✨ He’s Not Just Holding the Remote…
A diary of surrender in everyday chaos — when you control me, I come alive.
Before I left the house, I slid the toy inside.
Its soft arc nestled against me just right, and that cold metallic shaft—so smooth, so firm—pressed gently inside.
I didn’t take the remote with me.
You had it.
You didn’t say when you’d start.
You just said, “Be good.”
Leaving Home with a Secret
I slid it into place before stepping out — the curve hugging just right, the steel glint hidden beneath my coat. The remote wasn’t with me. It was in his hand. And I had no idea when he’d decide to use it.
In the elevator, I felt the first pulse.
A soft tremor, like a secret breath against my core.
I almost moaned, but bit my lip.
I couldn’t draw attention—not with someone standing just feet away.
I clenched my thighs, pretending to scroll my phone, pretending I wasn’t melting.
And then—your voice in my ear:
“Hi, baby. You feeling that?”
Every Pulse Is Your Voice
You didn’t just talk.
You played.
A quick switch of the mode—and my legs nearly gave out.
Another pattern—and I gasped, holding the railing at the subway platform.
The vibrations were unpredictable.
But your voice stayed steady.
Guiding me. Teasing me.
Telling me not to come.
Distance Makes It Dirtier
We weren’t even in the same city.
But you were inside me.
Controlling me.
The toy obeyed your every command through the remote in your hand.
I obeyed too.
In the coffee shop. In line at the bookstore.
In full view of the world—but hidden. Soaked. Begging in silence.
You asked:
“Still walking straight, sweetheart?”
Pleasure, Rewired
I used to think pleasure belonged in the bedroom.
Now I know—it belongs anywhere you choose.
In my voice when I call you.
In my breath as I try to act normal.
In the ache I carry in public, waiting for the next buzz from your hand.
You Hold the Remote. I’ll Hold the Moan.
This little toy isn’t just for me. It’s for us.
You hold the power. I hold the tension.
And in every press of your finger, I surrender.
My desire isn’t a secret anymore. It’s a game we play. A language we speak. A thrill we share.
So go ahead—
Switch the mode.
Call me.
Watch me try not to fall apart.