Apparently, I have a kink for narrative and there’s a particular type of commentary that revs my engines.
Show me your beautiful tits. Flick. Now don’t move, I haven’t given you permission. Flick. Yes, I know it hurts; that’s the point, my lovely. When your nipples are nice and tender, that’s when I’ll really go to work on them. Flick. Pinch. Tweak. Eyes straight ahead, please. Don’t make me tell you a third time, or you’ll regret it.
Commands, observations, gloating, teasing – I search my mind for perfect combinations, the ones that my body answers with hard nipples, wet cunt, swollen clit; things that make me go unnffff
My long hair, twisted into a rope and wrapped around my neck, the ends held tightly in their fist, and they say-
-You like being choked, do you?
-Do you want my fingers in you while I choke you? You want me to fuck you with my hand as you struggle for breath?
I don’t speak my own lines out loud, I’m not nearly so interested in them as what is being said to me, about me.
You look good, tied down and helpless like that. I’m going to use the cane now, and it’s going to hurt but you’re going to take it bravely to please me, aren’t you?
I may not always recognise what I need, but I know what I want when I hear it.
Keep your eyes open and look at me while I’m fucking your mouth. Good girl.
“Work for it, go on, earn your reward” I murmur to myself as I tumble, gasping, into the sweet vortex I’ve stirred up within myself; ears ringing with fast-pumping blood and all the words I’d say out loud if I weren’t so consumed by them.
Look at this slut, look at this desperate fucktoy, see how wet she is, how eager for a rough, hard talking-to, will you open her body and leave her unsatisfied, speak, and give her the mind-fucking she really aches for?