Sometimes I have to stop myself from taking over, from grasping handfuls of His hair and grinding my cunt onto His face, as passion mischieviously whispers to me the rewards.
Sometimes I want to consume the whole of Him, not just the parts which intimately fit.
Sometimes it’s a struggle to keep from sinking my teeth ravenously into His flesh, such is my need to devour.
Sometimes I harbour a desire to place my hands around his throat, just to, through touch, taste the flavour of His lust when inhibition has been forced away.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that mine is to be done unto, not to do, unless given explicit permission to do so.
Sometimes that reminder pours both oil and water on the flames, guilt and disquiet smoking in their wake.
Thus, I keep quiet my sometimes lest their motivations be misunderstood.
“How many now?” He asks, and by many He means orgasms, raising Himself above me once again.
I’m delirious with endorphins and sensation and bliss, and focus has long since left me to fend for myself.
“I haven’t a fucking clue……” I whimper, and He laughs, sadistically amused at my plight.
He tells me He wondered how long it would be before my brain grew foggy and I started to lose count.
Then He’s gone again from my field of vision, but His cruel teeth give His location away
I writhe and
in agony, empowered.
Pain is His goal,
is what He seeks to achieve.
“That’s for not saying ‘I haven’t a fucking clue, Sir“
My place is reaffirmed with consummate ease, not that it was ever in question.
He places me where He wishes me to be,
where He wants me to be,
where He and I need me to be.
He inspires so many emotions and feelings in me that it’s sometimes hard to retain my hold on reality.
My pleasure is at His behest, my desires smoothed to complement His own.
Pain still lingers in the memories of my flesh, I can feel it as I move, whispering to me, the residual flavour of His dominance.
Sometimes He inspires my oil and water flames to collide.