It is her secret.
It always has been
Ever since she can remember. The longing. The desire. The ache.
A deep sexual yearning to lose control. To abandon her free will to the pleasure of another.
And in doing so find her own glorious, magical, delicious release.
Sometimes, in her private moments and when she allows herself, she has the scenarios in her head. Scripted and endlessly rehearsed, she plays them in a bold, burning, breathtaking loop. Fantasies and fetishes that leave her wasted and wet as she allows them to wash and lap over her.
Other times it is a jumble of words and images, of instruction and discipline, obedience and compliance.
Of being watched.
Of her body being used and pleasured. Stroked and caressed, kissed and pinched, slapped and whipped, licked and scratched, nibbled and teased.
And of being restrained.
And of fingers, and lips, and toy after toy. And his tongue and his cock. All used expertly, creatively, unrelentingly,
She has told no one
It is their secret
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic
Art by Marcos Beccari
I wrote this seven years ago. And I thought ‘why not post (yet) again for those who were not reading me then?’ I hope regulars can excuse the indulgence.