“May I share a secret with you, Peter?”
From the moment we met, her authoritative demeanor was evident, yet conveyed so subtly that she didn’t need to raise her voice to command obedience.
I was naked and on my knees a few minutes after walking through her door. She gently traced her fingers across my trembling form, chuckling quietly at my evident eagerness.
Her blue eyes and riffled blonde hair served as a diversion, momentarily pulling my focus away from the ache of not having seen her in weeks. I wanted to screw.
And she was going to screw me in all the wrong ways.
She took my cock and expertly massaged it, sending waves of pleasure through me. As I let out moans of enjoyment, she cheekily commented, “You can’t be in that much discomfort Peter; you’re clearly still having a good time.”
Her hand pressed more firmly against my cock, causing me to inhale sharply and wriggle beneath her.
As she leaned in, the intoxicating scent of her rose-like perfume filled the air around.
“May I share a secret with you, Peter?”
I was hesitant to uncover any more of her secrets, already suspecting her of being far more dangerous than she appeared. One evening, as I lay in bed, she casually outlined the various pressure points for amputating my limbs, as if it were just another topic of intimate conversation.
I remained silent, lying there with the realization that hI had no option but to listen attentively.
“Navigating the emotional turbulence that comes with being my plaything has its advantages. I admit, I’m constantly moody, Peter. But the moment my lips touch yours, your thoughts will cease, like hitting an off switch. And when my fingers weave through your hair while I embrace your intimate self, consider that your on switch.”
“I love you, and that’s the essential truth you need to grasp. My affection for you probably started years ago, during those intense morning runs where you occupied my thoughts.”
With a hesitant tone, short of breath and tinged with regret, Peter responded, “I’ve been living so long with my pictures of you. That I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel.”
Collapsing onto his bed, the absence of her presence hits him; he’s alone. A memory resurfaces, reminding him that someone once told him he should find a wife.
In an instant, she had vanished. She takes her rest nestled among my socks, adjacent to my undergarments. It’s up to me to locate her there once again.
“Kali, have you taken up residence in the dresser once more?”
“No, Peter. Tonight, I’ve chosen the closet as my resting place.
… Mommy’s alright, Daddy’s alright
They just seem a little weird.
Surrender, surrender.
But don’t give yourself away.”
