The way he moved his hands all over me as he laid me on the desk…we just clicked on every level. This time he had given me a plug, he always thought that I was more responsive when I was like this, and I loved it. The way he went down when using me…all he had to do was click my little wheel and I would crumble under his massive, masculine hands. But suddenly, I started to feel a little drained, I let him now by flashing him a bit and he knew exactly how to respond. He flipped me over like I weighed nothing to him and popped a new one in, and suddenly I felt like me again. Rechared. Ready to service him. My shape fit him perfectly, his hands always fell on my curves. He liked it rough too, sometimes he didn't put anything soft underneath before he used me, but I didn't care. All I cared about is that I was his, even if it was on a rough hardwood desk. He looked down at me and with those soft lips said
"I should get back to writing my essay, and stop writing dumb fan fiction to procrastinate."
Whatever.
I guess that's what life is when you're a computer mouse.