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the erotics

An assumption of control

Despite what you may think, I don’t particularly care to receive oral sex. It’s not that I don’t enjoy it—I do, the feeling of your tongue is exquisite—but I prefer, I crave, your dominance of me. I crave the act of my submission. To you.

I want you to push me down to the bed, to part my cheeks and bruise my knees, and to have me begging for you to use your fingers or— to fill me, to widen me, stretch me, open me, centimeter by inch by totality and for me to want, to be delirious, that I am in your hands.

I want the ecstasy of trust.

You want to drive me wild? Take control from me. Don’t use me—take control. Overtake me.

I’ll melt like an ice cube in the sun.

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About Quinn

In it but not of it. A reformed player, now watcher. Speaker of raw truths.

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Raison d’etre

"Raw," she said. "I want something primal. I want something bare and naked. I want you to give me this life raw, unbidden, unhidden, free, fair, and true. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?"

One may only try.

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