I don’t know if I’m frustrated with my world that is shaped or sculpted by the metaphorical hands of cognitive dissonance or what. But, in simplest terms, I both like to pray and I like to fuck. That paradox in the modern world is damn near irresolvable.

Right now I’m too tired or too lazy to deal with this paradox. So I’ll struggle a little longer, be uncomfortable a little longer, endure the modern world just like a character in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, or H. G. Wells’ Things To Come.

Don’t ever tell the power elite, you can perceive the cruelty permeating their abattoir, that the drugs and the hedonism don’t work any more and we’re all expecting the concussive blow to the head.

Our only hope is the rebellion that will crush the militarists, globalists, and thieves who seek to enslave humanity. We, the small and broken, must resist the robots, automation, and artificial intelligence, the tools and toys of the global elite that seek to destroy us.

Rant over.

It was a somewhat bulky item in the envelope . He could guess what it was from how it felt. There were some card stock and paper items also. And two keys. There was a return address he did not recognise.

Using his paper knife, opened the envelope, saw that one key was to a residential door lock, the other to a small padlock..

He noticed the panties. They had been worn prior to mailing. He set them aside, moved to the photographs. They were of a woman whom he did not recognise. She was modelling a chastity belt, locked at the waist . There was a screen for the wearer to pee through.. There was enough space to accommodate a pad, if the belt was required or desired during the woman’s cycle.

The house key was attached to a tag with an address. Finally a note said, “She is waiting. Your cheque has cleared the bank.”

Pocketing the key, he drove to the address, strode to the door, unlocked it, entered the apartment. Waiting for him was the woman, naked, except for the chastity belt. Unlocking the device, she dropped to her knees before the man

He carried a very business like satchel, obviously his toy bag

“May I open your fly and suck your cock?”

“Yes. Now”

She pulled his cock through the open fly and swirled her tongue around the corona, then put the tip of her tongue into the pisshole. He said nothing, did not smile, was expressionless until his erection protruded from his trousers.

“Nice, slut. Now turn around, ass up.”

“Stay there. Don’t move. “

Play with your clit. Show me how you like to be stroked, frigged, played with.”

He watched as her fingers got busy, slowly at first, then with a faster, regular rhythm .

“Tell me, Whore, do you like it in your asshole?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Spread your ass cheeks then”

He saw her little rosette, then hovered over her and let fly a gob of spit, that landed perfectly on the pucker .

All this time the satchel he carried with him was unopened . Opening the bag , he removed a plastic tub of lard., scooped out a dollop. Covering his index and middle fingers he thrust them into her hole, deep up to where the fingers meet the palm of his hand. He worked the digits in and out.

His free hand kept her cheeks spread.

“ Work that cunt.” And she frigged herself as if she were alone, like a teenager under the covers. More lube from the tub filled his fingers , then her hole and his fingers moved in rhythm with her own frigging.

His cock, slathered with grease , pressed at her hole . He slowly pushed, just the tip, then a little more , while she continued her masturbation. Her breathing quickened, her fingers focused on her clit.

“Goddamit I’m gonna come! “

And as she shouted “FUUUCCKK!” He shot his load into her ass.

“You are quite the fuck, Bitch. “

Go clean yourself up, let that jizz leak out , and come back here.

Returning to him. he smiled , hugged her. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a little box of fancy chocolate truffles.

“A little chocolate is always nice“

She nodded in agreement.