Last night, I imagined a masculine voice in my ear, directing my orgasms. I imagined my pleasure being guided by another. I imagined warmth and care flowing through my brain and body from another. I imagined I wasn’t alone.
I came and came and came, over and over, for more than two hours. Cum oozed out of my body. It gushed and squirted. I created puddles on top of puddles.
When I finally succumbed to exhaustion, I trembled violently. I had found a non-D/s version of subspace, where the chemical release is similar but the mindfuck is different. My mind was a mess. I lost all focus. I needed to drift off, but it wasn’t quite the same. I lay sprawled in the middle of my bed, my hand cupping my sex, wishing my fantasies were real, wishing I wasn’t alone, wondering just how many times I came.
I came until I was dehydrated. I came until I truly understood the importance of aftercare. I shook. I staggered around the room. I was incoherent. I fell back into bed, crying dry tears, wishing for something real. Wishing I wasn’t alone.
I dreamed of fucking. I dreamed of being licked and nibbled. I dreamed of a warm body nestled between my thighs loving my pussy with his tongue. I dreamed the imagined voice in my ear was real. I dreamed that I slept cocooned in strong arms, protected and cherished, loved and wanted.
I woke up to reality.