I’m not compelled to tell you the details of how I’m going to fuck you better than anyone else. I don’t care about telling you how I’m going to give it to you better than you’ve ever had it before. I’m not going to brag that I’ll leave you in a heap on the floor, reeling from the most intense orgasm you ever had. Anyone without an ounce of original thought can claim that.
I need to give more. And you want to take more.
I want to start inside your head. I want to use a single word or glance to get your attention and take your breath.
I want you to know that I’m going to bury myself beneath your skin. Know that I’m going to figure out how to unravel you with the slightest look or mere hint of a touch. I want you to know that I will find out how to turn you into a quivering, mumbling, sweating mess of a girl, leaving you only able to say, “Yes, Sir.”
I want you to know I will seduce you. I want you to know it will start hours before I even lay a finger on you before I even lay my eyes on you. A dispatch so deep, you’ll feel it in your core.
I want you to know how I’m going to fuck you. I want you to hear how I’m going to tease you. How I’m going to make you whimper. How I’m going to make you go crazy begging for it. How I’m going to drive you nearly to the point of delirium with the need for release.
I don’t want you to just be my fuck toy. Any man can buy that if he’s willing to pay the price. I want you to be my slut. I want to make you my slut. Because you’re not available to be bought. Because you don’t have a price. Because you become a good girl for me and only me. Because you become her only in my hands and at my command. You do these things, because I have taught you to embrace the darkest parts of yourself, not to run from them. Because I’ve loved those dark parts, mysterious them, brought them out to play. Because it brings me pleasure. And it brings you pleasure. “Thank you, Sir.”
And there is nothing you crave more than my pleasure because it then feeds your pleasure. You are mine and mine alone.
You’re not impressed by a Dom’s ability to feel a rush of power when they spew demeaning things at you. You’re impressed by my ability to know you so completely that I Know exactly how to touch you, how to speak to you, how to tease you and taste you and command you to surrender unquestioningly to every command. My desire, my will, my ability to take you and claim you and make you mine, that’s what impressions you.
And you want me to claim ownership of what is mine every morning, every afternoon, and every night.
You want me to mark you. You want the sting of my teeth scraping across your skin, quickly followed by my tongue to help soothe the burn. You want my fingertips on your bare should blades and my hot breath tickling your earliestobe while I whisper filter words,The kind that makes you blush and squirm and crave desperately to hide your face from me. But the words that I know you could never live without and leave you with only one response, “Yes, Sir.”
You want my mouth, a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along the bend of your spine. And then against the base of your neck, marking you, bruising you, leaving reminders all over your skin that you belong to me. That this body is mine. This heartbeat is mine. This mouth and these hands and this cunt are mine. Be my good girl. All mine. Always mine.
You want me to leave you gasping, emrith, moaning. Leave you wanting. Leave you needing. And then you want me to tell you how beautiful you are when you beg me to touch you. “Please, Sir”. And all the while, you want me to hurt you. “Please, Sir”.
Mark you with my hands and my belt and my paddle. You want evidence of my presence all over your body for days to come. Beg me to be as rough as I want. You don’t care. For me, you’ll take it and then beg for more. Because you want me. Let me play with you. Let you please me. Let me give you everything you want.
Fucking you not as an act of password but as an act of control. Make you mine.
I’ll make you messy. You will be a mess for me. But you don’t want to just be a mess. You want to be my mess. One that I crafted and took to this point with careful consideration and precision. One so desperate and needy for my pleasure and my hands, and my tongue, and my cock, and the final, glorifying, exalting reward of my cum that you will do anything to please me. “Thank you, Sir”.
And make no mistake about it, you will be mine. The pain will bring tears. My tongue, my teeth, my hands, and my cock will bring tears. But you’re not scared, because you crave tears too. And afterward, I will hold you while you cry. You will feel my hand stroking your hair, my arms pulling you close, my voice whispering in your ear that you were perfect, the best of good girls, whileyou shiver and shake and lie there in my arms, unable to do anything but cling and tremble and cry. And I will hold you the whole time, give you everything you need. “Good girl.”
Your pleasure is my pleasure. And you need and want and crave everything I can give you. You crave it all. You need to take it. You want to take it. I’ll let you take it.
I will remind you. You want me to remind you. You need me to remind you. You asked for this. That you begged for this. Because that’s what good girls do. Because that’s what my good girl does.
And more than anything, you want, you crave, you need to be my good girl. Mine. Always mine.
You want it all.
You need it all.
You need it all.
You take it all.
Good girl.
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