You keep putting yourself in situations where you have no choice but to relapse. You head straight for my store instinctively every time you open your computer, and try and resist ending up here every time, and every time you fail. Relapse calls to you and you have never been able to let it go to voicemail - not once, not a single solitary time. It’s like a tickle from a feather, wisping and glazing you over and over again until eventually you give in and say “Fuck it.” Whenever you get that itch you can’t help but scratch it, you start sending and sending, jerking your cock whilst you empty your bank account for me - it’s compulsive. You’re an addicted little fiend who crumbles for me whenever I snap my fingers and demand even more from you. You can’t withstand being teased by me, tempting you with my body always works - always gets you flustered and in a tizzy. It’s time to hand it over; it’s time to settle down, sink into your chair for the evening and drain every last cent from your account, so that when you wake up tomorrow, you can lie to yourself for the thousandth time that you’re never going to come back again. Description by: Harley Bee