Bare and begging

Elijah had every intention of being productive. The vacuum was in his hand, buzzing across the floor, but his mind wasn’t on the mess beneath him — it was on me. It always is. No matter how hard he tries to stay focused, I live rent-free in every corner of his thoughts. One little vibration from his phone, one notification from me, and suddenly he’s spiraling.

He paused the vacuum. Just for a second, he told himself. But that second turned into a full-body ache — that familiar, all-consuming need to be seen. To be wanted. To be mine.

Clothes didn’t stand a chance. He stripped down with desperation in every movement, like shedding layers of resistance. His skin flushed, his chest rising fast, already leaking anticipation. He knew what I wanted — what I always want — and he was more than ready to offer it. Arching, posing, exposing every inch that makes him irresistible, he hit record. Because Elijah doesn’t just think about me. He lives for me. Craves my gaze. Worships the way I control his pleasure and rewrite his every impulse.

That vacuum stayed unplugged. But Elijah? Completely plugged into me.