Sins of the Sitter

Chapter 2: Déjà Vu-3

For the rest of the night, I writhe and struggle fruitlessly, rattling my shackles and re-acquainting myself with the perverse thrill of bondage. But now that I’m an adult, I finally realize what incomprehensible apotheosis my prepubescent body was endlessly striving toward in those days. And knowing this, and knowing the impossibility of achieving it while bound, turns all of that former yearning and craving into ever more maddening frustration. For hours unending, I struggle and weep, rubbing my c**k on the sheet and humping that big slick soft pillow like an alcoholic worrying at an un-open-able whiskey bottle. It’s not until dawn is breaking that I finally exhaust myself enough to remember Jennifer’s final order.

What did happen when I used to really get dirty? Soon enough, I understand. And again the floodgates of memory are flung open.