I never wanted to think of myself as someone for having a "type". I never wanted to think I was that simple or predictable. I was though, and if you throw and accent on to it.... Ya I was a total sucker for a type to be sure. It would be that type, that would so unassumingly lure me back into the dark little secrets that I had tucked away in the back of mind from the first time that I had felt a cock penetrate and rip me open.
There were many things that I was exposed to that pointed me down this dark and velvety wrist tied world, but there was one thing that was so undeniable, so very much, "shit I think I may be a bit stranger than I thought", moment it scared the crap out of me. I couldn't resist it though even if I wanted to, its hold over me was too strong, stronger than my lovers lips and breath on my neck or their fingers gripping my hips. It was all so innocent it just started with this man's voice. The thought of it now makes the edge of my lips curl, dear god how could I have almost forgotten? The memory was brought vividly back to my mind, and when it did fully reform a long forgotten chill, hunger, fire, what ever the hell you want to call it consumed me. Even exhausted as I was from my day I had to find it again, remind myself of the words, the ideals, the meaning behind the infatuation this man created deep within my body with just words.
He was a thousand miles away, I never physically felt his finger gently wrap round my neck, I never actually felt his lips brush my ear, but when I heard his voice as it dropped deadly low, and serious and heard him say those three little words, "You are mine" the uncontrollable chills, my body couldn't stop from shivering, hair stood up on the back of neck, my flesh was covered in goosebumps, my nipples ached. My god I could do nothing but shiver as if I was stripped naked and thrown out into a heavy over cast morning. My mind could think of nothing else in that moment than I will do anything to make him happy. I was his, to do with as he pleased, and he would keep me and protect me for he was also mine. His words possessed me and without even a touch, I felt his fingers rest gently round my neck, forming their little circle, every time he would say those three little words. How dare I, how could I have almost forgotten the most crazy and amazing feeling my body has ever had? I suppose time is needed to heal the scars people leave on us before we can look back and remember the good. Thank you Mr. Stephen Streeter.
