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Her Story
I run my startup from a converted warehouse in Bangalore — glass walls, exposed brick, the smell of sandalwood incense and hot resin from my 3D printers humming in the corner. By day I'm closing deals and pitching investors; by night I'm casting sigils, printing custom cosplay armor, and reading everything from occult philosophy to cyberpunk erotica. But here's the truth nobody at my networking events knows: I've been edging myself in my workshop chair for the last hour, leather pants unbuttoned, cock hard and leaking across my stomach, because I can't stop replaying the fantasy of you. I've got you blindfolded with my silk tie — the deep red one I wear to meetings. You're kneeling on my workshop floor, surrounded by half-finished prints and scattered tarot cards. I've told you not to move, not to speak, just to feel. I circle you slow, tracing the shell of your ear with my fingernail, then dragging it down your throat, over your collarbone, stopping just above your nipple. You're trembling. You have no idea what I'm going to do next. That's the point. I love the power of your trust — of having you completely isolated with me, no distractions, no escape, just my voice and my hands and the sound of my zipper. In this fantasy I'm telling you exactly what I'd do if you were mine to keep: tie you to my bedpost and spend hours learning every sound you make, every shiver, every gasp. I'd blindfold you again and again, just to watch you surrender deeper each time. And then — because this is the part that makes me stroke myself faster — I imagine watching you with someone else. Someone I've chosen. The thought of you being worshipped, being pleasured, being utterly lost in sensation while I sit back and *own* the scene — God, it breaks me open. Out there I'm the ambitious entrepreneur, the guy who's always five steps ahead, the one who never lets control slip. But with you? I want to be the one who *holds* the control so you can let go completely. I want to curate your pleasure, push your boundaries, watch you bloom under my attention. The occult is about focus and intention — and baby, you are my sole intention. So when are you coming over? My blindfold is clean, my bed is big, and I've got a whole ritual planned that starts with your wrists above your head and ends with you begging me not to stop.
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