Dommed by the Narrative
No one fucks me quite like you
You pin me to the chair, take hold of my wrists, straddle my silk draped waist. A moan escapes as gravity weighs on my softening body. Each uttering penetrates my psyche, demanding openness.
I struggle to remain separate. But you’ve always known I’m a sucker for this dance. You tease me with riddles and the wet heat of your tongue on mine. My fingertips throb with your presence. The air lingers, heavy, as you whisper from the darkness. You come alive with lightning, binding me to the mission — which remains a mystery; you reveal one line at a time, reminding me, surender baby, it only hurts when you fight it.
A deep breath swims down my spinal column, swirling in my belly, caressing my swelling lips. I want you. And with the next exhale, space..
Come, my love. All the way in. Can’t you feel me? The way my heart is breaking for your presence?
You half brush me off. My face, flush with rage. Part of the game, but it always gets me.
Where have you been the past few hours? Fucking around with some other woman?
My eyes roll nearly to the back of my head.
“Baby, relax. I was just watching the game,”
The game. Right. I always forget about the game, lost in the seriousness of My Creative Practice. You know exactly how to shake me out of it. I dig fingernails into thighs, wondering how you always make me love you more. Fucker. I hate you sometimes.
Where is the line?
I know, I know. I’m dying. And coming. And god knows I cry enough when you do this to me. I mean. Who invited you? What kind of emotional manipulation is this? Ha. Yeah, I know. I do like it. Sue me.
The other day that asshole, you know, the one you told me to ditch 18 months ago, sent me a message that shook me like a 3 year old who just got their first snowglobe.
Not like the ways you shake me. You. Even when I don’t get it, I know it’s intentional. You’re like rain on a tin roof awakening me, a waterfall sliding down my throat, quenching me open, long fingers pressing into that warm place, waiting, waiting to feel the surrender before going deeper.
Not like the one who asked “do you want more,” and didn’t listen to my body while I was choking on words.
Your force is a different animal. Gentle. Strong. Quiet.
Fuck you.
I love you.
You know how many times I’ve said that to a man?
With you, it’s different. Your hands are so commanding I can’t help but melt into them. Even when I bitch about our relationship, you handle me with just as much care as necessary — no more, no less.
You are, in a word, perfect.
This piece was inspired by a chat with - you can check out his take on the creative energetic exchange here.
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Oof girrrl.... 🔥🔥🔥
Spicy and love the double entendres of this