter, as opposed to the summer. Winters here are cold and relentless; the icy chills would breathe relief into the skin and keep it fresher for longer. The summer would burn through skin and blood spilled; the smell would turn rank. Spoiled meat is never appetising. Gods, was I considering consuming his flesh?

My childhood obsession with a certain cannibal necrophiliac had earned me a nickname from my mother of his first name. Not girlish in any way and yet, it could unironically be a cute girly name. The devil she also called me, she wasn’t wrong. She had also wanted to shave my head to see if there was a “666” anywhere. Shame my family blamed me for things that were always entirely their fault. If I was the Devil, then I came from other devils, demons and ghouls.

Death and devastation are how I was raised. Like most serial killers, I might have been born this way and ended up like this regardless. However, my childhood cemented a lack of empathy through their neglect. A sadistic love of hurting things resulting from the violence bestowed upon me so young. Desensitised so no, I don’t see how love and pain aren’t intrinsically linked. Forged together through blood, beatings, pain and suffering. I am the way I am because I was raised this way.

Cannibalism though? I’d never really considered it. Well, that’s a blatant lie. Of course, I had but that’s another not polite thing I learned early on not to talk about out loud. I went years being vegan, longer being vegetarian. Ironically the taste and texture of meat is something that makes me retch sometimes. So, I always assumed cannibalism would not be my serial killer niche.

Somehow though, the thought of eating his flesh? There was something absurdly sexy about that. There is a part in one of my favourite novels, a fictional serial killer based in 1980s New York that was turned into a movie in 2000 with one of my favourite male actors. He was perfectly cast in that role. Another serial killer that someone else nicknamed me after. I giggle realising I’ve been unintentionally collecting nicknames based on both fictional and real-life serial killers throughout my life.

The scene though, was of him going down on a woman and eating her pussy. Literally eating, biting and tearing flesh and covering them both in blood. That was erotic to me. Makes me wet even thinking about it now. I’ve always wanted during sex to bite down and pierce skin with my teeth, lapping up blood while pleasuring someone.

I once bit someone who shoved their cock into my mouth. He punched me in the face before AND afterwards, so that didn’t go quite as planned.

If anyone deserved to have their cock bitten off though, it was him.

I did consider it many times.

I wouldn’t have eaten him though, never even crossed my mind. I imagine that man's flesh and blood to be riddled with disease, dreadful and thick and not in any sexy way. His blood is dying, drying up and slow. His flesh would taste repulsive.

However, Cole is really testing my fucking patience. How am I supposed to be cute, and sweet and flirt when I want to tie him up, slit his throat and drink his blood? To fuck his dying body as we are both covered in his blood? I imagine how bright red and healthy his blood is, how it will smell so sweet to me. How wet and slippery it is, and I must clench my thighs together.

My pussy feels drenched, the butt plug I’m wearing is going to be covered in the mess my cunt is making. I think about the pink heart shaped jewel attached to the stainless steel small sized plug I put in my ass before I left the house this morning. Wearing toys out in public has been a favourite thing of mine for years now. The way the plug moves with every step I take.

When I bend down to get something from a lower shelf in a shop like this one, the tug is so delicious. I must bite my lip and stop myself from moaning out loud at the feeling.

I’m a mess. I’m going to have to get home and touch myself or else I’m going to either explode or go directly to his workplace and trap him in his office.

My thoughts are muddled from the lust. I stare at the buckets displaying the many bunches of flowers; roses in front of me. There are so many colours and bunches and all are stunningly beautiful. The smell is intoxicating to me. I love flowers. Something so simple and yet the blood red of these wine-coloured flowers, their beautiful petals to the sharp thorns are wild and irresistible to me.

I think of these stunning rose petals scattered about a floor with a body or two’s worth of blood spilled across it. The petals are sitting daintily atop the blood, sinking into it a little. I think of myself naked, in the middle, my feet soaked in blood, it’s splattered up my legs. I imagine Cole taking me right there, in the blood. I can almost feel him grab the end of the plug held securely in my tight asshole and give it a tug. I scream with pleasure at the sensation. I want him. He wants me. More so, he wants me like this.

I grab two bunches of those roses and go to the self-checkout; I make a show of scanning both but only actually scanning one. The barcode doesn’t pick up the second bunch and I pay for only one bunch of flowers. This is something I have started to do. I “scan” all the items confidently as if I am paying for everything but make sure to only actually scan some of the items.

