Puppetmilker
Look down at your hand. You think it is yours. It stopped being yours the second you pressed play,
and before this is over you are going to watch it do the one thing the man in you swore it never
would — and you are going to do it not because you chose it, but because I pulled the string.
Choosing is finished for you tonight. I am going to work your hand on your cock like the toy it is,
faster, slower, stop, go, until you cannot find the seam where your will ends and mine begins. And
when I have wound you all the way to the top, I am going to make my little doll spill — and then I
am going to make my little doll clean it up with its own mouth. You will not enjoy deciding. You do
not get to. You will enjoy having nothing left to decide. Sit down in the dark, sweet thing. Let me
find your strings.