We are not very disciplined, are we Kitten?
I really try and wrap my head around why but at some point stop giving a fuck and the ache for more of you consumes me.
Telling myself to be determined lasts all of five minutes and then I just want your body in my grasp so I can tell you with my most honest expression how completely lame I am over you.
A total fucking softie.
I know physical passion is just my best method of being honest.
Honest, so that you know in the deepest recesses of your soul, what you really do mean to me. It’s hard to lie when the eyes are involved, which is why I must show you mine, in the flesh.
I have to. I absolutely must.
You need to know when I am staring daggers into your soul while my hand wraps around your neck and pulls you towards me, that nobody ever will give you what I want to give you.
I want all of you.
Every smile. Every tear. Every moan. Every giggle. Every cry of elation. Every little story you tell. Everything. All of it.
Every last bit of what makes you who you are is what I need for every fucking day.
I think some people just assume that sex is a physical activity, but with us, its how I tell you with the most honest and genuine words I’d do anything for you.
So when you feel that grip of my hand begin to squeeze, know it means something. When I toss you down and rip off your clothes, understand I adore you. When I slap my belt around your wrists and shove your face into me, I hope you know I am weak for you.
And when my cock slides inside you and you cum with those green eyes an inch from yours, you better know right then and there I am yours, in every way.
My beautiful collared sub. Look down and pet that wrist for me and know what it means to me.
That’s my Good Girl.
Also published on Medium.