Thirteenth

And yes, it does indeed deliver beauty. The sensations levitate me off the earth, make me drift on a pink cloud of comfort and soothing. My hunger, my sore, my exhaustion, they’re still here, they just don’t matter very much anymore, as long as that heat is burning, pushing me harder and harder to that cloud, as I keep rising, flapping my wings to the symphony of the electrodes.

It isn’t a matter of seconds, and not of minutes either. It is barely even a matter of hours. The arousal takes me over so gentle, so smooth, so gradual… When one song ends, the next one starts. They’re from all styles, but all all impactful pieces. The Deftones and Afghan Whigs, Mahler and Tchaikovsky, Nick Cave and Janis Joplin, Morricone and Orff. They create my drifting power, they are able to drench deeper into me now that my crotch is also grabbed by them. "**** I only use as a word to describe the way I feel when I’m with you”, a woman sings, in a tone of adoration and love. I know what she means. I’m only drifting here because he wants me to, and the feeling of submission and dependence only grows deeper as the arousal seeps into my body. Yes, I am his ****; and yes, it is a lovely experience to get carried away like this, to be shown this secret garden of lust. If I could open the door to this room right now and walk away from all this, take a hot bath and a meal, I’m not even sure if I would actually do it, if it meant coming down from this cloud. Nothing I have ever done before compares to my current state of excited pleasure. It makes my entire life before seem bleak and stale. Even the misery and the depression before are more meaningful than anything I did a few days ago. And now that I'm taken on this incredible journey of simmering arousal, building up over the course of hours, they seem well worth it to have lived through. I couldn't have come here without them. I deeply resent being **** and held captive with a knife to my throat, but the resentment certainly isn’t as strong as it was yesterday. I simply have to acknowledge that when I was submerged in it, I have found something of value down there. Even if I can’t call it happiness just yet, it is certainly pleasurable and furry and beautiful and…

I spend hours, just sitting down in that chair, listening to the music, dancing my loins to it. Conscious thought dwindles almost to a standstill as the sensations devour me. Orgasm comes to me as a thief in the night, gripping me suddenly, inevitable, while I hardly even noticed that I was close. It isn’t a huge one, but it spills its energy slowly, as it keeps rumbling and rolling through me for over a minute. The descent isn’t sharp either; I just return a single notch to the same level of simmering arousal that has been building up for hours. It hardly ripples my subdued state, I simply return to the same familiar cloud. Everything is in place, and everything is good. “Thirteen,” I whisper.