They're writing songs of smut, but not for you

Actually, it wasn't a song but a story. A bit of smut for a Saturday night. I was horny as hell - a hormone storm that struck as my strength was returning.

I was drunk on arousal.

I had an image.
I had a fantasy.
I had a longing.

I wished like hell that the sadist had sent over a gang of men to use his little whore. He always talks about how I was made to give men sexual pleasure. That this was my destiny. I wanted - I needed - a little bit of that destiny right then. I wanted to be fucked, to be flogged, to be sodomized, to be brutalized... not really rape because I'd know he had sent them and that it was my job to please them. Whatever that involved.

Maybe they represented my libido, this trio I envisioned coming to my door. They were my libido and all I wanted - all I needed - was to yield.

Nobody came to the door.
So I wrote instead.
I wrote and wrote - pure impure smut, with all the details.
No shying away from descriptions of what they did to me.
Just the way the sadist likes it.

I wrote for hours, I think. I'm a slow typist, and I do proofread. I wrote and wrote and then I sent it off to him, only regretting that he probably wouldn't read it until this morning.

I was a little worried as to what he'd think. This wasn't one of my artistic pieces. No clever plot line. Just raw sex and perfect submission.

Which seems to be just what he wanted.
Just what he needed.

Because I wasn't the only one with a rising desperate hunger.

The beast has awakened. And while there are others on whom he can feed, there is only one meal he truly wants.

Me.

Dinner will be served tomorrow.
Late Monday morning, to be more precise.

Oh, and the story?

I did ask. Really. I haven't given you a nice long, juicy, sexy, and very raw story in quite a long time. I haven't written anything like that in a long time. So I did ask if I could post it here.

The sadist is a greedy man.
Not to mention possessive.
The beast even more so.

The answer was NO.

Sorry...