Call to Arms

I need you to fuck me. Not here, not now. But I need it. I need you. It's been so long since I've been well and truly fucked.

I need to be pushed to the edge of reason and feel any rational thoughts in my head flee for fear of falling. I know the path but I can't walk it alone; it is always so much more pleasant to have company, no? And I want you to be there when I fall. Don't try and catch me now, that would ruin the fun of the drop, the long expanse of time between that last rational thought you allowed me and my body's collapse upon the cold stone floor. But you can only be there if you promise to fuck me when I reach the bottom. To fuck me in that way you do — invading my soul and my pussy simultaneously. Primal. To fuck me in that way you love — a tease, a laugh. Hungry. Intake of breath, injection of pleasure. We need no ropes just now; ropes are meant to keep something somewhere but I've already fallen. Just hold me and clasp my hands together over my head and tell me not to move them. I'll hear you, I'll understand, but I won't comply. I never comply the first time. And the first time I move them, lean in slowly to my ear and whisper just how hard you'll fuck my ass if I move them again. Look into my eyes and dare me to move my hands again. If I speak, will you slap me? Is it not my turn to talk? I will do so anyway, telling you that my ass is already yours to fuck. But I will undulate my fingers slowly, deliberately, to inspire in you an evil will to fuck my ass just because I'm naughty and smart-mouthed. I never win with you.