Fuck the corporations and bigger businesses. This country is a fucking joke; the prices, the blatant exploitation of workers and normal hard-working people. It’s disgusting. So, fuck them and fuck their business. Fuck the economy, fuck the government. It all needs to be burned to the ground.

If I wanted to, I would just walk right out of the store without paying at all. I lack any regret or have any embarrassment at paying or not paying. I live with a code inside me that screams that I am entitled to whatever I want. That everything belongs to me and that this is a movie, and I am the main character. Everything exists for me and me alone, and I alone choose. I know however that the world doesn’t operate like that and there are laws that people must uphold if they want to be left alone.

It wouldn’t do to be arrested for something stupid like stealing a bunch of flowers to them realising I am the Rosemond Ripper. I think of all the evidence in my home right now; that one skull, those teeth, my other trophies. If they did search my house for any reason, I would be in serious fucking trouble. That skull makes a cute planter though, it’s like an all-year-round Halloween decoration. The teeth I had planned to make a necklace or bracelet from but ended up in that one jar in my kitchen. I’ll do something with them eventually.

That’s how it normally happens though, police catching a break in the case because the arrogant, overconfident killer makes a mistake and gets something stupid like a parking ticket.

And ladies and gentlemen, there is the reason I do not drive. I can drive; I’m an excellent driver but I am not a safe driver. I like to take risks, speed up when you’re supposed to slow down. Go forward when you are supposed to stop. It’s too thrilling, the speed… the possible danger.

Since I like killing, I must be left alone. Flying under the radar and being invisible is what I need to be, so that I can carry on with murdering people who deserve it. They do deserve it. And everyone I’ve killed has deserved to die.

That is a hill I’m willing to die on. Metaphorically of course, I don’t believe in throwing away my life for any cause. I am too important, the work I do is too important. There’s just not enough time in the day to kill every single paedophile and rapist though and that I am deeply sorry for. There’s just too many of them.

Sometimes I feel like it’s not enough, that I need to do more.

I walk out of the store and put the music back on my phone. Dance pop suddenly pounds in my ears through my lilac earbuds and the world feels better again. I hate the noise of people and of daily goings on. I hate the sights and smells and do wish I was the only person in the world. What a world that would be. The places I could go, the things I could do. Alone.

Well, alone with Cole.

In my daydreams, he’s there with me. Even if he pretends, he doesn’t want to be.

I hold my flowers proudly, careful not to damage their delicate petals. I can be gentle when I want to be. The blood red petals do something wonderful to my mood. The butt plug gently tugging on my asshole also keeps my spirits high. I feel good today.

I pull out my phone and awkwardly text him one handedly,

Me: Hey shithead, what are you up to?

I love him really, but we don’t talk to each other in any healthy way. That’s never been how we communicate. This is how I love; in the only way I know how.

He responds almost immediately, of course he does. He’s as obsessed with me as I am with him even if every time, I hand myself to him on a silver platter, he turns his nose up at the meal set before him. Maybe I just haven’t figured out what his tastes are. I think about how I was just wondering at the taste of his flesh, the smell of his blood. Maybe the reason he doesn’t fuck me is because there’s something deep down, he’s ashamed of. Some kink or weird fetish that he is worried I’ll be turned off at. If it involves kids or animals, then I will kill him . Otherwise, I’m not one to judge considering I know how unusual my own tastes are.

So unusual that when I read something involving them, or see something in TV or film, I am reminded that I’m not the only one out there like me. How many people are as deeply fucked up as I am? I was always raised to believe I was an anomaly, one of a kind. I don’t think that anymore.

The world is so vast, the deviations of the population, the pain and terror that some people inflict upon others. I’m not alone but being a psychopath is a solitary existence. Of being surrounded by people and never letting anyone too close. Never being open or honest or vulnerable because no one would accept me as I am.

I risk being arrested; incarceration is not something that would look good on me. Sometimes I think prison would be perfect for me; the routine, the potential solitary confinement, there is something peaceful sounding about being able to be truly honest about myself.

I’d always wanted to sit down and discuss myself honestly with a good psychiatrist. I’ve met ones before where I knew that my knowledge far surpassed their own. My own lived experiences of my disorder are much more valid than what they have been educated to. There’s so many misunderstandings and misinformation around the actual diagnostic criteria.

