Some things I want

To dress you up. To take you out. To feed you.

To make you squirm.

To bring you home.

To undress you.

To tie you up. Comprehensively. Restrictively. So you can’t. Fucking. Move.

To beat you. Harder than before. To leave marks. Marks that heal, but that take a while to do so.

To plug your ass, to drip hot wax on you, to drag ice along your breasts, your abdomen, your pubis, your cunt. To overwhelm you with sensation.

To make you ache. To make your jaw sore, your knees burn, your eyes tear.

To feel your pliable body give way to my firm, strong touch.

To hear you moan, beg, plead. For more. For me to stop. For me to start again.

To fill you with my cock, with my cum.

To collect orgasm after orgasm from you, until you’ve run out, until you can’t come again. And then, to collect more.

To hold you after, to talk, to joke, to be gentle with you.

May I? Please?

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