Duality

I'm conflicted. Not about what I want or whether I should want it, because I know that I want you and I know it's not going to stop. I know that. I like this game that we're playing. I like meeting your gaze wondering who is going to be the first to drop it. (It's going to be me.) I like the way you brush up against me trying to catch me off guard, the jokes that you make that aren't really jokes. The innuendos. The things that we say to each other that are teasing-- not real, just fantasy-- but underlined with something that is more than just the hint of promise.

I feel uncertain; not of the "if," but of the "when." Because I like this duality, I like this uncertainty, I like wondering whether or not you're going to look at me and wink, make a comment and hope that I catch it, or whether you're going to walk up to me. Whether you're going to make it look like an accidental touch, or whether you're going to really reach out, put your hands on me. Are you going to pretend to pick some lint off of my shirt? Or are you going to really touch me, unapologetically?

And it's more than just what we do. It's about what could happen. What I want from you, what I crave from you, and how I want it.

Because I want it every way.

I want you to touch me tenderly, to reach out and stroke my cheek. Look me in the eyes. Brush your lips against mine. And I want your hand around my throat. Your mouth at my ear, your hot breath against my cheek making me shudder as you tell me exactly what I'm going to do for you. You tell me that in no uncertain terms am I to think for one second that any of it is in my control or up to what I want. Because I think you know that's exactly what I want.

Don't get me wrong: I like teasing you. That makes me feel powerful. It makes me feel enthralling and desirable to know that I have you thinking about me, wanting me, having to hide your reaction from everyone around you because I inspire you to desperation. It's just that the reason why I want you to feel that way, why I want you so desperate, is so that one day you'll snap.

I'm seeing how far I can push you to the edge, you know, before one or both of us break. And I think we'll break in different ways. Because the only reason I make you feel desperate is so that I can be desperate for you. The real reason I want you to be desperate for me is that I need to be desperate for you. I want to bring you to your limit where we both go crashing through. Where you won't let me have control anymore. Where you put me in my place and you shove me down to my knees, and you tell me once and for all that the game is over-- that I've made my point, and now you're going to make yours.

I want your hands running gently through my hair, making me feel cherished and sweet and beautiful. And I want your fingers digging into my scalp, ripping my head back, letting me know that I am at your mercy, not the other way around. And we both know that it's true. We both know that when you ask, when you plead for me to show you my body, you're only giving me the opportunity to behave and do it. You're only asking to see if you have to force me. You ask, you beg, because you care. Because you like me, and you like this game we play too. But one way or another you're going to get what you want, and we both know that.

I want to know what it feels like to kiss you deeply, sweetly, passionately. And I want to know what it feels like to have your teeth digging into my skin. I want to taste the sweat where it pools in the hollow of your throat, worship you with my tongue, my lips, my hands. I want to see that look of worship reflected on your face, even as you're telling me how I answer to you. How I am there to serve you. I want your hands to travel up and down my body, caressing me like a fine work of art. Slapping me until my skin is bright red, pinching and tugging until my nipples are throbbing, distended, and tortured. I want bruises in the shape of your fingertips and your teeth and your lips all over me. I want you to soothe them away with your kisses and then bite them back to life.

I want you to order me to my knees so you can look down on me from above. So you can tell me what a beautiful little whore I am, what a sweet little cumsucking slut. How pretty, how profane, how sacred my cunt is. How delicious my mouth looks as it's begging for you to fill it with your cock.

I want to touch you. I want my hands to travel all over your skin, all over your body, to feel every single inch of you at my own pace, my own leisure, until you tell me exactly where to go. Exactly where to stop, what to grab; where to dig my fingers in, what to wrap them around.

I want you to tell me that I'm your good girl and then tell me that I'm such a dumb little slut, and that you're going to fucking use me like the whore I am. I want you to slap your cock across my face and wipe your pre-cum all over my mouth, my cheeks, my chin. Teasing me, telling me that I'm not good enough yet. I don't get to taste you. I have to prove that I'm a good girl, I have to prove that I can listen.

You tell me to touch myself. To pinch my own nipples. To shove my fingers deep in my pussy. Show you how I like to fuck myself. Show you how desperately I want to be fucked. You tell me that you want to hear me beg, you want to hear me say that my fingers aren't enough, that I need your cock. That nothing else could ever make me feel satisfied. Just you.

And only after I convince you that I'm utterly desperate for you will you allow me to taste you. Only after my pouting lips are quivering with desire, only after my mind is unable to form actual words and everything I try to say just comes out a sad, pathetic whimper... Only then will you let me feel the length and the thickness of you deep in my throat. And when you bury yourself home, that's when I feel like a whole person. That's when I feel like I have my purpose again.

I want to know the sound of your voice as you start to come undone, feel you quiver as you fuck my face, as I roll my tongue around your shaft. I want to hear you tell me how good I am, how nobody's ever sucked your dick like me. I want to look up into your eyes as my fingers trace down my own body and start to tease my clit, as I feel you start to swell and pulse in my mouth.

I don't want you to tell me when you're going to come. I'll know. I'll feel it. I'll see it on your face, and I want you to see it in my eyes that I'm going to come with you; the taste of you, the smell of you overwhelming all my senses as you edge closer and closer until you can't control yourself. Until your hands grip the back of my head and you shove yourself as far down into my throat as I can take. I want to gag on you as you fill my throat and my mouth with your cum.

I want to taste you. I want your seed to dribble out of my mouth and down my chin as you pull out. I want you to grab my face with your hand and squeeze until I'm drooling-- my saliva, and your cum, and my tears, all mingling on my face-- as you tell me I've never looked more beautiful.