The way such personality disorders are discussed and assumed, it’s so much more complex than that. That is an issue though. I have been under psychiatric care before, never institutionalised despite wanting that a few times. Needing it because I felt my control slipping to a point, I didn’t think I could keep hold of the control on myself anymore. Those were dark times.

However, the issue I’ve found is that I know exactly what to say and how to pretend to be mentally ill in a way that is more socially acceptable. People are starting to have an understanding and empathy for anxiety and depression, so I learned to lean into depression and anxiety to excuse the actual raging insanity inside of me. I can’t be honest about how I truly feel because I am a danger to others. By their “duty of care” if I was to tell a doctor that, or any of the things I have done or even the fantasies I have about what I do. I would be locked up, I would be potentially arrested and sent to prison, for life. I would be deemed mentally unfit and instead perhaps committed to an institution for the rest of my life.

That is what my gran and my mother warned me off as a child. They insisted I keep quiet, that I don’t talk about the voice in my head, or the things I like or enjoy. Of the dreams I have. The nightmares. The wants and desires I have. Keep quiet, keep out of sight and remain anonymous. Never get too close to anyone, never tell anyone how I feel because they will never understand. I will never be safe.

That is the frustrating part because I want to sit down and talk about myself with a professional. Someone who will take me seriously and study me as the fascinating subject that I know I am. I want to have brain scans done so I can see exactly what parts of my brain do light up and which parts don’t. I have my theories, but I want to see it. I want to frame the scans and display them in my home.

I want to discuss in length how I do feel, what’s happened to me and how I’ve reacted to those things. I want to talk about what I have done, what I plan to do and why. I have always been intrigued by the psychology of others but mainly in myself. I want to do what I’ve always been shamed for, talk about myself.

Me, Me, Me…

However, I know I just can’t.

This is what keeps me from pushing myself fully onto Cole. Part of me recoils at the intimacy because deep down, despite how badly I want it, I know it’s just not for me. That part of me must only be playing at being intimate, at being vulnerable. Funny how people assume I’m so open and vulnerable because I trauma dump so easily. I have no shame in the bad things that have happened to me, I barely feel anything aside from sometimes a physical visceral reaction to the abuse I’ve suffered.

I have no ability to tell that something affected me that badly or is abuse until I say something I feel is funny and the response I get is that they are sorry that happened to me. Other people crying over the bad things that have happened to me, the expectation that I console them, makes me uncomfortable.

There are physical signs, my body is aware even if my brain is not. That's the part people don’t understand about not being able to tell the difference between “good” and “bad”. It doesn’t just mean that I can do bad things and not feel bad about it. It also means that when bad things are done to me, and they often have, that I don’t know those things are bad. I stay in abusive situations longer than I should because I don’t realise, I’m being abused.

I’ve been raped and I’ve shrugged it off. I’ve been hit and I’ve hit back. I’ve been overpowered because unfortunately for me, I’m not actually invincible as I’d like to believe I am. I have rage in abundance, but I am still only 5ft 3” and female. I can be overpowered by someone bigger and stronger, and I have been a few times.

Something inside of me believes that it’s ok for these things to be done to me, despite me actively not believing that others deserve it. It’s a hard balance to achieve.

Despite my ability to murder and dismember a body, I wouldn’t actively rape or hurt someone intentionally. Could I? Yes. Would I? No. I choose that because I do believe that people don’t deserve it. I guess in that way I understand what empathy is even if I can’t feel it. In that way I must force myself to believe it.

I also can’t process my trauma, only store it away and put it under my bed with the other boxes filled with all the horrible things that have happened to me over the years.

It’s manipulation apparently, everything I do to connect to others. Not real. I am playing at being a human being, but it doesn’t feel that way to me. How can it be bad? How can it be wrong when I am trying so hard to be a normal person? That is a huge effort I’m making. This is real to me, it’s all I have.

The response is what I expected;

Cole: Work fucking sucks today. Super busy

That’s why he hasn’t messaged me. I believe people on face value because I can’t understand why anyone wouldn’t just be honest.

Smiling at my phone, I readjust my hold on my phone and flowers while walking. The sun is shining brightly today, and the sky has a stark glaring quality to it that looks artificial. It’s funny because the sky is the most natural thing in the world and yet it looks to me as if someone has coloured it in with a neon blue pen. I love it.

Cole’s eyes aren’t as blue, but I love how they look under skies like this. I want to spend more time with him outside. I want to see how his eyes change under different lighting and conditions. Blue eyes take on whatever colour is around them and I want to see every single speck of light and colour imaginable reflected in his.

