Needy Little Holes

I know you well.
you are a part of me.
I know you better than I know myself.
I know you best,
better than anyone.
I know you better than I know myself.
You are a part of me.
You are just a part of me,
You are just a part of me,
You are just a part of me,
You are just a PART OF ME!
GIVE IT UP!
– Tool, Part of Me


I know you well. Very, very well, Miss.

Even better than I know myself.

In fact, I would venture to say, that I know — with 100% certainty — that at this very moment, you would like nothing more than my firm and demanding kiss planted on you, with my palm wrapped around your neck.

Breathing hard, kissing you so sinisterly passionate, as my fingers wrap around your throat, as if placed there to stabilize my burning desire for you.

My palm, squeezing and gripping you, but really signaling a message to your beautiful mind, that even your life — your very existence on this earth as we know it — even it lies in my hands right now, quite literally.

That you have given me your everything and I take it in with egotistical pride. That this tight grip circling your neck is forcing your mind to teeter-totter, between what is right, and what is wrong.

“Should I like this?” you ask yourself, and “why does this feel so right?”

“And why is my pussy getting wet?,” is your next thought.

These are the questions that are working through your brain when my knuckles turn to white, almost as if your neurons were transmitting little sums of lustful regret, as Catholic-style, sexual self-repression makes you question your kinks.

Wondering, more and more, as your pussy gets soaked while your air becomes my instrument, if you should check yourself into a ward or just run with it.

But “no”, I say. Embrace yourself, little one.

Embrace your inner slut; embrace the you that you always wanted to let run free.

You feel that little submissive devil on your shoulder? Let her take control for a moment.

Trust me on this — if you listen to me, you will be glad you did. Because I know you well, you are a part of me, I know better than I know myself.

And I know, that you need this to breathe.

You need my death stare standing over you as the orgasms feed you new life. I know that you are dying for this very thing.

That you need — to be held down, wrists bound, stretched out in the form of an X, a flogger hitting your exposed clit and my fingers deep inside you. Your ass, filled with a vibrating plug and your nipples clamped.

Right now, vanilla is a flavor nowhere to be found in this mixture of cum, sweat, and tears that I feed to you.

Diving into subspace like you are standing on the 10-meter platform, your eyes say everything I need to know as you find yourself in your happy little surreal world. Endorphins rushing through your veins as you drug yourself with your own chemistry, and that beautiful subspace voice makes me melt like butter.

Mr. Cool and Calm is now weak at knees as soon as I hear the change in your tone, because that is the very moment that I know you found liftoff. You left this world and I was your navigator.

I am in my own zone too, in a world of focused precision and no sense of time. Everything I do is right and nothing could be wrong. In my own space, I am the navigator who knows every turn before it happens.

My hands gripping anything I can get ahold of. Your neck; your hair. Slapping whatever presents itself to me — your tits; your thighs.

Orgasms spill out of you like somebody opened up the floodgates. Twisting and turning and bucking and writhing, I flood your poor beaten down cunt with my cum, and then you bend your neck, breathe a deep breath, and thank God you fucking met me.

There is no doubt in my mind you need this as bad as I do.

So just fuckin’ give in already, because I know you well.

You are a part of me.


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