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You own things. It's impossible not to, in this capitalist world. You'll own a phone and books, you'll own clothes and accessories. Your place adorned with all the possessions that you've acquired over the years. It's amazing, how quickly your collection grows, even without actively trying to grow it. Owning things is addictive.
But you understand that the greater pleasure, the more perfect satisfaction, is in being owned.
Completely. Head to toe. Mind to cunt.
You don't want your body to belong to you. You don't want to have to deal with the responsibilities that come with being in charge of your own life. You glance around at your possessions and they weigh you down, become an uncomfortable reminder of your responsibilities, your obligations, the price of entry to being an independent woman.
Much better to be mindless. To be owned. To have an owner. To be transformed from thinking person to brainless fuck pet. Objects don't have to worry about their lives. Objects just simply exist. They simply are.
Which is why you want to give up everything that makes you a woman. You'll willingly, happily, hand over your mind, your body, your orgasms. No more choices, no more thinking. No more possessions, because how can an object own anything? Just a life spent in dedication to pleasure and worship. A more sophisticated fleshlight, waiting to hear those two words that will leave you shivering.
'Good girl.'
Come. And be owned.
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- 9 months ago
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