ILIR (Excerpt from an erotic book I think I'm writing)

I like my sex served rough. I want a man at my throat; I like their palms there. I have dreamt of powerful hands gripping tight, paired with a Katana that needed a harder edge. I like fighting for breath and sweat in my eyes. I wanna really gasp, really scream, and really cum. I want him to make me say 'please' and 'thank you,' and if he puts me on my knees with a glance, even better. I like the strength and the feeling of being brought underneath the power of something absolutely greedy. I find it delicious.

But don’t ask me what I want; I want dominance. It's sexier being pulled throat-first down on your dick, hair in your fists, eyes watering, and sated. I wanna be brought back up for air briefly, back against the wall, in your line of sight, bowing, sweating, begging. I want to be held up by the neck, fingers pressed against my lips sweetly and falsely. I want eye contact that shuts me down.

Don’t call me a good girl, I don’t want approval. Call me all of the things you can’t love in principle or in real life. Call me over and over again to get me alone, vulnerable, knees down and dirty on the floor of a darkroom, bloodshot. Don’t give, I want to be taken. Draw me in and watch me strive. Plunge in as I relax into it, arched, curved, and twisted into what makes you push yourself harder into me. In that moment, mold me into what suits you; canvas and clay. Reign me in, collect me, pool me effectively at your feet. My gaze wide and pleasing; leave me wanting and speaking in tongues that plead, but please don’t break. Don’t break the dominance and don’t give in. I don’t need rest. Don’t untie/unfasten/unravel. Don’t stop. And we'll say for argument’s sake that it was all for you.