The Other
It’s been far too long since someone rested their cheek on my foot, wrapped their arms around my waist and held on seeking comfort after harshness.
Too long since I’ve released the part of myself that stays pent up much of the time.
She who lives in a cave and likes the dark.
She who craves to gnaw on her prey’s bones extracting every bit they’ll give up.
She whose spine tingles with delight as those red marks appear, as the blood comes to the skin as the gasps and moans grow louder and more abandoned.
She who delights in the sight of a wrist wrapped in a cuff or rope but even more in a naked wrist held in place only by the desire to please her.
She who revels in the sight of the back of a man’s neck, so strong but so vulnerable and much more handsome wrapped in a collar.
Too long since I’ve released the part of myself that stays pent up much of the time.
She who lives in a cave and likes the dark.
She who craves to gnaw on her prey’s bones extracting every bit they’ll give up.
She whose spine tingles with delight as those red marks appear, as the blood comes to the skin as the gasps and moans grow louder and more abandoned.
She who delights in the sight of a wrist wrapped in a cuff or rope but even more in a naked wrist held in place only by the desire to please her.
She who revels in the sight of the back of a man’s neck, so strong but so vulnerable and much more handsome wrapped in a collar.
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