There's something intoxicating about the way my body responds to the slightest touch—like it's wired to crave the rough grip of hands that know exactly how to make me melt. Tonight, I'm lost in the memory of being bent over the edge of the bed, my cunt dripping as I begged for more. The way he ignored my pleas, dragging out every moment until I was nothing but a trembling mess... that’s the kind of control I live for. Who else loves the sweet torture of being teased until you’re desperate?