I’ve been finished ‘dystopian’ a couple of days now, had a couple of days’ RnR and went back to work this morning.
It’s always the same after I squeeze one out – there’s a dip, as one would expect after MDMA or similar, a coming back down to earth with a bump.
For the last month, I’ve been wrapped up in the skull of a fairly prudish victorian explorer, feeding him on my memories and wiping up what he disgorges.
He’s been with me all this time, like a badly burned friend. I’ve transcribed his sufferings, his confusion and, at points, his mindraping terror.
I’ve put the poor bastard in the most untenable situations, made him fear for his life – more than once – and I’ve loved every second of it.
You know what? I miss him – and her, my mfc – I’ve already considered bringing them back for a sequel, but then, I always feel like that when I’ve just finished forcing one out.
In other news, I’m suffering from a Domme-Muse fire-play hangover. Funny that – I’ve just run myself into the ground for an entire month and I’m so exhausted, my foreskin looks like she’s stubbed a few cigarettes out on it.
Okay, doctors might call this genital herpes, but I know better.