Words. Nothing but words

I'm sitting in Baileys, off in my corner, and my lips are tingling every time I touch them. My hips keep on shifting on the seat beneath me, because my cunt is throbbing in time to the heavy music I'm listening to. The skin along the underside of my arms feels like velvet that's just been rubbed. The skin at the base of my skull is pulsing like my hair has just been yanked back, and my mouth is watering at the thought of the cock that would be offered.

All this just from words. Well played, man. Well played.

Dominance. It's an ephemeral thing in my world. I enjoy it sexually, and fight it with all my being outside the bedroom.
I don't meet many men who can do this to me. Circumvent every thorny little hedge I've put up over the years, to get to the gooey, caramel-y center. And I meet even less men who can touch that center without making it dirtier than it already is.

God, I hope this guy is one of them.

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