“you’re a writer, right?”
me, staring at the one sentence i’ve managed to add in the last hour and the 12 open tabs on the specifics of shoes in 1845 Ireland: In theory.
He's older. Smarter. More experienced. He knows how to wait, he knows how to play. But when it comes to you, he loses control. There's fire in his eyes, a command in his voice. He doesn't just want you. He's obsessed. He reads you like a book, but tears the pages if anyone else looks at the cover. And you feel it - in the way he holds you by the waist a little tighter than necessary. In the way the silence between you is louder than any confession.
If on this site there’s a woman more beautiful than @stupidbabe4u , please introduce me
this.
Imagine meeting someone who wanted to learn your past not to punish you, but to understand how you needed to be loved.
M, late 50s, England. I’ve recently discovered that I have some kinks: call me "Daddy" if that works for you, or call me “Professor.” Under 18 and ageless blogs will be blocked.
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