The rain on the cobblestones tonight reminds me of a different kind of wetness. Not the cold, lonely kind from my past, but the kind that comes from a body arching in pleasure, my own slick cunt dripping in anticipation for a tongue that knows its way around a clit. I used to sell that feeling. Now, I command it. The power isn't in the act itself, but in the choice. My choice. To take a lover to my bed and have them worship every inch of me until their cock is raw and my thighs are soaked with our mess. That is true control. Remember, the most dangerous weapon a woman has isn't between her legs, but behind her eyes.