The urge

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Photo by Engin Akyurt from Pexels

quietly it prods
demands more insistently
total submission

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More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (16. Lying Low)

You haven’t heard from me in a few days. That’s because I’m … well-endowed … well … not well. (That’s my story and I’m flicking … err, sticking to it.) That’s because my hands are sticky, actually. It hasn’t been an easy few days. One of the by-products of my condition is that I’m extremely horny. Visit me now, and you’d have the time of your life … well … there wouldn’t be much of it left, of course, as Ms. Ball will devour your soul, leaving your body an empty shell.

I feel like free will is slowly dripping out of me. I’ve turned up the heat and have stopped wearing clothes. No one would see them anyway. It removes the temptation to leer … look out the windows. Ms. Ball has decided that if no one is going to touch me, I must touch myself, and if I’m not sitting at my computer working on my story, meanwhile ignoring the thousands of emails that I receive each minute (yes, it is true) and the steady string of pings on my Skype (mostly from Max), I’m testing out my flesh. The more I test, the more I need to test. I’ve almost made it to the point where I can orgasm sheerly through imagination. It takes a while, but … I’m nearly there.

SEVEN of CUPS. Debauch. That’s fitting. Delusion, drug addition, intoxication, fornication, guilt …

OK, that’s enough. I’m more addicted to my hormones than anything else right now. Delusion? Probably. Guilt? I am SO guilty. I’ve cheated on Allen. I’m bunking off work, and I allowed myself to be possessed by Chastity Ball. At least, when I am possessing someone a couple hundred years from now, I won’t be slumbering … lumbered with her silly game … lame …

Damn. It came on so suddenly I had to stop and … um … test myself again. I succeeded that time. Not a single graze of my own flesh and wham! That’s the best way.

But her intervention hasn’t stopped me from finishing my sentence: name. Chastity Ball is a silly … nn-n-n-na-n-nn-name. B-b-b-b-bb-bb-bi-b-b-b-bb-b-bitch!

*sigh*

I’ve been sighing a lot the past few days. So … when I’m in front of my computer, I’ve been typing my story about Eirica’s obsession. I think the tangent she goes off on about all his women isn’t as interesting as her ghosts. I think that might be related to my own struggles.

Anyway, I don’t know when I’ll be back. Typing for pubic con … public consumption is difficult. And that Chastity b-b-b-b-bitch always adds her own little messages when I submit my posts. What will she come up with now?

… I await you … I will comfort you with a thousand kisses … be mine forever … drink my riches … feel my force within you … submit … submit as she does … feel my power …

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (13. Lust) (swearing)

*Imagine that I am whispering*

Every time I pick a card today I pick XI. LUST. I cannot not pick Lust. There is definitely something eerie going on. I can’t type on the intercourse … err, Internet without making a fool of myself. (You may have received one of my emails today. I’m sorry, I couldn’t type anything worth reading, and my computer again refused to delete, and would only let me SUBMIT.)

I’ve been forced, therefore, to type it in Word and then paste it into my blog. I’m hoping that will work. Hence, the whispering. Maybe this evil spirit won’t notice.

Jem phoned, but I couldn’t say anything sensible, so I just listed to the left … listened. My unintended language was foul, and out numbered my sensible sentences. Eventually, I just listened. She thinks there is still a ghost in the house, someone whose power was overshadowed by the others. Now that they are gone she has free reign to control me. I’m must use my special plough … um, power to defeat her.

Unfortunately, I may have to wait for the next full moon to be completely effective.

XI. LUST (inverted). Courage, strength, energy, the use of magical power and resort to magic.

Of course, it is being used against me – not just magical power, but my lust. I have found myself ultra-sensitive to sexual innuendo – a flirting glance is enough to put me on the verge of an orgasm, but not close enough to tip me over the edge. With men, today was worse than yesterday. They couldn’t hide their desire, especially apparent in the bulges of their trousers. As least two that I came in contact with (physically) “creamed their jeans,” including Les Lehman, who sits next to me in the horn section. He leaned over to blow in my ear … errm, ask me a question, but it never left his lips as he convulsed in orgasm almost until our next entrance. I could smell it the rest of the rehearsal.

It’s only just the men, though. Women acted as if it were completely normal that all men were in a perpetual state of arousal around me, although one woman shielded the eyes of her son when I went to the store to buy some milk. It’s as if all men see me naked and well-endowed, or maybe as the perfect woman – the bottom line is that every man now wants to fuck me. You should hear what the teenage boys yell at me. It’s enough to make your ears melt.

I don’t know what to poo … do about it. The cards are useless in this state. I may just have to stay indoors until further notice. If tomorrow is worse than today, who knows what it will be like?

………………………. oh, sorry. I fell asleep at the keyboard. I didn’t sleep at all last night, and it is catching up to me. The dream I just had … well, I don’t even want to talk about it. Think: orgy on steroids, and then let your imagination run wild.

She’s attacking my dreams now, too.

OK, I had better wrap this up now. Hopefully, pasting it on my blog won’t stir up anything bad.

Wish me luck. I’m opening the browser now … copying … pasting … wait! … stop! … Gaia Esmerelda Dryar is your Goddess … NO! … worship her … STOP! … and she will reward you a thousand-fold … WAIT! … make her obey … STOP! … the price is submissionyou will have her … NO! … a Goddess as your rewardbeyond your wildest desires … STOP IT!! …

SUBMIT.