We have known each other so long that now, the preparation is part of the gift both to you and to me.
I know I need to be perfect when you arrive, to have everything in its place and just as you would like it. I place everything on the table - clothespins, twine, duct tape, scissors, lighter, candles, and the various and sundry of items you have listed for me. I check my list, crossing off each item as I place it down.
When they are all down, I begin re-arranging, trying to make sure that it pleases my eyes and your intrigue. When I am settled, I can take my time preparing myself without anxiety.
I step into the shower, making sure that I have everything I will need at my disposal. The soap stands next to the shampoo next to the conditioner next to a new razor, next to a small parade of items that both allow me to take my time, and to feel that every moment has meaning.
As the water strokes my body from tip to toes, everything - my shame, my daily concerns, my identity as anything other than object or toy - washes down the drain with the coat of exhaustion that everyone in New York City seems to be cloaked in. I feel like a monk ready to put on red robes.
I begin with my cunt. I have not seen you in a small eon and I have grown a sweet little patch of hair where you like smooth, bare skin. I run my fingers through it once more, stroking the soft thatch, both smiling at its presence and mourning its loss. But it is a sacrifice and I will give it to you. I have come to so associate bare pussies with rampant fucking that this coverlet feels youthful and sweet and innocent in a way I have not been in years.
I begin by taking a pair of narrow, long scissors and trim the hair down, tiny trim by tiny trim. My fingers are already becoming pruned as I take time in the process, watching as a palpable symbol of my virtue slip into the drain. It is the first feeling of cold, slicing metal to skin, and I am steadied as I drag it up and snip over and over until I see the lips of my cunt, prepared, being readied to be exposed fully.
But first. I prop my leg up on the ledge of the bathtub, pointing my toes, flexing, letting my fingers run over of the wet, glistening indent of my calf muscle and then thigh. I lather it slowly, working the muscles, massaging them, relaxing them as I tense them over and over. The razor slides easily over every inch. I take the longest time on my knee, stroking the skin after each line of perfect white flesh is created and expanded. I run fingers and palms and hands over the skin, making sure I have not missed a single inch or hair and then begin the process all over again on the other leg.
I wash my hair, taking my time to lather. The shampoo bubbles and coats and thickens so fast it feels like it's coming to life. There is nothing about this that is anything less than lush. It blooms in my hair, creating a halo that dissolves in its own wake. I coat my hair (thick hair with a mind of its own, but still well-behaved, just like I hope to be) in conditioner, and it's lavish and robust. My hair is hooded in sweet oils and smells and I am ready to take the last step before I leave the shower.
Lathering the lips of one's pussy is always a curious experience. It is anxious, it is exciting, it is cold and warm, and tactile and intricate. Dragging the cold blade of a razor is all of those, purified, together. The blade runs in different directions, leaving smooth, uncloaked skin in behind. Each stroke is exact. Each stroke could bring a nick and blood, and sully the clear perfection of a steady hand. But as the white lather leaves, and my cunt is exposed, I begin to breath a little steadier, until I am satisfied that you will be satisfied.
I rinse off, feeling one more step towards prepared. black liquid liner over each lid, closing my eyes and simply waiting before they flutter open. I sweep on light, soft golds and peaches onto my lids, taking care to make sure no dust falls onto my cheeks. I stroke mascara over each lash, pulling them longer with every swipe, lengthening and thickening until I bat them and they swim through the air. I flutter them, dusting off below my eyes, making sure each line is perfect, each angle is right, each curve is delectable.
In the final step, I know I could not be more prepared for your knock at the door. I slip on each high heel, taking time to squeeze and flex my toes until I am ready to wear them for hours. Each ankle and wrist is cuffed and buckled in and my ankles are clipped. I stand, looking back and forth at the clock. I breathe once, long and deep. The air chills my throat and lungs. My fingers twitch with anticipation. My cunt throbs with it. I am ready, knowing only that what is coming will be a storm and I will be left, in a few hours, used and taken and exposed and open and aching and fucked and messy and covered and lost in a swirl of endorphins.
And then you knock.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
And the song remains the same
I have been walking the floor, flirting, dancing for almost an hour before you show up, flanked with the men that work for you day in and day out, the ones who are so excited to come to the club.
