You Are The Paper
All of sudden, words drop out of me like thundering rain from a dark cloud in the middle of a Midwest spring storm. I am merely existing naturally now, dropping ungodly amounts of passion, all because of the slightest presence of you.
I don’t know what it is. I don’t know why and I don’t know how. But the nearer you are to me, my beautiful Kitten, the easier it just is to be me.
So once again, while my skies turn orange, I have to say — and it just feels fuckin’ good to be writing of us again. Because although the ink sure felt dry at times, my heart never left my pen.
I just missed my paper.
So ache for me tonight, My Love, like I know you do. Ache for me, like I do you. Ache — and read the words I write and when you do, feel the rawness in my voice and understand it only exists because of you.
The depth only exists, because of you.
Now I gather not everyone wants to hear of my love and passion. Not everyone wants to hear this emotion. Fine by me; they can find mechanics anywhere. But when I write, I write with my fuckin’ heart, so they can lick my fucking balls and go find fake somewhere else, because when I put pen to paper, I do it like I fucking mean it.
So Kitty Cat, reach down between your legs and picture me. Reach down and feel the wetness I caused in that kitty I own, and as your slickness glides over feminine fingers, just know soon it will be my fingers brushing between your lips.
It will be my hand, gripping your pussy, making a fist and squeezing tight to send the message to your brain that I am claiming it. Visualize for me that it will the tips of my fingers spinning around and around across your overworked clit, as you beg me with your eyes for one more orgasm.
Touch, my Good Girl. Touch.
And when you do, think of the next time you are in my grasp. Close those pretty eyes and feel me. Go there in your mind.
Feel the roughness of my beard pressing up again your olive soft skin, sending goosebumps down your arms, while I kiss you with passion like they did in Casablanca. Like we just rolled down a hill in The Princess Bride. And when you kiss me in your mind, look for the passion in my eyes when you do it.
Go there in your memories and dive deep into the vision of me devouring your cunt, forcing you to cum as I fuckin’ claim your body as mine with my goddamn face and mouth.
Fingers pulling you into my realm while you dance your squirmish dance for me, cumming over and over and over, falling apart for Daddy like I love watching you do. So as you slutty daydream yourself into dripping pussyville, gaze down at the collar I put on you, that you never removed, and remember the depth of my want for you.
And keep that kitty wet for Daddy.
Plan ahead in your mind and envision the next time you have that light around you, while stretching every hole of yours and making you curl up for me.
You find the sounds of your subspace voice that now is my favorite music to dance to. The sounds of your meaningless meaningful words, drifting off into another world, coming back down to earth just long enough to say something remotely coherent, like “Thank You, Daddy”, while I see in your face and hear in your voice that you will never remember actually saying those things.
Everything you do; everything you are — I pay attention to it all.
So get hungry Kitten, because I’m coming at you like a fucking tiger. Ache, and when you do, do it with your slutty side. Get nice and deep inside yourself and plan for the things to come. The spankings and the hair pullings; the kneeling and the service. The tasks and the orgasms; the fucking and the kisses.
Ache, my muse, ache. Be my paper, little one.
I love you.