My orgasm is your knee pinning my inner thigh without care of a bruise. Every time you use my hair to position me. When I cannot physically escape you, my mind cums. And again when you slap me.
When you taunt me with words of ownership, giving in, and taking what you want; I’m not shaking from fear. I’m shaking because my brain is finally getting a hit. It’s kissing the sky, and it doesn’t want to come down.
You can fuck me if you want to. You deserve it.
Your hair has been his leash longer and more often than any combination of metal and leather.
Ropes leave those wonderfully symmetrical marks, but his hands bruise you for days.
You’ve never had a toy that can make a fist to clench in your hair, or close around your throat. He can grab a handful of ass. Manhandling what’s his.
You’ve always loved those cuffs. You took the time to pick out just the right pair. They’ve been collecting dust because his body holds you in place.
Feel free to struggle.
You’re still not going anywhere.