When you finally walk through the door, it takes all of me to not giggle, to it smile ear to ear at your presence, at just seeing your face. I keep my calm, my heart pounding but my face stoic. You are the calmest of the men around you, and I know it is as much of a farce as my lack of smile. I want so much to run over, to kiss you, to wrap my arms around your neck and show you how excited I am to simply be able to touch you. But this is not the game tonight.
You lead them to sit by the stage, and I angle to get back on the stage as fast as possible. I whisper to this person and that person, making my way into the back. I catch my breath a little as I come out, the lights making it difficult to see your face, which is a comfort as I try and keep my composure.
I hang onto the pole, bending and shifting and caressing it with various curves of my body. I wrap around it, trying to look at anything but you. I look each of the men you brought, still sweaty from a long day or work, strait in the eye. I smile and wink as I bend at the waist completely, looking back between my legs and waving with the tips of my fingers.
I watch as one by one they lean forward, handing and dropping dollars. I finally pull my dress down, and then off, spitting out of it and tossing it to the back where it will be easy to gather.
I finally turn and out of the corner of my eye, see you lean over to the guy next to you, gesturing at me. It takes everything in me not the smile. Though you didn't tell me the details, I know everything which is about to transpire and I can feel my clit start to swell.
You are a salesman, but so am I. The song ends, and I walk to the back and then back out onto the floor. I take the long route to get to you, trying to casually ignore the other men in the club trying to get my attention.
"Evening, Gentlemen." I coo, softly as I walk over, standing between two of your men. "How are you enjoying your night?"
They are polite, resisting the urge to touch, though I have a hand on the shoulders of two of them. "Can't complain. Long day, but we're here."
"Exactly. So can I get you men anything?"
Finally you speak and my heart stops. "Well, this one here was talking about a lap dance. Are you available?" You gesture to the guy next to you, who looks bashful and giddy at the same time. His face is so young, I want to roll my eyes. His face is slightly rounded, which only adds to the confirmation of his youth. You want me to christen your new employee with a very public hard on.
"I am. Would you like to stay here in front of all your friends, or shall we go into that room over there?"
He opens his mouth and you lean over and whisper into his ear.
"No secrets, boys." I make sure to let the tips of my fingers graze your thigh. Even feeling the rough denim of your jeans over my finger tips makes me wet and I shift a bit as I stand.
"Right here would be great." He finally says.
I smile and ask him his name. He tells me with a new found self-assurance in his voice. I almost giggle at the shift, where he attempting to assert dominance. I know I will feel him harden and tremble as I dance, as I grind on him. But he thinks he will control this and I let him hold onto that fantasy for another moment or so.
As I begin to shake and shift my hips, moving into him slowly. As soon as my eyes turn away from you and I bend, I remember how much I love this. I actually love to give lap dances. It's that feeling of being objectified to the point when the object gains control. It gets me wet to feel that slight tremble, that ache of wanting desperately to touch but having to hold back, of willing parting with every dollar to make it go on. His eyes roam freely, and his breathing catches each time I shift. I can feel his chest begin to pound as his breathing becomes increasingly erratic. I can end this for him whenever I choose, and I will choose, but for now I am fully and completely in control of the man and the cock which my ass is against.
When the song ends, so do I and his come down is shown by the quick and heart-breaking fall of his face. I step away and turn around, avoiding your eyes intentionally, but I can feel them on me. I don't want to blush. I want to bury my face in your neck and curl up in your lap. I love when you lend me out, but when I remember that this is what is happening I want to run to you in between each time. I want to know I have been a good girl for you and now you are lending me out again. I want to be reminded that this is where I belong, and each of these landings is just temporary.
But that is not the game.
"Well that was... Thank you." He finally says and all of you laugh a bit. He blushes and turns to the rest of the men, who all appear (and almost certainly are) more seasoned at the experience than him. It is sweet and I am endeared.
I climb off of his lap, trying not to stare at you, looking for approval. Your smile is hidden, but not when I know the corners of your mouth the way I do. I look back to the young man who is still blushing and kiss him on the cheek with a "thank you."
I feel your hand on my arm, just a soft stroke. I shiver. I lean in with a coy "yes?" and you finally whisper in my ear, out of the hearing of the other men, what I have been waiting to hear: You're going to dance for me. And then I'm going to fuck you.
