Mmm.
Nothing revs my engine like watching that sweet, delicate creature bend and fold under the faintest hinting breath of my touch. She curls her toes, she whimpers, goes weak in the knees, closes her eyes and exudes a breathy "Fuck..." as my fingers explore the most sensitive, hidden treasures of her body.
I kiss her clit to the edge of ecstasy. She says "I love you..." and means it.
I squeeze her body so hard, it bruises. She says "Thank you" and means it.
I take my favorite knife and trace my whims across her flesh. She says "I belong to you, you own me" and means it.
And it's true. I do own her. Everything about her exists to bring me pleasure and to serve each and every fancy that takes me. She brings her friends home and serves them to me on a silver platter. She dresses pleasing to my eye, every second of every day. She smiles, laughs, exudes warmth and fills my home with feminine grace. She pushes her own boundaries to better align them with mine. She belongs to me. I own her.
Words could never do justice the depth of love, appreciation and respect I hold for this woman. It's never spoken, and only acknowledged in eye contact. But I'm as much hers as she is mine. Her and I laugh and joke over it. Before we met, she was a respectable girl who kept herself (mostly) for the man who she'd give herself completely to. I, on the other hand, was "a big slut". I guess I still am. I mean, I do enjoy her friends and other women at my leisure. But regardless, while they only make me cum, she makes me feel. That might be the corniest cop-out excuse I've ever given to explain the circumstances of what I am and how I live. But the words hold true. That woman invokes in me more protect drive, dominant restraint and unmitigated lust than any such creature before her. I'd die for that woman. I'd kill for that woman. I use their fuck holes. I cherish hers. I mark them because I want to. I mark her because I need to. I make them cum to break them. I make her cum to build her up.
I'd like to think she knows. Honestly, I believe she does. But maybe I should tell her. Maybe I should let her know what when I'm running my tongue up and down both her holes, pulling away right before she gets there then burying my tongue as deep as it will go back into whichever hole I'm favoring in the moment...
That I love her.
That she's a good girl. That's she's better than the rest. That I value her. That I respect her. That I ache for her when she's gone.
It's kind of funny. I'd resigned my life to giving women physical and emotional bliss, if but for a moment. But ultimately, I saw my existence coming to a close in a place occupied by only myself, and every shadow of every hollow attempt to find the magical creature I'd conceptualized that, just maybe, really did exists out there.
Then I found her.
And now I'm not alone. Now I have her. Now I have it all. Just liked I'd hoped, but never planned.
And every day, I work to be worthy of such a blessing. I have to. I won't be satisfied unless I myself am satisfied that I've earned it.
I'm almost done writing this. As soon as I post this, I'm going to make her cum. Then I'm cooking her lamb for dinner. She's a good girl. The best girl. The least I can do is fuck, taste, lick, squeeze and hold her to the brink of reality, shattering her mind in orgasmic bliss, tender love and appreciation all the way from start to finish. For everything that she gives me, the least I can give her is several orgasms so powerful, they remove her from her worries, her fears, her insecurities and her pains.
For but a brief moment, I can give her the feeling that all is right in the world.
And it's a fucking honor to do so.