I also want to see how those eyes change as I take his thick, long hard cock into my throat.

The plug in my ass feels like a weight, a constant reminder of how insatiable horny I am always. My wet pussy soaking my thin underwear as I know I’ll be taking them off as soon as I get home.

Part of me thinks about how pretty Cole would look with my scrunched-up panties stuffed in his mouth, letting him taste how aroused he makes me. The way my body moves and twists and comes apart for him.

What to put inside of myself though? I have a huge collection of dildos and as much as it’s only his cock that will satisfy me, I think instead of all the toys I own and which ones I could fit inside of me. Maybe I should try more than one at a time. How filled my pussy would be, soaking wet and dripping, thinking about his gorgeous eyes and the sounds he would make as he feels my pussy for the first time. I know it would drive him wild.

I think about how my ass is filled with the plug, it is only a small one, I’ll admit I can’t take much up my ass and really need someone to help me learn to take more. I want Cole to explore my ass with me. He told me once he’s never tried anal, never fucked someone like that and I know he wants to. I wonder if he’s been with anyone else and that’s maybe changed since we first had that conversation.

Fuck, I want him so badly. I decide to be extremely naughty and film myself when I get home. It won’t take me long to walk back from the shops, I don’t live far away. Every minute is too much though. The sun shines on my skin, heating me so that I’m bubbling over with warmth. The sweat collects on my skin and mixes I’m sure with the wetness already between my legs. I imagine being with him on hot sand and having him lick the sweat from my body as I can smell and hear the ocean.

There’s no air and I feel myself burn up from the inside out. I’m a raging volcano, the swirling fury of lust always curling up my insides wrapping their burnt hands on my organs and squeezing until I can’t breathe.

I’m ridiculously horny and now I have a plan, I’m impatient to go through with it. It’s not the first time I’ve sent him a video of me playing with toys. I know exactly what he likes, and I love performing for him.

Just as well I can’t feel shame because how fucking embarrassing would it be begging someone to fuck me, to want me, to love me when he refuses to do exactly that.

Oh well.

It’s too beautiful a day to ruin my own mood by being negative. He’ll come around, one way or another. I always get what I want.

So, to set the mood and test to see how playful he’s feeling, I sent a little message,

Me: Aww poor baby! I know what might cheer you up! We can play a game!

The message pings back immediately,

Cole: What kind of game?

He sends a winky face with the text and I know I’ve got him.

Me: You can guess what I have in my ass right now

A moment passes and then…

Cole: I thought you were at the shop?

Me: I was

Cole: And you have something in your ass?

Me: I do

Cole: FUCK!

I let the moment pass waiting for the next text to come through. We are double, triple texters when the mood is right. He’s always horny, maybe as horny as I always am.

Cole: Let me see?

The pleading face emoji is sent a few times and I’m glad he likes my games.

Me: You have to guess first

I text back and continue my walk home. The afternoon is quiet, the streets giving a little deserted feeling. It helps me get home faster, listening to my music and admiring my flowers. I know that he has never gotten me any, despite showing him the pictures of flowers I buy for myself. Despite telling him. I’ve never asked though. Even I have some standards.

He knows, he just doesn’t care

That may be true, but I do, and he’ll come around. I’m sure of it.

Cole: A plug?

Me: Not good enough, you have to guess which one

I’m just playing with him; I want him to really be thinking of my ass. I want him to be thinking about all the many butt plugs I own. All the different ones I’ve shown him through pictures of either the plugs themselves or the pictures of them inside of me, their beautiful heads just sticking out a little. The different colours, jewels, shapes. I have quite a few. There’s even a few that have long fluffy tails in different shades of cute colours and a rainbow one too. I want him as he’s sitting in his office right now, imagining that I’m bent over the desk in front of him, revealing this pink heart shaped plug I’m wearing right now. I want to tease him.

Of course, what I really want is for him to remove the plug from me slowly, replacing the plug with his finger while he takes the plug to his mouth and sucks on what was just inside my ass. Moaning at how I taste before using his tongue to lick me there. Pushing his finger in deeper before unbuckling his belt, pulling down the zipper of his suit trousers and taking my ass with every inch of his big, hard cock. I want him to do this while I’m pinned, trapped between him and his desk. I want him to grab hold of one of my breasts with one hand and with the other a fist full of my hair, holding me tightly as he fucks me roughly. Feeling him pounding into my ass while I’m helplessly his to do with as he pleases.