I nod, and stand, taking your hand. I playfully wave to the other gentlemen sitting there, watching you being led away. Thinking they know what is about to happen. But as I lead him, I want to tremble.
We head back to the only room I know doesn't have cameras and as soon as the door shuts, I hear a breath tremble. It takes me a moment to realize it is my quivering lungs.
He is sitting. "Dance for me." I turn and open my mouth to speak but he puts a finger to his lips and I nod. My hips begin to move and his eyes trace my hips, my waist, my tits. They graze my nipples, circling them, and roll back down between my ribs, to my belly button. As my bottoms come off, his eyes track down the curve of my thighs, centering between them.
"I want to see your cunt." I climb on the stage and he leans forward. My crouched knees spread to their widest and I hold open my lips for him. He stares and then looks up. "Are there cameras?" I shake my head, knowing better than to speak. He didn't bring me in here to speak.
His fingers tickle up my inner thigh and it trembles. Until two fingers slide inside my pussy. Then I fully tremble.
"You're soaked." I nod, trying hard not to push against his fingers. My nails scratch the floor of the stage as I try and steady myself. They push inside me over and over, and I begin to drip. Cum drips down on the stage, creating a little puddle. His fingers do not move, and his voice is slow and steady. "Lick it up and then dance for me, baby."
I realize in that moment that I have not been breathing. A little gasp escapes my lips and I nod. He sits back and I fumble a little, as I get on all fours. I know how disgusting this floor is and I make the slightest of faces, which only make him laugh. I open my lips, leaning down as my tongue peaks out. I know the cum and dirt and grit on this floor, and I know that my stomach will turn as it happens.
"Wait, baby." I look up at him, eyes begging. "How awful is it?"
"It's bad, Daddy." I make the slightest of a pout. He smiles and the moment of warmth softens me. In the moments where I am soft, I get nervous. This is when it will hurt the most. "But I'll do it." I put my tongue out and wait for his instructions.
"Come down for me." I nod, grateful. I want to give him everything, including my thanks for not asking me to do it. It only takes me a moment of dancing for him before I am on his lap, turns around, ass nestled in the perfect space his body makes for me. I grind my bare ass against him, only moving with the music in theory.
I want to feel his cock inside me, and I push, rocking in small circles, back and forth. My knees are open, and my hands are on his wrists, which sit calmly to the side. He wants to be served. He wants to do nothing but receive all I have to give. I rock back and forth, stroking his cock with my ass through his pants.
I pull my legs up on the seat, and stand, turning so his face is at the level of my soaked pussy. He can smell me. He choose not to taste me. My lips are spread, and my clit is swollen, and he is staring directly into the wet, welcoming space which takes his cock over and over and not nearly enough. He is inches away from the pussy that aches to be filled by him. I slowly slide down to kneel until my tits have replaced my cunt and hold a nipple to his lips, which he takes in his mouth eagerly. He tongues my swollen, aching, pink bud of a nipple and I moan. I feel his arms tense and he wants to hold my hips and shove me down on his cock, which is bulging against his zipper.
I lower myself more, my nipple popping out of his lips. I am over him, grinding down on his zipper. I can feel his cock pulse, as I refuse to let my pussy leave the fabric of his pants. I can hear his breath in my eye get ragged as I pump my hips, the way that I fuck him, the way that I want to fuck him. I am soaking his pants with my juices, and I want him to feel it through the thick denim. I want him to be sitting on a puddle of my cum and his.
I have never felt more dominant than this moment. I have never felt like I have the right to get what I want until this moment. And I want to cum so hard it makes him cum. I rock back and forth, pumping my hips, my arm going around his neck to brace on my self. I roll my hips, and find the beat, letting my hips grope him while my shoulders and tits roll slowly for his eyes.
I can feel my cunt twitch as my orgasm begins to build. I pull back just enough to let me clit calm down. I want to drip more before I cum for him. I reach down and plunge my fingers into my cunt with a moan. Juices pour from my pussy as I pull my sticky fingers up, rubbing cum over my nipple. I lift up, my pussy leaving his bulge, just enough for it to reach his lips. He moans for the first time aloud as he tastes my juices over my nipple. I smile.
