What will it be when he comes? The sweetest lovemaking, the roughest sex or taken across his knee and my bare bottom spanked and spanked for my endless transgressions. Maybe, to keep me guessing, it will be a combination of all three. Whatever it is, I know while it lasts I will be, all too briefly, my true self.
I am nothing but an erotic poem he writes afresh every day, and my body is
the instrument on which he plays music that vibrates through the sounding board of my fantasies. I am tethered to his needs, and through pain he gives me joy and I have no freedom outside the cage of his demands. He is the mirror that reflects my true needs to myself, and without him I am nothing but the shadow of a person who does not exist.
I can hear him now, and my loins weep in anticipation,
I am nothing but an erotic poem he writes afresh every day...
ReplyDeleteThis captures it perfectly. We are rewritten with every new experience, each revision combining old with new. There will never be a final draft as this is ever-developing.
Wonderfully written, Elizabeth.
Thank you. Much appreciated.
ReplyDeleteLiz