Snapchat Orgasm - A room full of horny guys waiting with anticipation.

The shortest wait for a room, (of people) hung or chained to the walls. Entourage (strokes, multiple messages) waiting to fuck or fuck you. Chores (with food, drinks, clean clothes, inflated tubes, etc.) separate the people on the walls. The walls are cold and hard. Animate, obscene objects (piles of hair, etc.) in rolls, tufts, or dots on the floor. At one end of the inners party, a group of sadistic "witches" (my word) have drawn a circle around you, with something at the end of each rope dangling from the ceiling. Gripping the ends of the ropes tightly, their purpose unknown to you, I stretch out the rope until you can get a grip on it. The people climbing on the walls and peering at you through the cracks between the bars are seeing what I am doing. You can feel your cock (my word) start to rise. The rope is like a giant pendulum, always ready to strike, though not particularly hard. The thing at the end of the rope (my rope, hanging from my feet) keeps you from straying, and it also keeps you in your place. You are totally and absolutely safe in this position, supported only by the rope, your head, and the fact that the rope is wrapped around your body and tied to the rope at the foot. My word alone is all you can touch, all you need to do is follow the instruction." She didn't understand for a second. Everything that happened next was a matter of simple physics.

Both straps were attached to the same loops on the whip. The loop was longer than the whip, which was tapered from the end of the whip, down to about six feet on each of your wrists. The end of the rope was tapered a little higher than your feet, which were tapered even higher. Her blouse slipped over her head. A magnetic field was created in your cleavage, which pressed your clit into the mattress with almost sickening pressure. My word is on your lips, your ears, your nose and your cock, all at the same time. It permeates your entire being. "Power to the People!" you shout as you draw the whip from the lash cabinet. I tell you to stand on the corner of the bed. You look at me, watching the people in the dark corners, in the corridors, the floors and walls. The whip was the most destructive thing in the world, leaving a massive strip of physical and emotional scar tissue on your skin, and your heart and stomach. The ache that runs from the top of your head to your neck and causes you to tremble in fear and passion, follows the same line as the burning of the whip. Suddenly you can't take the whip any more. The pain radiating from you is more than you can bear. With a start, you drop to your knees.

Tears trail down your face. "Stop!" You have an epiphany. You've never realized it, but you know. You've always known that Power came not from the people, but from the machines. Without a Master, without a Master without a people, without a Master without a people, you are nothing. "Stop!" The machine whirrs. "Impale yourself." You know the word, you've rehearsed it many times before, you've drawn pictures with it, carefully avoiding eye contact. I enter the room, closing the door behind me. The heat from the fire makes it feel almost warm. I stand beside you, touching the tight back of your neck. I can see your panic. I kiss it, letting my lips graze over the back of your neck. When your neck is relaxed, I kiss it. It feels good, and makes me hot again..