I lower back down, my hips grinding hard on his cock. The fabric of his pants is soaked, and I know it's made it through to his boxers. I moan softly, pushing my hips harder. I look up at him, my bottom lip trembling. I open my mouth, gasping, wanting to ask, not wanting to speak.
He nods and I cum hard, drenching his cock and boxers and pants. My fingers grip his neck as my head dips back, pushing over and over and over and over again until I feel his hands grab my hips recklessly. I feel him buck forward and a groan moves from the back of his throat. He is cumming. I have gotten what I wanted.
I float back down to earth, resting my light head on his shoulder. He squeezes my hips once. "You're not done, sweetheart." I look up at him, my eyes in a glaze of cum and submission and power and want and love. He pats my ass and I slide aside, off of his lap. "Lick me clean."
I nod as he opens his belt and soaking pants. He stands and I kneel, pulling down his pants and boxers enough to run my tongue up and down and back again. I lick him, tasting my cum enmeshed with his. I stroke his cock with my tongue, letting it run over his balls, finding every drop with my tongue. He pulls back, putting a finger underneath my chin, lifting my face.
"Time to go home." And then he says my name. I smile when he says my name. I have been a good girl, a prized possession. I have performed. I have done well. And now I am grounded.
I nod. I stand. "Lets go home."
When you finally walk through the door, it takes all of me to not giggle, to it smile ear to ear at your presence, at just seeing your face. I keep my calm, my heart pounding but my face stoic. You are the calmest of the men around you, and I know it is as much of a farce as my lack of smile. I want so much to run over, to kiss you, to wrap my arms around your neck and show you how excited I am to simply be able to touch you. But this is not the game tonight.
You lead them to sit by the stage, and I angle to get back on the stage as fast as possible. I whisper to this person and that person, making my way into the back. I catch my breath a little as I come out, the lights making it difficult to see your face, which is a comfort as I try and keep my composure.
I hang onto the pole, bending and shifting and caressing it with various curves of my body. I wrap around it, trying to look at anything but you. I look each of the men you brought, still sweaty from a long day or work, strait in the eye. I smile and wink as I bend at the waist completely, looking back between my legs and waving with the tips of my fingers.
I watch as one by one they lean forward, handing and dropping dollars. I finally pull my dress down, and then off, spitting out of it and tossing it to the back where it will be easy to gather.
I finally turn and out of the corner of my eye, see you lean over to the guy next to you, gesturing at me. It takes everything in me not the smile. Though you didn't tell me the details, I know everything which is about to transpire and I can feel my clit start to swell.
You are a salesman, but so am I. The song ends, and I walk to the back and then back out onto the floor. I take the long route to get to you, trying to casually ignore the other men in the club trying to get my attention.
"Evening, Gentlemen." I coo, softly as I walk over, standing between two of your men. "How are you enjoying your night?"
They are polite, resisting the urge to touch, though I have a hand on the shoulders of two of them. "Can't complain. Long day, but we're here."
"Exactly. So can I get you men anything?"
Finally you speak and my heart stops. "Well, this one here was talking about a lap dance. Are you available?" You gesture to the guy next to you, who looks bashful and giddy at the same time. His face is so young, I want to roll my eyes. His face is slightly rounded, which only adds to the confirmation of his youth. You want me to christen your new employee with a very public hard on.
"I am. Would you like to stay here in front of all your friends, or shall we go into that room over there?"
He opens his mouth and you lean over and whisper into his ear.
"No secrets, boys." I make sure to let the tips of my fingers graze your thigh. Even feeling the rough denim of your jeans over my finger tips makes me wet and I shift a bit as I stand.
"Right here would be great." He finally says.
I smile and ask him his name. He tells me with a new found self-assurance in his voice. I almost giggle at the shift, where he attempting to assert dominance. I know I will feel him harden and tremble as I dance, as I grind on him. But he thinks he will control this and I let him hold onto that fantasy for another moment or so.
As I begin to shake and shift my hips, moving into him slowly. As soon as my eyes turn away from you and I bend, I remember how much I love this. I actually love to give lap dances. It's that feeling of being objectified to the point when the object gains control. It gets me wet to feel that slight tremble, that ache of wanting desperately to touch but having to hold back, of willing parting with every dollar to make it go on. His eyes roam freely, and his breathing catches each time I shift. I can feel his chest begin to pound as his breathing becomes increasingly erratic. I can end this for him whenever I choose, and I will choose, but for now I am fully and completely in control of the man and the cock which my ass is against.
