Wax and wane

There are days where I do not write of sensuality. Days where nary a tit or skin or lips are mentioned. It is on those days that I am so consumed by the thought of you that I cannot form coherent sentences. Instead, I dream of touching and being touched. Of spanking and tying you to our bed. Of tasting and licking until you writhe and beg me to cum. It is not that on days I write, I want you any less. Merely that on those days I am more in control.

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