Trust me

From the moment she met me at the door, our chemistries intertwined like a medieval alchemy. Over dinner we talked and laughed and shared our philosophies — we talked about dreams, ambitions, sensuality, of men, and of woman.

Our chemistries swirled in a transmutation as we kissed and when I dropped her home, she invited me in under the pretence of a glass of wine. On the couch, as we laughed, she taught me how she wanted her breasts caressed and how she wanted me to glide my tongue along the outside edge.

She led me by the hand into her bed where we explored and caressed under linen sheets — the alchemy took shape.

In the darkness she spoke about cane on flesh and about the point when I would come to desire more. She went on about the coarseness of jute rope and how the body takes on a blissful state when tied correctly. Gently caressing my cock, she talked about restraining me, milking my prostrate by candlelight, and watching my cock throb before cum spurted all over my stomach. She talked about how if I was attentive, and fucked her just right, she would soak the bed and that her juices were sweet. I would beg for more.

She talked of erotic stores where she would buy me a heavy stainless-steel butt plug with a fury tail — and after she positioned it properly, wanted me to fuck her like an animal and roar as I came. She was especially excited, when the proper time came, to go shopping for a collar, a harness, and a dildo that was a little too large for me to take. She wanted me to surrender and let her fuck me the way I fuck her,

She spoke of being surrounded with candles and the sensation of wax being dripped onto her chest and the joy of the marks left behind — she wanted to share that with me. She said she had so many things to share.

In the silence, when she had finished talking, the alchemy was complete. There was only the sound of the sheets as she moved in closer and kissed my chest.

She broke the silence in recognition of the alchemy, “Trust me”

 W