Tap, tap, tapping with the crop. I try to think. The crop distracts me, kissing my skin, asserting its access, pinning me down. And you are there, driving everything. This will go exactly as you want it to go. You, your choice, your hands. Bare for you in every way, I savor this anticipation more than I should, its intoxicating mix of fear and desire. The familiar thought flashes through my mind before I can block it: *Addict.*
You haven’t asked a question, so I keep quiet. Focusing on my position, I square my shoulders to support me, my hands flat on the seat of the chair. I press my ass out for you, and check that my feet, in these heels you like, are slightly more than shoulder-width apart to expose the holes, to open the cunt. I keep my back straight and strong, except a small sway at my waist. Offering myself to you, as always, and trying to be pleasing to your eyes, and your cock — worthy property.
I had felt cold at first, my skin and lips open to the air, but I never remain so. You want to see me pink and red. Nice and warm for you.