When I touch myself and think of you it’s gentle, curious, soft. I imagine how you’d relish my body, where your mouth would gravitate to, how alert and in tune to my pleasure and release you’d be.
Or would you be cruel in your loving administrations of power?
My cunt gets hot and clenching and hungry at the thought of your touch undoing me, your soft celadon eyes watching me tremble, loving every moment, seamlessly conducted and puppeteered to your liking.
When I think of being your puppet, being your doll, my body floods with warmth and a soft haze wraps around my needful heart.
I touch myself with your hands, I kiss myself with your lips.
Please. Make me.