Heather the Churchy Cunt
^((Tom – English))
^((Heather – very English))
^((Tess – an American, abroad))
Tess and I had been seeing each other for a while. Things had been crazy from the start. We weren’t just lovesick idiots, we really were idiots. We were, and still are, throwing petrol on each other’s fire. After several months of playing wonderful, filthy, kinky games together Tess told me she wanted to take things deeper.
“Tarm?” She began and that was it, I was lost. She could be asking if I’d collect some shopping on the way home. Telling me she was making a cup of tea. Or explaining why she’d decapitated the 45th president of the United States. As soon as I hear “Tarm?” I fall into a reverie all my own. Tess told me she wanted to go deeper into submission. To submit further to my will. To experience a greater loss of control and increased humiliation. I think her exact words were “Tarm?”
“Yes, Tess.”
“You know I’ve always loved that fucked up shit. I want more. Please!” When it’s put so eloquently, what’s a chap to do?