Something else

She is trying to think of something else.

She works, busying herself with things that usually bore her, creating her own session of displacement therapy. She fills her day so that there is no room for idle thought.

At home, she urgently flicks through magazines searching for something to steal her attention, even for a moment. She watches TV, trying to lose herself in someone else’s story. At night she closes her eyes tight shut, as if it will help.

But she cannot get the thought out of her head.

This desire to serve, this need to belong, this yearning to be his.

She has felt nothing like it before.  Not for any man, least of all this complete, dark, distant stranger.  Yet there is a familiarity about him, a certainty, a resonance. As if she has always known he would be there.

If she allows her imagination to escape it will swarm at her thighs, ache in her lower belly, and send a flush into her throat.  It will send a delicious tingling down her spine. It will conjure up a thousand images of her own submission that will make her weak at the knees.

It will make her mouth dry and her sex wet.

She is trying to think of something else.

.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Art by William Oxer