It’s not any one specific act. It’s not a singular expression of dominance, nor the receipt of a particular act of submission. It’s not just a feeling — it’s more than confidence, dominance, or control. It’s more than love, or want, or possession.
It’s not a way of thinking, but of being.
It’s an embodiment that blocks out all other thoughts and feelings. It’s a state more than the sum of its component parts.
It’s the taste of copper on my tongue.
It’s the memory of the first time I broke his skin and realized I wasn’t playing anymore. It’s the memory of his face the first time he understood it was no longer a game.
It’s the sight of a marked man on his knees and wanting nothing more than to hold him up.
It’s the scent of sex and heat in the air so thick I find it hard to breathe. It scorches the air and burns my throat and reminds me I’m still hungry.
It’s simultaneous craving and satisfaction, both more than I’ve ever known.
It’s singular, focused, and all consuming, even as it consumes.
It eclipses all other thoughts.
It’s wanting so much that it brings me comfort to remember I’m a good person… because if I wasn’t, I’d rip him into pieces, unhinge my jaw, and swallow as much of him as I could manage.
If I had to, I could hunt you down from miles away. You’ve turned me feral, made me unfit for pleasant company and polite conversation… [read more]
There’s no ember and no kindling. When my lips touch his, there’s no slow and steady smolder. The taste of him is spark to fuel, and I am quick to light… [read more]
Part human, part plaything, to varying degrees. I can’t have you this way. I feel you too much, enough make my breath catch at the hollow of my throat… [read more]