The French call the orgasm the little death and I am searching for death both large and small during evil phone sex. My ambitions, my passions, my fun, they’re all past issues that don’t matter anymore the moment I’m under a knife or man’s torture tools. I seek out greater pains, greater vengeful wrath meant towards others that he can make my problem. Just last night I found myself sliced into and I couldn’t help the moan that escaped my lips and threatened to make my life another scarcity. He’d told me if I was too loud he’d slit my throat, and I thought he meant it. I felt an incision at my bloody dream flow just after I let out my blissful gasp. The thing is, I was still alive, I hadn’t been fully carved into oblivion yet. A sign of his cowardice, maybe, but also a sign of his desire to keep me around a little longer to wreck, destroy, and treat to an oblivion of orgasmic bliss. Killer phone sex just doesn’t get better.
His cock was somewhere, I wasn’t fully sure. So many blades having nicked me, cut me, turned me into a whining bitch. I couldn’t feel anything properly anymore. Maybe I’d lost too much blood, maybe I’d lost my mind. Maybe it was his meaty need roughing up my insides down low and pushing me towards an edge I hadn’t known I’d needed. Or maybe that was yet another blade, permanently scarring me and destroying me for other men. The difference wasn’t in what was really happening, it’s what he wanted to happen. I was a slutty torture slave for his whims and needs and nothing was going to change that, not even an idealized realization of the dark abyss knife play phone sex.
Macey
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