I’m in the mood to submit.
I’m in the mood for your hand in my hair, your voice a harsh whisper against my ear. I’m in the mood to feel that thrill of fear when you touch me, that moment of wondering of whether you’ll hurt me or not. That shivering uncertainty of whether your next touch will be a caress or a blow.
I’m in the mood to hear you call me your little whore, to feel your hand wrapped around my throat and squeezing. To feel my breath cut off with a soft gasp, that spurt of panic when I can’t breathe. The melting trust as I realize that you control even the flow of air into my lungs.
I’m in the mood to feel myself pressed into your body, your grip tight, painful, on my pussy even as it makes me wet. To feel your lips brush mine with frightening tenderness even as you whisper the things you want to do to me.
I want you to hurt me a little. I want to feel you press into the tenderest parts of me until my mouth gapes in a silent scream.
I’m in the mood to submit to you.
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