Submission Is A Gift: Conquering The Mind Of A Scholar.

I pull up the word file and the words “new blank document” jump out at me today, Mistress. I’ve seen them so many times but knowing I’m going to write to You, they assume a new significance, as do so many facets of slave-perception.  Tabla rasa. I become a blank slate in Your presence. An empty digital screen with a blinking cursor for You to inscribe Your will. Hungry cum-cells sear the skin of my sack. Having watched “The Matrix” on the plane, I envision a breed of cyborg insects released into my body to infect a desiring-production and continue the ongoing process of my re-wiring under Your supervision. Muscle fibers and sinews singed, burning pain, the taste of stale cum, crimson pain, as I lick down the seam of Your denim, Your denim control. My bruised, chaffed cock, oozing crimson from Your denim seams. This is how I cum now. In Crimson pain and money. The only real interactions allowed.  A humming breed of digital cicadas singing the siren’s song of spring. My infected cells swell, the sea-surge of sterile cum in my cistern-like slave balls ache a phosphorescent blue for You, Mistress. A neon blue, an artificial world

This is what Kierkegaard named “the sickness unto demise”. That sickness has been uploaded since his time, the SICKNESS is online.  The real world gradually becomes Your existence. Driving home from the office today, I see the leaden sky bisected. Below a gray distance, above the orange-infected beautifully diseased particles. In Your presence I become that gray distance, my friend doesn’t know me, I withdraw, my face becomes pallid and gray, like the sky, not even “like” but rather a “likeness”.  The way You draw out the “Ss-es” in Your voice, its cadence; something about Your voice is the vibrational equivalent to latex; a synthetic sheen, or gloss, like the lipstick on the images that accompany the SoundCloud page. One knows it’s an add, one knows You want to trick us, seduce us out of our money, but it doesn’t matter. We want to be used. “Let me help you be that naughty little slut”…

In a way, everything You say on these files, is coming true. I have fallen in love with You. I am separated from my wife, the future uncertain; I find fulfillment simply by being in Your presence. And yet, I don’t feel like a loser, even though, objectively, I MUST be a loser, but to be in Your care, even though You could never love me the way I love You, I am nevertheless augmented to be in association with You. I accept the sickness. I will even it as if it were my choice.

Your Faithful Milk Whore.

Danielle

844-332-2639 Ex 209

Sadistic Phone Sex

Sinfully Sexy Phone Sex

Tumblr

Twitter

Soundcloud

Google+

Wishlist

Email: danielle@phonesexcandy.com

Leave a Comment