Monday, May 2, 2016

My Addiction

Sitting on the bathroom floor, I sank into the feeling. Grabbed it like a lifeline hanging over the edge of a cliff.

It all started with a random comment he made, in a very dominant and somewhat aggressive manner, about how I would fuck someone at work.

Sitting on the bathroom floor, feeling the marks of his belt rising from my skin, I knew to the core of my being, with utter and complete certainty, that I was alive. That this is what I need to survive. What I need to wake up and want to live another day.


He teased and tortured me with humiliation and pain.

This is what I need. To survive the self-repression, the people, the misery of the job and the miles upon miles of concrete.

Owned. I need his control more than I need any fucking thing in this world.

My drug. My addiction. The feeling of his ownership, the growl of possessiveness in his voice, the unwavering authority in his movement, the way his hands have no doubt that this body belongs to him...Not me...Raw dominance. When it radiates off him, I fucking melt.

It really doesn't...


  1. Hi Lil, I love your last paragraph, you write so well, So glad to read this and I agree, yum :)


  2. Smiling because you've posted twice in a couple of days and this one sounds so much more uplifting than the last couple. Happy for you.

  3. You sure do know how to get the most our of words......they ring true for me also...
    hugs abby

  4. The label did not go unnoticed :)


Play nice.