Sitting at my desk for way too long I leaned back, and stretched my arms as far as they would go. That motion, that feeling, my muscles stretch in that position made me wanton.
Instantly I needed to be stretched out on the cold slate floor, my hands and ankles restrained by the leather binding. Stretched to my capacity, feeling the ache in my muscles for relief. The need to relax them, to bend my joints, needs he would deny for my pleasure and his.
When he was done with me, when I was spent, weak, and used until nothing seemed to be left, he would carry me to our bed. He would look at me. Proud of the pleasure he so easily brings me. Proud of the way my body yields, and responds to all that he does. Laying me down, he would look at me; deciding my fate for the remainder of the night. Would he allow me to rest? Would he make love to me?
I’d look back at him in adoration for all that he has done to me, for the beauty in the way he has assaulted me. Not ready, but more than willing to reap the benefits of his decision.