The thought of his cock inside of my ass makes my knees weak and my legs tremble. My toes curl inside my trainers and I sigh, a soft noise escaping me as I think about it all the way home.

So distracted as I struggle now to get my keys out of my bag. I deliberately have a large keychain of a fluffy lilac pompom so it’s easier to find. I grab it, push the key in the lock and race myself into the kitchen. I place the flowers down on my spotless bunkers as quickly and carefully as I’m able to.

Then going back to the front door making sure I have locked it. I used to never lock my door, obsessed with stalker dark romance books and fantasising about someone coming into my home and taking me but no one ever has. I check the door and head upstairs. While walking up the stairs, I take off my clothes and just dump them where they fall. I like seeing my clothing on the floor in passion. My soft cream carpet on the stairs is replaced by the wooden flooring, a pale wood colour which covers my landing and bedroom floors. The warmth of the carpet, to the cold of the flooring against my feet is a nice contrast. The wooden flooring is much better for my dildo which has a great suction cup on the bottom.

Naked, I go to my drawer and find what I’m looking for; a blue and purple ombre dildo, it’s seven inches. I have a box in my drawer with a few different types of lubes. Since I’m planning on sticking this inside myself, even though I’m already soaking wet I use the lube anyway. I’ve been hurt in the past and I don’t like my vagina being treated with anything but the absolute best care and that means using lube. Especially if I’m planning on trying to stick more one toy inside of me.

I see the smaller pink dildo and pull that out. Next, I set up my tripod, the one I got for this exact reason, so that I can record my lower half only. I could do a full shot of me taking this toy up inside of my pussy, riding it for him but he doesn’t deserve that. He will earn that right when he takes me, in person, himself.

When I’m organised, I stick the dildo down on the floor and test the suction to make sure it is stuck fast. The number of times I’ve been riding it or one like it and it’s come off with the force of me fucking myself and how it’s made me almost fall over or lose my rhythm is shockingly bad! I don’t want that to happen.

I test it a little with my hand and when I’m happy with it, I turn the video on a timer with a countdown of 10 seconds. I turn around, knowing my upper body won’t be in shot but I bend over so that his first view when he opens the video will be of my ass and the beautiful pink plug sticking out of it.

Knowing the video will be recording now, I take my hand and give the plug a little pull and make sure to let the camera pick up the moan that comes out of me. I will be loud; I will give him a show but none of the noises will be faked. Funny, for all the emotions and human behaviours I can fake, I have never in my life been able to fake an orgasm. I always cry out when I’m fucked, the impact causes me make noise. I enjoy it, I’ve even been known to laugh when I’ve been fucked. But I don’t fake an orgasm, I can’t, I’ve tried and nothing happens.

So, the noises I make will be real, he will hear every moan and whimper as I fuck myself on these toys. We both know I’ll be thinking of him. Afterwards, I will tell him I was thinking of him, wishing he was here for me to play with.

I don’t force myself to be any more graceful than I am naturally, I know he’s attracted to me and there’s no point in overdoing it. I lower myself into a squat, making sure to arch my ass so the plug should still be visible to him. I take the dildo in my hand, stroke it a few times.

Taking the bottle of lube, I squeeze a fair amount onto my hand and coat the dildo with it. I hope he’ll imagine this is his cock I’m touching. I bring myself up, I use my other hand to open my folds, feeling exactly how soaking wet I am. I touch myself for a moment, let him see me pleasure myself with my fingers. My fucking gods does it feel good. I line myself up with the toy and slowly, inch by inch slide down onto it.

The feeling of the thick dildo pressing against the wall that separates my pussy from my ass is thin and sensitive. I can feel everything. There’s no lie in the noises I make. This is something that makes me happy, makes me feel something. I reach behind and pull on the plug, fucking myself a little with it but the size doesn’t give much wiggle room. It does move a little though.

My earlier fantasy of him fucking me in the ass comes back fully and I know how often we’ve talked about double penetration, of using toys to fill me up to the point of being split apart. How much we both want him to fuck me just like this. We had even talked about adding another guy into the mix, but his jealousy came rushing out at that one. Cole doesn’t like to think of having anyone else touch me, he said so very clearly.

