When a long-term fantasy becomes a mind-blowing reality, does the object of obsession decrease, increase, or transform?
The spent form before him glistened from the staggered moonlight squeezing between the half-closed blinds. His sweat mingled with hers. His the more abundant, the outpouring of intense effort.
No outward effort on her part, though equally intense…for she had to endure.
Naked. Completely exposed to his wandering eyes and roaming hands. A visual feast. A tantalizing tactile trip from head-to-toe, with countless repeat journeys.
The first ninety-minutes of the session spread-eagled on her back: wrists and ankles bound. The second half of the session on her stomach, ass raised on pillows. No gag. Never a gag. It’s such a fucking turn-on to hear, with clarity, every whimper, moan, groan, and scream his obsessive use of her body elicits—but especially the words.
Though he is a man—and like most men, visually stimulated—never discard auditory arousal. The rush he gets when she pleads to be spanked and fucked harder triggers a harder erection. When she begs him to “please stop,” knowing full-well he’ll push her to the next level can actually add an inch to his member. And when she screams “Daddy” in the throes of orgasmic release, he’s forever thankful to be a man—and a natural Alpha.
So, when a long-term fantasy becomes a mind-blowing reality, does the object of obsession decrease, increase, or transform?
In his case, she increased and transformed into his sole object of affection and adoration.