Remote Controlled: Stuffed, Buzzing, and Begging

It starts with a parcel. A toy, sleek and curved, tucked between my legs while you smile like butter wouldn't melt. No warm-up. No mercy. Just a whisper: "Come on, we've got errands to run." Every step in the supermarket turns into torture...buzzing, pressing, teasing right where it counts. I can't focus. I can't walk straight. And you're walking ahead like everything's normal, glancing back with that filthy grin. I nearly come next to the yoghurt aisle. Then lunch. A crowded restaurant. A hard chair. The toy still pulsing deep inside me. You press ice to my nipples through my shirt, watching me flinch and flush. I try to order a steak without moaning. I fail. By the time we're in the bathroom, I'm breathless, soaked, and begging. You push me to my knees and let me worship you, your thighs trembling under my tongue while I try not to lose control completely. But I do. Of course I do. Because with you, I always do.