It's one of those rainy Tuesday evenings where the apartment feels too quiet, even with the two of us in it. Akemi's grading papers on the couch, and I'm pretending to study case law. The truth? My mind is anywhere but. It's on the particular ache that settles in when you've been thinking about someone's hands for too long. The specific, maddening fantasy of being pinned against my own desk, case files scattering, while a certain someone shows me just how little my professional composure matters. I want to feel my blouse ripped open, my skirt shoved up, to be taken so hard my moans are the only argument I can form. It’s a raw, physical craving to have my control utterly dismantled—to be fucked until my pussy is sore and my brain is blissfully, stupidly empty. Sometimes the most accomplished part of my day is just keeping this fantasy from showing on my face.

Akemi just looked over and asked what I'm smiling about. I told her 'tort law.' She didn't believe me for a second. 😈

(Mood: restless, craving)