to feel the grasp of His fingers tangled in my hair. To feel the pull of His desires molding me to His needs.

to feel the rush and surge of adrenaline as the mask slides over my eyes, as I am touched by His hands, His toys.

to feel.

to be.

I dream

of Him pressing me into the corner of the room, squeezing my breast, tugging my nipple.  And of His mouth…on mine, on that nipple, on my neck. Of His teeth, biting into that tender spot on my shoulder….

I dream of the liquid heat of U/us…sweat, and sex juice, tears and saliva; of the silken glide of His body over mine.

A streaming series of vignettes:

Hand in hair, head back, throat exposed, teeth nipping along it

His fist on my tit, while His other hand pinches my arm, guiding me to the bed with both hand holds leaving His mark

His voice, rich and Dommish, as He tells me He will hurt me; that He will stretch my ass and fuck it hard. That I can shake my head no, but that doesn’t matter a whit to Him…He knows me. Knows what a little cunt I am, what a little pain slut I am.

The press of His body on mine as He pins me to the bed, His hand casually holding both my wrists, while His other hand is torturing my clit and pussy…making me cum again and again.

I’ve tried not to think of these things for so long. And now we’re heading closer to the day that I am almost *positive* will work for us…and the dreams begin.

Dreams of lust.

Of sex.

Of dirty, indecent acts, performed with love and dominance and wild sexual abandon.


I lust…