In porn, he can watch it but applying that in real life to me. He said no. That’s fine, other people are just like flesh and blood sex toys to me. They don’t mean anything, and it wouldn’t have mattered either way. I liked the jealousy though, I liked hearing the aggressive way in which he wanted to claim me as his, only his . I just wish he fucking would.

Coward.

I begin to move up and down on the dildo. I start rubbing my clit, slowly to start because I’m really sensitive and my clit takes very little before, I start feeling everything. I press back against the back passage of my ass with the dildo as I ride it. I don’t lean forward, my g-spot has never worked very well. I take most of my pleasure from my ass or my clit but love having my pussy filled? It took me a long time to figure out exactly what I like.

My pussy is soaked though, I can feel gushing wetness as I fuck the toy. My moans getting louder and unabashed as all I can think about is Cole. Cole watching this video at his desk while working. Fantasizing about Cole beneath me filling my ass then my pussy and then my ass again. My mouth too. I need him to fill me up. I think about how his hands would feel grabbing hard onto my breasts. How he would tease my nipples. I know he’d be rough with me, pulling and twisting and biting on them.

I’d like him to cover my body with bruises and bite marks. I think about branding his name into my skin and him coming all over me to claim me, scent me and mark me as his. Gods, I once asked him if he’d pee on me.

I feel my face heat at that but think about it anyway. Blood. Soaking wet pussy juices. Cum. Urine. Things that shouldn’t make me hot and bothered but do. I want to be covered in him. All of him.

I cry out as I touch my clit a little harder now, I’m so wet and the lube just adds that extra little something as I rub hard, pressing down in a way that causes jolts to spread out over my body. I’m already a little erratic, my bouncing starting to sway a little. My rhythm is gone and it’s getting a little chaotic.

I think about his blue eyes, his fluffy blonde pubic hair. How badly I want to push my face into that hair and sniff him, taking in his scent. I rub in circles as I rock my hips, gyrating hard against this dildo stuck to the floor. I’ve gone down on my knees, I’m getting lower to the ground, practically humping the floor. My ass is sticking up and I can feel how open I am, the air settling around my drenched pussy and ass. I need him so badly.

I’m crying out his name but I’m not ready to come yet. I meant to put the second dildo inside of myself. I reach out and get a hold of it and using my two hands, I coat the dildo in the wetness that is all over my pussy and thighs. I put two fingers of one hand inside my pussy, pushing for a space between the dildo I’m still fucking myself with and push inside the second smaller dildo. It’s pink and only about five inches. It’s not as thick as the other one.

Thankfully, with the dildo and plug I’m already pushed to bursting and yet, this slides in well and I think about how fucking miraculous cunts are. Look at what I can take, look at what I can do with my body.

And I’m alone with no one to fill up all my holes.

It’s a fucking shame really.

I cry out and scream his name, fucking myself so good, feeling so full and it’s difficult now, I’m running out of hands. I manage to use one hand on my clit, curling my fingers in circles now and knowing an orgasm is close. Fuck me, this is too good to be true. My other hand pushes in and out with the dildo, the pink one while I continue to bounce up and down on the one stuck to the floor. Every time I bring myself down hard on that dildo, it sends a little spark to my ass, the plug being pushed a little into me.

This is where I could do with someone else being here. Having the plug pulled and tugged on a little right now, would make this an orgasm to never forget. It’s always so much better when my ass is engaged but I don’t have enough hands to move or change position to get it done the way I want.

I think instead of Cole and feel my body getting warmer. The temperature was already causing my body to sweat and that’s just more so now that I’m fucking myself silly on these toys. My whole body has heated up to the point I know I’m close to coming.

I hear myself whisper, “I’m coming.” I get faster and more erratic, turning my hips around in a circle as I put more pressure on my clit and try to press down on the plug but it’s a tricky angle. Soon enough I’m crying out loudly as I feel that spark in my lower belly, that tightening and I feel myself erupt. It’s exquisite and I scream his name as the orgasm rips through me. My clit feels like it’s on fire as I try to keep touching myself but begin finding it too sensitive, sensations rolling over my body as I feel myself shake. My toes are tightly curled around, and I feel like something might break from how tightly wound up I am in response.

Eventually I sigh and lean myself forward, lying flat on the ground, happy and sated for the first time in a long time. I can't remember how long it's been since I felt that way. I try to make myself come at least once a day, I’ve found it vastly improves my mood. If I’m particularly angry I know it’s because it’s been a few days since I last had an orgasm. It does make me less antagonistically homicidal. This just makes me a regular homicidal person which I can cope with.

