My pupils dilated as I implored him, without words, to take a moment out of his time. The soft whirr of his MP3 player, each solemn chirp pushing me to the limits of my patience, made sure I knew every folder and every song that took precedence over me.

I rubbed my head against the inside of his thighs, relishing the scratchy denim and the smell of both soap and testosterone. I was on my knees in front of him for no sexual reason; all I wanted was a quick tousle of the hair and a little attention.

It's moments like these that remind me just how much he means to me. He's tough and vulnerable at the same time, a beautiful combination of balls and brains. As much as I fight it (dominance is just so much more prestigious than submission), kneeling in front of him with an adoring gaze is something that comes so natural to me. To us.

He respects me, he loves me.. we interlock because our differences mesh so well together. He craves the dominance, the feel of my flesh as it gives way under his hand. I crave the morning after, watching the bruises turn from purple to blue to green to yellow. He loves rutting me, pressing my face into the bed as he ravishes me. I love walking around hours after, my sore and tormented pussy serving as my naughty little secret.

I love him.

This entry was posted by Mellie, on Friday, December 22, 2006.