Someone’s breathing.

It’s all I can hear.

Strained, shallow, labored breathing.

Really labored.

And foreign.

Then I realize…it’s mine.

It’s me.

For several seconds—that seem to last an indescribable, twisted stretch of eternity—I stare up from my chair in utter disbelief, my limbs turned to mush, my brain on fire as it struggles to make sense of what just happened.

As it wrestles to process the sight before me.

The distinct, telling sensation of wetness all over my lower body is a good reminder—albeit one I could do without.

Drenched jeans encase my thighs, the denim starting to cling to my skin as the seconds tick by. The fabric turns cold fairly quickly, becoming itchy and uncomfortable as the heat of the fluids soaking it begins to dissipate.

My heart flutters wildly in my chest, like a bullet ricocheting inside a metal cage, desperately trying to find a way out of my body.

My very paralyzed body.

And yet, all the cells inside it seem to be on overdrive, jumping and bouncing around in a frenzy, colliding with each other and spiraling out of control.

A physical paradox.

A bizarre dichotomy.

A silent bundle of pure and utter chaos.

That’s what I am.

The exact, polar opposite of the man in front of me.

Eyes that are too cold and too beautiful to be human bore into mine…as their owner sucks contentedly on his index and middle fingers.

Fingers that were just inside me.

Fingers that were covered in my…my…cum.

Fingers that pretty much just forced me to do the most embarrassing thing in my entire adult life:

Piss myself.

Scratch that.

Piss the crap out of myself.

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