I am boiling inside as I write this.
I have no reason for it. I am just glad I am.
Right now, I need you “face down”, wondering if I am 20 feet from you or 2 feet behind you, as I quietly move closer and closer and closer. Inching my way across the carpet, black five-hole Doc Martins just slipped off in total silence, Brooks Brothers black-and-brown reversible in my hand.
I know you are wondering.
When? When will you feel my presence?
When, does Daddy bring the kitchen sink? You tell yourself, “I know it’s gonna be bad tonight. I saw that look in his eyes.” You hate that you love that look in my eyes.
That look means you will feel it tomorrow. Everywhere. Your neck will be sore. Your wrists will feel tight. Your ass will have marks.
The countdown in your sexy little delicate mind keeps restarting at 20.
This is an eternity to you.
No looking. Daddy’s orders.
You feel me.
Rough is a word that has no meaning tonight. Rough, would be a nice break from this.
But you love it. Don’t you?
You love every little spanking. Every time I pin you down, wrists in cuffs, held down by the neck, while I finger one more orgasm out of you and your legs can’t move an inch.
My hardness inside you as I release you one more time.
Cum. Right while looking in my hazel eyes. Speak. Come on. Say something. You can’t, can you? I want to laugh inside at the complete catastrophe that has become you, but I am just too turned on by the beauty of it.
So count. Start over at 20. Again. Like that.
Cause when you reach 1, I am going to make heaven come down and hell come up to you.