Carnivorous butterflies
It’s obvious, based on my last two posts, that there’s a certain amount of conflict within me. I guess this is to be expected. I am profoundly horny and deeply frustrated. Perhaps more so than at any time in my life. I have never felt so submissive or more easily manipulated.
For those keeping score at home, it’s now been eight days since my last orgasm and I’ve been in lockup for six. In addition, for various reasons, I have not been able to engage Belle in any significant sexual play in several days. I am left with no outlet. No way for my seed to spill, no pleasurable sensations for my meat, and no emotional release through satisfying my Belle. My chest is filled with quivering, delicate butterflies yearning to get out and consume human flesh. It is torture.
But let’s be real. Don’t for even one second think I’m not the happiest, horniest little bunny in the forest.
Butterflies = a sensation I used to associate with too much coffee or sugar.
Now I also associate it with being chaste and horny as hell.
I think it’s a hormone rush triggering a kind of stress reaction. I’m learning to deal with it with breath control when it happens to me.
I find they come in two flavors. The first is a low-level buzz in my chest and arms that lasts for a while. The second is a sudden rush of significantly more intensity. I like the visualization of a pretty pink and purple butterflies with glowing red eyes and razor-sharp teeth spawning from pools of fermenting hormones.