Ms. Roboto

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He greases your feet, taking the time to fumble it inbetween each toe. His fondle is incredible. Marvelous. He says, let me know when you want me to hit you. He makes you a part of your own misery. And he fucks a skewer beneath your toenails. He lights a torch and warms the bottoms of your feet. Your vulnerability is profound. It's just the beginning. Extended dissatisfaction marked with bright points of pain and quintessential torment. As time passes, the things that he does start to seem dreamlike. He's arched your arms backwards, forearm up widening out your fingers. The apartment becomes fantastical as he tantalizes your fingers, flagellating the hefty part of your palm. But you don't want him to leave. You don't want to be alone.