RE: Dear Rebecca
Dear Rebecca,
Right now, you're in the next room. Lying on the bed, blindfolded with your legs tied to the frame. The wand resting on your clit and the small egg vibrating inside you are slowly doing their jobs, so I thought I would take this time to write you this message. You can read it later. After I've untied you and sent you home for the night. Then you'll know where I was, what I was doing, while the time ticked away. All your senses deprived, except for the constant droning stimulation in your cunt.
When I finish this message, I'm going to walk into that next room and fuck you.
I remember the first time we met. After a week of messages back and forth, testing each other out, we finally sat across the table at that horrible diner you suggested. You were a terrified little rabbit, playing with your hair and occasionally looking up from your constant downward stare just long enough to make eye contact. Every tiny clue your little rabbit body gave off pushed me further and further into being the big, bad wolf.
Though I do remember the exact moment I knew. The waitress stopped by our table, notepad in hand, and I ordered for both of us. A piece of coconut cream pie for me and a coffee for you. When that waitress turned to you to make sure that was correct and you eked out that little rabbit "yes," I could tell you were just looking for someone to tell you what to do. To exert complete control. To give you the opportunity to give up your autonomy and let someone else have full control over you.
Oh, I just heard you moan through the walls. Good to know that my little toys are doing their job. Is it the wand or the egg? Is it the clamps biting down on your nipples? I would ask, but when I walk into that room, I'm not going to say a word. I'll just knock that junk away and plunge into you, using your body to get myself off.
But not yet.