Fingers work to slip away my anal plug. I feel the viscous fluid injected within. I dare not clench my buttocks to hold the injected slickness. I continue to relax and feel the goo begin to ooze. Rivulets slowly stream down my perineum. With Louise’s liberal application, I will not soon be emptied of the lubricant.
So I settle. I become a painting. An erotic form of art. A living sculpture. As the slow suffering spurs the flow of endorphins, my mind slows. The tedium becomes oddly acceptable. My bell stills to ring no more.
***
Do I sleep? Pass out? Time becomes immeasurable in my darkness. I hear motion. Someone works in my kitchen. Glassware clinks. Plates rattle. I know I began the stint in the late morning. Spasms and the resulting cramping usually set in after two hours, though I h