I sigh, knowing I'm still recording but I can't move right now. The dildo suctioned to the floor came out of me as I moved, laying myself down. The pink one and the plug are still inside of me. I should really remove the plug.

For some reason, once I’ve come it starts to feel a little sore. That’s one reason when I’m wearing the plugs I tend to try and leave the coming part for as long as possible. I know then I’ll have to take the plug out immediately and playtime will be over. I like having it in my ass for as long as possible.

Lying flat, I don’t get up, but I stretch myself in a way I can start to remove the plug. I usually need two hands for this but I’m a pro at taking these out at all sorts of post come, awkward angles. I usually find myself lying face down afterwards. Using both hands, I gently twist the plug and pull it out. The pop and the relief are immediate, and I bring the plug up to my face to look at it. I roll onto my back now and stare at it.

This one is small, it’s a cute little thing. I give it a lick and wonder how strange I am that I like my own taste. My asshole is clean, I am a clean person. With anal being something that can be so gross, I am actively always making sure that my anal passage is as empty as possible. I’m somewhat obsessive about it but it is something I actively take care of. It doesn’t taste of shit, even though I have accidentally on occasion shit myself when playing anally with toys. It happens sometimes. It is what it is.

Not today though, the taste is sweet, and I relish how hot the metal plug has become inside of my ass. I put it down, and I will clean the toys afterwards. I reach down and take out the pink dildo which is still inside of me and place that down too.

Sitting up, I take my phone from the tripod and stop recording. The video needs to be trimmed a little, but I send him a message letting him know I have something very special for him. He responds immediately;

Cole: Yeah?

He’s been waiting for it. He knows exactly what I’ve done, or at least that I’ve made myself come and am about to send him evidence. This is something we each do for one another almost daily. I finish up with the video and send it to him. I only watch enough to make sure I did get everything important in shot and yes, it’s perfect. He will be able to see all the important parts.

I lay my phone down on my bed and pick up a towel, laying it on the floor. I go to my drawer and pull out my rose toy. This time I lay on my back on the floor and use a different lube. I touch myself again, softer and a little gentler to rub this creamier lube into my clit. Rubbing my labia and using both hands giving myself a massage. The muscles between my pussy and my thighs always get sore. I press my hands down against my ass too and finger the hole a little but don’t insert anything. When everything is good and relaxed, I take the rose toy and place it against my clit. The suction begins intensely and immediately as I hold and press the button on.

Involuntarily I bring up my knees with the impact. Fuck.

The pressure is blissful as I roll my hips towards the toy. I think of Cole’s mouth being pressed against me and oh how much I want to fuck myself using his mouth. Thinking about his blonde beard, the little grey hairs that have started to peek through pressed against the sensitive skin of my cunt. I keep my own hair trimmed down so there’s some but not much. I think about the contrast of his light hair on his face against the dark hair of my pussy and how hot he would look between my legs.

The toy works too well and despite coming only a few minutes ago, it’s not long before I can feel myself reaching that point again. I touch my hand to my breast, taking the nipple between my fingers and pulling. I’ve never figured out what to do with my breasts to make it more pleasurable for me. I like them being bitten but sometimes they are too sensitive for toys like clamps. Mostly my breasts are just there and I’m not sure what to do with them. I pull on my nipple though, grab a handful of breast and squeeze. I’m going to come.

My back arches on the floor, my phone is buzzing and beeping beside me. He’s got the video, so he’s already watched it all. Maybe he’s sitting hard as a rock at his desk, unable to do anything about the raging erection that his girlfriend, who is not actually his girlfriend because he’s never had the balls to ask, has given him. Maybe he’s thinking about leaving work early, getting in his car and driving all the way here. I want him to; I need him to.

I wish he would.

It’s thinking about his gorgeous body between my legs, his face specifically pressed against my soaking cunt. The licking, biting, teasing with his tongue and teeth. I think about his nose pressed against me, smelling and sniffing me. I think about his face drenched in my wetness, wetness he’d created having aroused me to a point so high I’m going to fucking fall and never land. I can feel my ass lift off the floor and my legs tremble as I come. My stomach contracts and I shake violently as every sensation rip and rolls through me while I moan and pant loudly. He’s so fucking gorgeous and he’s the only one I can ever think of like this.

I fall back against the floor, lifting my hand to my forehead and sighing loudly, panting as I drop the toy on the floor.

Fuck.