Hey everyone! This is Wolfgirl21 here, Mako-chan's wonderful beta. Since my dearest author is crazy lazy as well as unsatisfied with this prologue, I've rewritten it for her in hopes to draw you all into the wonderful world that is Playing With The Toys. It's awesome!!! XD Oh and if you happen to like the writing in this prologue, feel free to look me up anytime! Yes, that is a shameless advertisement of my own writing and no, I won't feel guilty for it. Anyway, hope you enjoy!!
Slave. The word itself doesn't really do justice to their purpose. You might go as far as to say that it doesn't actually have anything to do with them. By them, I mean our toys. A slave is that insignificant being that just...does the meaningless grunt work that nobody else wants to volunteer for. Toys are…most definitely not used for that purpose.
Throughout the centuries, as far as I know, toys have had many names. For those of my parents' generation, they are referred to as their Divines. The name itself is just preposterous, the only point of it being that it was probably used because of a stupid meaning like, they're simply divine. Please. You couldn't be any more lackluster with your creativity. Anyway, Divines are used for all sorts of things such as cooking, cleaning, taking care of the children and the like. To put it simply, the Divines do anything you don't feel like doing because you'd rather be a lazy bastard than take care of yourself. Isn't that right? Moving on.
The most important thing to remember is that they are toys to those of the new generation: my generation. Why is that? Because we at least have a good reason to call them as such. Toys are to be played with in any way, shape, or form that we so desire. They submit to our will, be it a simple need for company, conversation, or a good fuck. Can you imagine? A no-strings-attached relationship where you reap all of the benefits and gain all of the rewards. There's no need to purchase something for them in order to reassure them of their purpose or worth. While you picture the face of some other figure in your mind as you cum, they're there still moaning your name to the high heavens. They do whatever you want, whenever you want, and know better than to ask for anything in return. They understand perfectly well what their place in our world is. They are lower than low and it would be nigh impossible to sink to their pitiful and pathetic depths. That is at least how it should be…
So what does it mean when you've come to a point where you feel an almost instinctual need to call them by their real name? When the fact that they aren't writhing in ecstasy beneath you becomes significant and all you can think about is trying to produce that very result? When did it become a necessity to feel their soft skin smooth in a liquid fashion underneath your hands as you reach to twine your fingers through his silken gold locks? Why is it that you don't want to just hear someone cry your name with pleasure but you want to hear his voice alone screaming out in such a way? Why does it become an overpowering, animalistic urge to see the pleasure rippling through his body, so very prominent in those captivating, electric blue eyes? How can I possibly be thinking so deeply about doing things that will make him happy when it should be my own needs I should be concentrating on? When was it, exactly, that all I could think anymore at the sight of his face was…I love you?