When the song ends, so do I and his come down is shown by the quick and heart-breaking fall of his face. I step away and turn around, avoiding your eyes intentionally, but I can feel them on me. I don't want to blush. I want to bury my face in your neck and curl up in your lap. I love when you lend me out, but when I remember that this is what is happening I want to run to you in between each time. I want to know I have been a good girl for you and now you are lending me out again. I want to be reminded that this is where I belong, and each of these landings is just temporary.
But that is not the game.
"Well that was... Thank you." He finally says and all of you laugh a bit. He blushes and turns to the rest of the men, who all appear (and almost certainly are) more seasoned at the experience than him. It is sweet and I am endeared.
I climb off of his lap, trying not to stare at you, looking for approval. Your smile is hidden, but not when I know the corners of your mouth the way I do. I look back to the young man who is still blushing and kiss him on the cheek with a "thank you."
I feel your hand on my arm, just a soft stroke. I shiver. I lean in with a coy "yes?" and you finally whisper in my ear, out of the hearing of the other men, what I have been waiting to hear: You're going to dance for me. And then I'm going to fuck you.
I nod, and stand, taking your hand. I playfully wave to the other gentlemen sitting there, watching you being led away. Thinking they know what is about to happen. But as I lead him, I want to tremble.
We head back to the only room I know doesn't have cameras and as soon as the door shuts, I hear a breath tremble. It takes me a moment to realize it is my quivering lungs.
He is sitting. "Dance for me." I turn and open my mouth to speak but he puts a finger to his lips and I nod. My hips begin to move and his eyes trace my hips, my waist, my tits. They graze my nipples, circling them, and roll back down between my ribs, to my belly button. As my bottoms come off, his eyes track down the curve of my thighs, centering between them.
"I want to see your cunt." I climb on the stage and he leans forward. My crouched knees spread to their widest and I hold open my lips for him. He stares and then looks up. "Are there cameras?" I shake my head, knowing better than to speak. He didn't bring me in here to speak.
His fingers tickle up my inner thigh and it trembles. Until two fingers slide inside my pussy. Then I fully tremble.
"You're soaked." I nod, trying hard not to push against his fingers. My nails scratch the floor of the stage as I try and steady myself. They push inside me over and over, and I begin to drip. Cum drips down on the stage, creating a little puddle. His fingers do not move, and his voice is slow and steady. "Lick it up and then dance for me, baby."
I realize in that moment that I have not been breathing. A little gasp escapes my lips and I nod. He sits back and I fumble a little, as I get on all fours. I know how disgusting this floor is and I make the slightest of faces, which only make him laugh. I open my lips, leaning down as my tongue peaks out. I know the cum and dirt and grit on this floor, and I know that my stomach will turn as it happens.
"Wait, baby." I look up at him, eyes begging. "How awful is it?"
"It's bad, Daddy." I make the slightest of a pout. He smiles and the moment of warmth softens me. In the moments where I am soft, I get nervous. This is when it will hurt the most. "But I'll do it." I put my tongue out and wait for his instructions.
"Come down for me." I nod, grateful. I want to give him everything, including my thanks for not asking me to do it. It only takes me a moment of dancing for him before I am on his lap, turns around, ass nestled in the perfect space his body makes for me. I grind my bare ass against him, only moving with the music in theory.
I want to feel his cock inside me, and I push, rocking in small circles, back and forth. My knees are open, and my hands are on his wrists, which sit calmly to the side. He wants to be served. He wants to do nothing but receive all I have to give. I rock back and forth, stroking his cock with my ass through his pants.
I pull my legs up on the seat, and stand, turning so his face is at the level of my soaked pussy. He can smell me. He choose not to taste me. My lips are spread, and my clit is swollen, and he is staring directly into the wet, welcoming space which takes his cock over and over and not nearly enough. He is inches away from the pussy that aches to be filled by him. I slowly slide down to kneel until my tits have replaced my cunt and hold a nipple to his lips, which he takes in his mouth eagerly. He tongues my swollen, aching, pink bud of a nipple and I moan. I feel his arms tense and he wants to hold my hips and shove me down on his cock, which is bulging against his zipper.
