The sun lifts its light to the horizon. The dark profile of evergreen trees stark against the pale light. It is daybreak and I am thinking of you. I am thinking about how to keep you in my pussy and out of my heart. Let’s face it, one of them needs you. But the other? The other does not.
It creates an interesting dichotomy. The desire to touch your skin, make your blood race, work you hard until I can taste the sweat on your body. Coupled with the desire to remain disengaged, friendly but not emotional. A state of warm ambivalence. An act of acrobatics I am likely not qualified for. A tight rope walk I have failed in the past and yet here I am again, stepping out onto the rope.
Make no mistake – there will be no falling this time. This time, if I start to wobble, I walk away.
Ultimately, my darling, you are my fuck toy. I will touch your face softly, gaze at you with my sultry eyes while my mouth surrounds your cock, smile at you with a deceptive tenderness that you may read as feelings. But you will be wrong. The smile of tenderness is nothing more than an expression of gratitude for the pleasure you give. Your needs do not matter to me. My hungry pussy is what matters.
You will feed the beast. You will offer me your body and I will devour your offering. I will bend for you, moan and cum for you. I will let you redden my flesh with your toys. The pain is a reminder.
We will laugh, talk about our pasts, work, ex-spouses, children, tell stories, find common ground we didn’t know we had. I may forget the time, but not the objective: you are not allowed in. In the end, I will walk that tight rope to the other side – where another rope will be waiting to challenge me.
You are my dildo.
My fuck toy.
End of story.