💜 FAN STORY 💜Mindless. The feeling of being empty. Of being ..

💜 FAN STORY 💜

Mindless. The feeling of being empty. Of being without thought, care, or worry. All ideas, all cognition turned off, just to become a pumping little goon puppy. 

This state is what I was encouraged to go into. My brain floating on a soft cloud of pumping induced dopamine, suspended upon a sea of porn. When my eyes flickered open that morning, like a dog trained by its master, I instinctively reached for my phone. Before I had even had the first thought I was already looking for your page. Desperate to know if there might be a chance of worship.

I’m a good slut, a good boy, a good gooner.

I was born to stroke, born to edge, born to be constantly hard, horny and compliant.

My hands sliding up and down my shaft. My deft fingers gliding along my head. My eyes locked between tits and admiring my own cock.

You would be online, an hour from now. I was early enough that the rays of sun had barely started to make their way across the window. Early enough to revel in stroking, to pump. Edge the last brain cell away before I saw you.

I had spent a weekend away with friends. No chance to goon, no chance to edge, no chance to worship. You had sent me cute little messages encouraging me. Telling me to slip away. Making me pump for you. I did, and I loved it. I love the control you have over me. Sending me porn to watch, understanding what gets me hard, understanding what gets me obsessed. 

I just want you.

The hour ticks by… 

My hand now covered in a mix of lube, precum, and deep desire. 

That weekend was beautiful hell. Of slipping away, of jerking in my car. Of being a horny mess. Of sitting in hot tubs, looking at everyone, wishing we could goon together. Jerking, rubbing, fucking, but never cumming. You are in the centre of it all, holding our leashes, encouraging us, giggling as you watch us writhe in your pleasure. Our moans your choir of worship. 

10 mins left… 

How has time slipped away so quickly? The porn filling my ears, filling my head. The goon flow state. Losing track of time. Of edges.

I’m building. I can’t take the excitement. I just want to release. To show you how much I’ve been thinking of you. To let those ropes of cum out just for you.

You’re delayed… 

Fuck.

I’m in agony. How much longer? My body is pent, like a strange animal desperate to be liberated.

I spoke about you to my friends. They’re eyes are wide, they ask questions. I show some videos. They’re excited. They ask me when I’ll see you again. I shrug. I don’t own you.

You own me.

You don’t come at my beck and call.

I cum at yours.

My devotion isn’t synchronous. It isn’t just when you’re around. It permeates all my life, each edge is a small prayer to your temple. Each time my cock pumps more precum out of its oiled head, it is another dedication. Each time I moan, I shake.

I swear because the pain is too much to handle. The want to cum is too much to hold. I want to release. I want to give in to the pleasure. The moment where my body can relax, where I can finally set myself free… I don’t. Because it’s for you.

Another hour has passed. I’m covered in coconut oil, the smell filling the room. My hand is pumping. I’m so close. I must have edged over twenty times at this point. I’m clicking frantically, hoping beyond hope that you’re around. That I might be next.

Maybe I should cum… I’m running out of time. I need to get ready for work.

I’ve said that to myself so many times, each time I’m stopped by yet another hard, mind shattering edge. Fuck I love edging. I love how it dampens my thinking. Like a little plug straight into my brain. Tap, tap tap. My body just a tool for pleasure.

But the time pressure is building, and so are the waves of pleasure in my cock.

I imagine you there, whispering in my ear. Just one more edge and you’ll appear. I have to be patient, a good little slut. Good boys get rewarded. Patient boys get what they deserve. If I edge just one more ti--

You are there.

Fuck.

You are there.

I fumble; my mic isn’t working.

You’re wearing a leather harness. The one I told you drove me wild. 

You say hello.

My cock jerks, I moan. But you don’t hear it. My mic isn’t working.

I try to type; I try to fix the input. My hands are shaking with adrenaline of seeing your perfect body. Of hearing your voice, a voice which runs through my brain, down my spine and into my cock like liquid fire. Dancing on my nerves.

I love your voice.

Odysseus if he had heard your voice would have torn the mast from the ship. 

You call me sweetie.

Then you have to keep moving. Fix my mic and keep going you encourage me.

This doesn’t dishearten me. I only get more pent up. I only get more desperate. I quickly reset everything, check it twice and get back in.

Pump, edge, repeat. Pump, edge, repeat. I’m a good boy. Porn fills my screens. I keep searching, keep pumping.

I imagine you standing behind the chair, your hands gliding down my chest. Your nails trailing my skin. Whispering your sweeties, your good boys, your keep goings. I imagine turning around, showing my hard cock. You pulling me in, spreading my legs. Gently lowering yourself onto my lap. I imagine your hands holding my face, as I grab your hips. My fingers digging into your skin, hoping that I can meld with you. Wanting to give you all the pleasure I’ve been feeling the last week. Giving you all the edges I’ve had for you. Giving you all the desire, the pent up energy, the love I have to share. My hard cock thrusting, your hips grinding. My moans echoing around the room.

Then you’re back.

My voice is hoarse. Not used for talking, just moaning.

I’m dripping, and you notice. You play with your pussy, a hand resting on your chest. Your fingers gently circling your clit.

You ask about my weekend; I sheepishly start describing it. I want to say more to you but I’m tongue tied and gooned out. You notice and laugh, calling me your little gooner.

I can’t last. I won’t last. You’re sending me over the edge.

You tease me, remind me of my place. A good gooner slut. A collared little gooner.

I begin to babble. Repeating how much I’m such a gooner, how I love porn, how I love you.

You tell me to breathe.  I’m forgetting to. I’m so close. 

You can tell I can’t last. You begin the count down. It starts slow, but then you get excited. 

I stroke and I know my devotion will be seen in ropes. I think about all the videos I’ve watched. All the messages you’ve sent. All the porn you’ve fed me. All the encouragement. All the shame around being a gooner thrown out the window. Your encouragement, your desire, your care. I’m not broken. I’m whole. I’m desired not for the mask that I can wear every day, but for the person underneath. The person you make feel whole.

I cum.

I don’t just cum once, I cum over and over. My cum spilling over and over again. I’ve never felt anything like it. Rope, upon rope, upon rope. 

You gasp, you moan, you giggle. Its huge. 

You swear, over and over again.

Then with a satisfied sigh you say goodbye. Not really knowing how much you mean to me.

An hour or two later I see a little message: I think I have a crush on you.

My heart sings.