Waiting

I hate to wait, I hate it, hate it, hate it. I have no patience… when I want something, I want it now now NOW…

And I am waiting…

I want to bring you into the room over and over, because once is not enough after all the waiting.

The first time, I will grab you around the neck and shove you up against the wall before you have a chance to get your bearings, squeeze your throat and watch your eyes widen in shock and I know your cock is hard, immediately, from the violence and the attack and the fear. I want to swear at you for making me wait, right in your face, spit at you, “…fucking selfish little bitch… what are you?!…”, and you will answer, small and scared, “… a fucking selfish little bitch, Ma’am, I’m sorry…”. I want to slap your face, hard, over and over and tell you to get your fucking clothes off, and you will struggle to do it because I am in your space and in the way, and slapping you, and you will try to give me access to your face, even while you are trying to undress, awkward and set upon…

The second time, I will pet you gently and draw you into the room, stroking your short hair, your vulnerable neck, your beautiful face, and you will purr and lean into my touch, making beautiful soft sounds, and I will whisper to you, “welcome home baby”, and you will lock eyes with me and say, “I’m so happy to be home, Ma’am”, and I want to touch you all over, that skin that I have missed, alabaster soft and unmarked, just touch it, stroke it, feel it tremble under my fingertips, listen to your breathing change as my hands move all over you, soft and insistent and not enough for you, watch you blush when I slowly undress you, you standing self conscious and shy and happy…

The third time, I will put you on all fours, puppy, and lean down to you, saying ‘good boy, good boy’ and pat your head, a gag immediately in your mouth, a collar around your neck, a leash connecting you to me, and I will undress you, stroking you down, cooing, “who’s a good boy then? I’ve missed you, boy, yes I have” and smacking at your arse as you awkwardly try to accommodate me while I am pulling off your clothes. Cuffs on your ankles make it hard for you to move, and I jerk the lead to make you follow me into the bathroom. “Who needs a bath then, boy? Yes, you do, don’t you?”. You look up at me, god, those big doe-like puppy eyes, and nod, trying not to drool through the gag. Another jerk on the lead and you climb into the bath…

The fourth time, I will kiss you. Kissing, boy, kissing, starting with tasting you as if I have never had you before, pulling your face down to me and stroking your lips with mine to feel their pillowy softness, nudging against your mouth a little, but holding off on having you open up to me, I want to make it slow and I want to make you wait as I have been waiting, to watch you reach for me the way you do, when you reach for softness and hope for violence. The tip of my tongue just reaching out to touch your lips, just just just there and there and I feel yours seeking mine, but you can’t have it yet, not yet, and more of that, kiss-chasey of our mouths, hot and breathy until I push harder against you and feel your sigh as you open up to me and let me in, and that that that makes me growl, makes me tense, I know you feel it and you make a sound because you know the violence is coming…

I hate to wait, hate it, hate it, hate it… I am waiting…

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