I lower myself more, my nipple popping out of his lips. I am over him, grinding down on his zipper. I can feel his cock pulse, as I refuse to let my pussy leave the fabric of his pants. I can hear his breath in my eye get ragged as I pump my hips, the way that I fuck him, the way that I want to fuck him. I am soaking his pants with my juices, and I want him to feel it through the thick denim. I want him to be sitting on a puddle of my cum and his.
I have never felt more dominant than this moment. I have never felt like I have the right to get what I want until this moment. And I want to cum so hard it makes him cum. I rock back and forth, pumping my hips, my arm going around his neck to brace on my self. I roll my hips, and find the beat, letting my hips grope him while my shoulders and tits roll slowly for his eyes.
I can feel my cunt twitch as my orgasm begins to build. I pull back just enough to let me clit calm down. I want to drip more before I cum for him. I reach down and plunge my fingers into my cunt with a moan. Juices pour from my pussy as I pull my sticky fingers up, rubbing cum over my nipple. I lift up, my pussy leaving his bulge, just enough for it to reach his lips. He moans for the first time aloud as he tastes my juices over my nipple. I smile.
I lower back down, my hips grinding hard on his cock. The fabric of his pants is soaked, and I know it's made it through to his boxers. I moan softly, pushing my hips harder. I look up at him, my bottom lip trembling. I open my mouth, gasping, wanting to ask, not wanting to speak.
He nods and I cum hard, drenching his cock and boxers and pants. My fingers grip his neck as my head dips back, pushing over and over and over and over again until I feel his hands grab my hips recklessly. I feel him buck forward and a groan moves from the back of his throat. He is cumming. I have gotten what I wanted.
I float back down to earth, resting my light head on his shoulder. He squeezes my hips once. "You're not done, sweetheart." I look up at him, my eyes in a glaze of cum and submission and power and want and love. He pats my ass and I slide aside, off of his lap. "Lick me clean."
I nod as he opens his belt and soaking pants. He stands and I kneel, pulling down his pants and boxers enough to run my tongue up and down and back again. I lick him, tasting my cum enmeshed with his. I stroke his cock with my tongue, letting it run over his balls, finding every drop with my tongue. He pulls back, putting a finger underneath my chin, lifting my face.
"Time to go home." And then he says my name. I smile when he says my name. I have been a good girl, a prized possession. I have performed. I have done well. And now I am grounded.
I nod. I stand. "Lets go home."
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
A Letter from your girl
Dear Mr. Smith,
Though we have not been exploring each other long, I have become quite enthralled with our time together thus far. I appreciate how you have pushed me, given me some of the most stunning moments, and broken me into the most glorious of pieces. I can only hope and wish and pray that we have more time than we know what to do with on the horizon.
All of this said, I do have fear. Genuine fear. I have what I believe to be well-founded fear.
I have had my phobia of ((X)) for what is approaching fifteen years. Well, I should say I discovered my phobia almost fifteen years ago. It has trailed me through high school, college, plenty of parties, many sexual encounters, and every subway ride. And while I have met, faced, and conquered a number of fears and deep-seeded phobias, this one has remained in tact.
I have, of course, faced it here and there, and each time walked away a little battered, sometimes bruised, and always with the scar of absolute terror. When I face it, my skin starts to crawl and my head feels like it is floating. My heart begins to race and I am cold to the touch. Sheer panic and terror set in and I am paralyzed and wanting to run at the same time. Sometimes I do, bolting out and finding solace far, far away. Sometimes I simply faint, my heart unable to cope with such a fear sitting in front of me.
All of this has trailed me for fifteen years and I have chosen to hold this tight. I have chosen not to "get over it" or "face it" and am perfectly content going another 15 or 50 years with it as a specter in my constant presence.
And yet, because of you, I know that this will have to be faced. I know it turns you on, and I know that my deep desire to be a good girl for you can trump anything. Even this. And therefore I am afraid. I know you will make sure that this fear comes, and I stare it straight in the eyes. You will watch me break. You will watch me shatter and cry and scream and fight, truly fight. You will watch me meet it and curl into a trembling ball of nothing but vulnerability and anger and shame and humiliation. I will be reduced before you in a way you have not seen. I don't know how many times it will take before it will no longer shake me to my core.
