She enters me with her tongue, but I need more. So I start rolling my hips over her face.
I want her not to get any air.
I want her to be so delusional that she doesn’t know where up and down are.
She digs her fingers into my legs and mumbles something inaudible, but I am not stopping until the final wave of my orgasm overcomes me.
A deep moan rumbles through my chest.
I pause for one second before I get out of her.
She just lies there, panting for air.
I grin as I get up, because I am so not done with her.
“Get up,” I tell her.
She only shakes her head and then breathes out, “can’t walk.”
“Then crawl.”
She is trembling and swaying as she gets onto all fours.
“Crawl to the kitchen,” I order her. I watch her from behind.
Damn.
I have the desire to take her with a strap-on from behind, but first, I need something else. I need her to see my crazy, all of it.
I walk into the open kitchen behind her.
“Kneel there,” I tell her, and she kneels. Still swaying slightly.
I grab a wine glass, fill it with water, and hold it against her lips. “Drink.”
She takes three gulps and then stops.
She lets her head fall back with her eyes closed, and I pour the rest of the water over her.
She squeaks because it’s ice cold from the fridge.
I set the wine glass aside and took a knife from the collection she had placed in the kitchen for cooking. I do so forcefully that she hears the sound.
Her head snaps up, and she stares at me.
I don’t need knives for cooking; I need them to get turned on beyond.
I stand in front of her and cut my palm.
“Mhhhhhmm,” I moan out as the pain bites on my skin.
But I love pain.
I love thrill.
And pain.
Because they make me feel alive.
