Compelled

You are the target.

He cannot help but watch. Every night, he walks and walks, a tiny voice urging him that salvation lies a few more blocks ahead. Or around the bend.

Looking around corners.  Stopping at the sight of pastel blue flimsy curtains blowing on a dark night, struck dumb by the illumination spilling out, beckoning.

Do you mind that he stands, silent as the tomb you will one day molder in, watching?

Or gazing, if you prefer that word. For his eyes caress your exposed skin ike hands. His eyes are like mouths feeding on your exposed breasts, nipples hardening at the joy of being free.

His breath, caught, as you rub your nipples, easing their tension. Yet you feel your areola’s pucker and then send a text to your clit, which cc’s your juices to flow and your hand to hastily reach for the shiny silver vibe in the drawer to your right.

He watches. He is riveted.

Are you pleased that he sees you lean against the wall,  brace your thighs and pull your panties to the side? He sees you there, lost in need, as your concentrate with all your might to coax your clit to knock your breathless.

Just for a few minutes, just for a bit…

In his mind, there is nothing but you and as you come- shuddering -he does, too.

Leaning his forehead against the tree, until his legs stop shaking.

So are you.

You walk away to clean up.

So does he.

You couldn’t control yourself.

Neither could he.

Pant

Wearing a groove in the floor.

Pacing, to and fro. The oak boards softly creaking under your bare feet.

Waiting.

On her. On him.

On yourself–for you seek liberation.

*

Settling on your knees, watching.

Eyes full of her. Of him.

Ears burning at the stream of consciousness pouring from her chapped and slightly bruised lips.

Smelling the tang of their mingled sweat, being pressed into your sheets.

Yet you are silent, except for your breath. So heavy it has a weight of its own.

*

Your moment arrives.

They call to you indirectly, as he bucks and jerks in her, his ass flexing with each spurt as he screws his eyes shut with relief.

She is the receptacle.

She receives.

She…

*

Offering to you. You approach the tabernacle of her well-fucked cunt.

Pausing there, all your anger dissipates. Your frustration at waiting.

Your stubborn refusal to see her guiding you by denying your instantly.

Eager, grateful, humble–you place your hands on her thighs, muscles tired from gripping his waist.

*

Lick.

Lick.

The saltiness.

Taste.

Taste.

Her juices.

Savor.

Savor.

Your place. Less than a tissue to be discarded.

*

After lapping away every bit of them -his nut, her pussy juices-you feel your breath.

Your breath. Lighter, barely discernible. Floating, like your heart in your breast.

Drop your forehead, rest your cheek against the velvet of her smooth thigh.

In the quiet, a still life of her, him, you.

Dream.

Dream.

Of the next time she lets you worship.

Regressed{stage2}

Hungry, you call for me. No response.

You go room to room.

I am not there.

My phone goes unanswered, messages are not returned.

You feel ignored.

Nervous, you call others, timidly asking if they know where I am.

They do not. One even snorts and hangs up on you, not dignifying your request with even a dismissal.

Eventually, you go to bed. Stomach gnawing in more than one way.

You drift, fingers twitching, wanting to cradle my engorged mammary.

Suddenly, you feel my weight, straddling you, knocking you from your uneasy slumber.

Silently, you stare up  at me. Angry, horny, lonely, eager.

Pulling off my sweater, taking off my shirt, I am stripped to a bra and tank top.

My areolas are outlined, in the damp circles from my leaking milk.

Your cock springs to life, causing you to gasp.

Reaching your hands for me caused your face to get slapped the last time, so you wait.

Slowly I take off my top and bra.

I stuff the damp part of one of the cups in your mouth and command you to suck it.

You do. You do anything I tell you to.

With a small smile, I replace the fabric with my right  nipple.

Then I switch, allowing you to drain the other breast.

Content and full, you ask me why I was not home when you arrived.

I slap your mouth as my  reply.

Your training never ends.

Regressed {stage 1}

Barely awake, still holding on to my dream, I feel your hands, tugging, pulling at me.

You are hungry, aching for nourishment.

Undoing my buttons, you push he material of my nightgown aside, until the soft, full flesh is revealed.

My nipple-erect, ready-glistens with a bead of milk, in the barely seen light coming into the room.

With a pang that reaches from your mind into your soul, you latch on.
Sucking, drawing form me, you settle into the peace that you only have found in your most quiet fantasies.

Until I chose to bring you from there to reality.

Regressed{ in stages}

Stage one:

Shaking, you look up at me. Flushed, sweating.

Your eyes, heart and soul form one word, which breaks the barrier of your lips.

Mama.

Like your dreams solidified, the haze burning off dawn, I caress you face and offer you comfort.

My tits-heavy, full,engorged-leak precious pearls of milk.

Erection throbbing, you scramble to catch every prismatic drop.

Mouth open, you strain to catch every bit that drips.

Past speech, past coherence, you latch your mouth upon the right, cradling the weight of the left in your hand.

You were denied, so your mouth floods. Eyes rolling back in your head, you brain pops.  just like your tight nutsac, which erupts hot ropes upon my boots.

Pulling, suckling, murmuring. Lost in the rhythm of your lips and tongue, coaxing forth your sustenance.

Your mouth is full but I hear your unspoken adoration.

I am the Mother you seek, The Goddess that hardens your cock, the Logos of your prayers.

In your belly, milk splashes.

In your soul, truth is revealed.