And when I am on the ground, broken and wilted, I am still yours. I don't know if you will beat me. I don't know if you will cum on me. I don't know if you will make me get up and take your hard cock in my mouth while I cry... I know how much you look forward to fucking my throat while black mascara tears are streaming down my face. But even in that moment, I promise I will still do everything to serve you well. I am yours, even when I am coming apart at the seams.
Even writing this to you now shakes me. There are goosebumps rising on my arms and the hair at the back of my neck has shot to attention and I am praying already that what I write to you is false, but I know better and so do those goosebumps.
And so here I am. Shaking and terrified and not ready and hoping that it never comes and praying that you will never make me do it and devoted. I give you all of myself when I submit to you and that means I give you this. I have never given it to anyone before. Of all the things I can give, this one has been sacred and absolutely mine to hold. No matter how often or who or how long, I have held this one tightly. Because no one was allowed to make me such a vulnerable creature. But this one, I give to you. I am yours, even in these moments.
Thank you for making me stronger than I was yesterday. I will try and focus my eyes on the day after, when I have been pushed to the breaking point and I have come back better. And I hope you will be proud of your girl. I am scared. Truly, fully, honestly scared.
Yours,
A
Though we have not been exploring each other long, I have become quite enthralled with our time together thus far. I appreciate how you have pushed me, given me some of the most stunning moments, and broken me into the most glorious of pieces. I can only hope and wish and pray that we have more time than we know what to do with on the horizon.
All of this said, I do have fear. Genuine fear. I have what I believe to be well-founded fear.
I have had my phobia of ((X)) for what is approaching fifteen years. Well, I should say I discovered my phobia almost fifteen years ago. It has trailed me through high school, college, plenty of parties, many sexual encounters, and every subway ride. And while I have met, faced, and conquered a number of fears and deep-seeded phobias, this one has remained in tact.
I have, of course, faced it here and there, and each time walked away a little battered, sometimes bruised, and always with the scar of absolute terror. When I face it, my skin starts to crawl and my head feels like it is floating. My heart begins to race and I am cold to the touch. Sheer panic and terror set in and I am paralyzed and wanting to run at the same time. Sometimes I do, bolting out and finding solace far, far away. Sometimes I simply faint, my heart unable to cope with such a fear sitting in front of me.
All of this has trailed me for fifteen years and I have chosen to hold this tight. I have chosen not to "get over it" or "face it" and am perfectly content going another 15 or 50 years with it as a specter in my constant presence.
And yet, because of you, I know that this will have to be faced. I know it turns you on, and I know that my deep desire to be a good girl for you can trump anything. Even this. And therefore I am afraid. I know you will make sure that this fear comes, and I stare it straight in the eyes. You will watch me break. You will watch me shatter and cry and scream and fight, truly fight. You will watch me meet it and curl into a trembling ball of nothing but vulnerability and anger and shame and humiliation. I will be reduced before you in a way you have not seen. I don't know how many times it will take before it will no longer shake me to my core.
And when I am on the ground, broken and wilted, I am still yours. I don't know if you will beat me. I don't know if you will cum on me. I don't know if you will make me get up and take your hard cock in my mouth while I cry... I know how much you look forward to fucking my throat while black mascara tears are streaming down my face. But even in that moment, I promise I will still do everything to serve you well. I am yours, even when I am coming apart at the seams.
Even writing this to you now shakes me. There are goosebumps rising on my arms and the hair at the back of my neck has shot to attention and I am praying already that what I write to you is false, but I know better and so do those goosebumps.
And so here I am. Shaking and terrified and not ready and hoping that it never comes and praying that you will never make me do it and devoted. I give you all of myself when I submit to you and that means I give you this. I have never given it to anyone before. Of all the things I can give, this one has been sacred and absolutely mine to hold. No matter how often or who or how long, I have held this one tightly. Because no one was allowed to make me such a vulnerable creature. But this one, I give to you. I am yours, even in these moments.
Thank you for making me stronger than I was yesterday. I will try and focus my eyes on the day after, when I have been pushed to the breaking point and I have come back better. And I hope you will be proud of your girl. I am scared. Truly, fully, honestly scared.
Yours,
A
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
