She is naked.
She runs her fingertips along her cheeks and lightly over lips.
So gently that her skin tingles.
She closes her eyes and trails them over her chin, onto her neck and into the hollow of her throat.
They trace a line across her collar bones. She shivers. But she is not cold.
She is surprised to find her skin so sensitive to her own touch.
She parts her thighs. Wide. As wide as she can.
Breathing hard she allows her hands to slide down and cup her breasts.
She slowly circles her areolae with her thumbs, feeling the already erect nipples harden into tight buds.
She strokes herself, exquisite arcs of excitement. She almost becomes lost in the sensation.
She imagines her hands becoming his. She is under his instruction, under his control
She takes each nipple between thumb and forefinger.
She begins to squeeze. Hard.
In her mind she can hear his voice. Soft, deep, dark, commanding, certain.
‘Harder’
She tightens her grip and gasps at the pain. And yet also the pleasure.
She knows she is wet. Very.
His voice again.
‘Harder’
This time she is brutal with herself.
She cries out, yet maintains her vice-like grip.
It is like two electric shocks. Red hot wires running from breasts to belly to sex.
Urgent, sharp, shocking. intense.
Heavenly.
The deep pitch of her arousal takes her breath away.
She realizes her fantasies have suddenly taken a darker twist.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Not a new post – but oh, that darker twist
Art by Steve Hanks
A Faded Romantic's Notebook 
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