When you lay yourself down in your own pocket between space and time, how do you feel?
When you run your hands along the curves of your breasts, when you skim the edges of your nipples with your fingertips, how do you feel?
I don’t want you to pull out the nipple clamps. Not yet.
I want to stand here a while and watch you writhe and toss and turn and beg for the release that, for this moment in time, only cold hard steel or plastic twisting you into oblivion can bring you.
And how do you keep that little lovely cunt of yours? Waxed? Trimmed? Shaven? Full? I want to see this side of you, so that the next time you run your hands across your bare slit or through your pubic hair, I want to feel it happen even on the other side of the world.
Even on the other side of the world, I want to feel your fingertips move through your soft mound, slip apart your cute, eager lips. I want to stagger where I am at my own point in time, our minds connected by this one act across distances because I can feel you with me, in me.
Can you feel it even now? The quivering breath from my trembling lips as I feel you? My wavering legs as I try to right myself? Can you feel that reverberate within your mind? Tell me.
How does that feel? Are you squirming? Rising your hips off from where you lay? And is your own body trembling yet?
Tell me. How does it feel to have this moment to yourself?
You may use your nipple clamps and tell me. Oh – and if you don’t have any, use your hands. I so do like it when a good girl uses her hands on her own tits.
So. Project to me how you are, how you feel, where your mind is taking me. Tell me through frenzied whispers, frustrated growls, tears of joy, anguished sobs. Tell me how much you want this – to play, to cum, to ascend beyond space and time and comprehension. Rise through the air, across space. Rise beyond the galaxy and form this connective tissue with me.
You may come now.