And the next day...

how long does an afterglow last?

i'm still floating from my half hour with my demon muse.
my half hour with the beast.

for it was the beast who emerged there in the dungeon.
the beast who tore at my throat.
the beast who devoured me with his kisses.
the beast who threw himself on me.
the beast who stood over my nakedness.
the beast who watched me cum
who ordered me to cum
who gave me permission to cum
who fed on my cries.

it was the man who left me there on the bed, walked up the stairs and out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

it was the grateful girl who took 2 minutes to soothe her butt with frozen peas, then scurried around straightening up the room, pulling her clothes back on (complete with pink panties and pink shirt with Obama logo pin in honor of the philosopher), inspecting her neck for the extent of the marks from his teeth and his chain, leaving her hair loose to cast a shadow, and then drove back to the office without crashing the car.

it was the grateful girl who floated through the rest of the day with very sore nipples.

it was the grateful girl whose friends told her she looked great.

it was the particularly grateful girl who was relieved that the restaurant was less bright than she remembered it to be.

it was the happy girl who slipped between the sheets and wished the beast were standing over her, were lying next to her, so that she could touch herself for him. could cum again for him.

after which she would contentedly curl up with the philosopher and drift away to sleep, only to wake up and resume floating.

all this bodes well for the year that is to cum.