Want Perpetuates Want

ABY101209e by jvrsta

There are times when I can’t escape from want. Want perpetuates want until all I can think of is taking or being taken. Lately it’s been the latter. The most mundane movements crackle with the electricity of my desire for it. With each moment want increases exponentially until it consumes my entire being and I feel my body begin to sing with it, unsure if anyone else can sense the desires within me threatening to explode.

Every movement of my lips makes me think of cool steel being placed between them, forcing them open a little to wide, almost painfully, after not too long my jaw beginning to ache. My mouth open and available for use or just for amusement as I am unable to contain the spit dribbling out onto my breasts. Or I think of a hand covering my mouth, pinching my nose shut, controlling my breath and stealing my air, not letting me breathe for just a little longer than I think I can handle before releasing and letting me gulp for it, even my most essential of functions controlled.

My fingers lift up to absently run through my hair and suddenly I can think of nothing else but a hand gripping and pulling on the short purple mess, making my scalp burn. My head tingles with want and later, when I am alone, I will allow my digits to curl around those locks and tug, although the feeling is nothing like when the fingers aren’t mine.

Using my hands to gesticulate or type or simply any movement in which I become aware of them makes my wrists ache for want of the bite of rope or cuffs lining them. The bracelets I always wear feel heavy with my own perception as the pressure they place increases the want, and awareness of my wrists makes my attention also focus on my ankles. I want to be bound, helpless, enveloped by the power of my partner and trapped in that moment where all I can fixate on is the sensation. Maybe blindfolded, maybe not, but unable to see what is coming next and my entire body alive with anticipation.

Every time I shift my attention is brought first to my ass and then to my cunt, the attention itself enough to make my lips tingle and grow with want. I know that were I to sneak a finger into my core I would feel the hot wetness that is even now creeping out onto my underwear. I would feel my vulva puffy with want of use, my holes craving to be taken.

My ass, on the other hand, tingles with a different kind of want, aching for the smart sting of a cane, hoping to be bruised this time as bruising does not come easily. I want a hand, a flogger, a cane, anything that will make me quiver with desire and make my cunt that much more overtaken with want. I would close my eyes and imagine the pattern the glowing lines are making, imagine the perfectly lined angry and raised red marks against my pale skin.

I want the continual moments of perpetuation of desire to last forever, hanging in a state of anticipation that my mind or my partner has created. I want everything in those moments, my entire being overtaken with want and desire to be taken to a different state of mind. Power is a drug and I am an addict, but I will happily drown in my addiction so I may feel the want again and again. With a good partner our addiction feeds each other, my discomfort is our pleasure, my pain our high, the power exchange our masterpiece.