How much do you remember of that first night, girl? I remember it well. I remember every inch of your body as it revealed itself to me, as I brushed my lips along the curve of your hip, as my hands explored you. I remember your first orgasm, how hard you tried not to move when I told you to be still, and the muffled cry of surprise and pain as you buried your face in the pillow at my palm’s sharp contact with your bottom.

Do you remember the kisses? Do you remember my lips softly touching you, from the back of your neck, your shoulder, moving slowly down your back to your waist? Do you remember how gently it began, how different it was from the businesslike way in which I had undressed you and bound you?

Did you have any idea, then, how long the night would be, and what demands I’d make of you and your body? Did you notice, my dear girl, how I would be gentle with you before doing something hard to you? If you noticed, did you begin to worry when I was especially gentle with you, when I spent so much time calming you, soothing you?

And do you remember how many times you cried that night? How, each time, before it began, I’d kiss you gently on the face and remind you of our word, and that you could always say it? Little girl, you’ve no idea how pride welled up in me each time you bit your lip and quickly shook your head, how pleased I was by your desire to submit, by your refusal to escape. In those moments, I wanted to untie you and crush you against me and let you sleep the night held captive in my strong arms.

In fact, we got to that, but it was much later.

Your nipples. Girl, did you ever imagine that I would be so obsessed with your breasts and, in particular, with your nipples? That I’d take such pleasure in gently brushing my lips across them, in roughly lashing my tongue hard around them? That I’d delight in pinching them, making you gasp and squirm? Or that, by the end of the night, they’d be so swollen and sore, so sensitive, and that you’d feel for days the abuse to which I’d subjected them? Now, thinking of it, I want to hold you down and feel your body shuddering beneath me as I roughly manhandle and devour your soft warm breasts and your perfect nipples.

Much later. Long before I held you quietly in my arms, long before I let you sleep the few hours that remained of that first night, long before that, dear girl, I did so much to you. How much do you remember?

You remember how gentle it all seemed while you were still bound, how easy it was for you to lie there as I touched you all over, ran my hands flat along your skin, opened you and brushed my fingertips lightly along your labia, your clitoris, and dipped just slightly into you. You remember how gently I fingered your ass, how careful I was as my finger slipped inside you–deeply, but so slowly that your fear quickly subsided. And you remember how often I paused to kiss your neck, to breathe lightly on you as I kissed your ear, and to murmur “good girl” when you were so still and quiet. Surely you remember those things?

But did you guess, girl, how hard I’d thrust my cock into your throat? How forceful I’d be, how you’d choke and gag as I held your head against me and my cock filled you? Did you guess, as the tears came to your eyes and you coughed and gasped, that I’d demand so much of you, again and again, and that you’d spend so much time on your knees or on your side while I fucked your throat so roughly?  Do you know, now, how much of my sense of possession of you comes from that, from your willingness to choke on my cock, to drop to your knees and beg me to thrust it down your throat? I warned you of that obsession. Did you believe me?

When, finally, I unfastened your wrists and ankles and rolled you on to your back, do you remember how gentle I was with you? Do you remember how I kissed your arms, softly massaged the redness from your wrists? How I knelt between your legs and kissed your face, and your throat, and slowly, gently worked my way to your breasts? Do you remember your hands on my shoulders, my muscles tight as I knelt above you and buried my face between your breasts?

Do you remember that, and then what followed? That last long lingering kiss on your lips, the gentleness in my eyes as I looked into yours, the small smile–before I took possession of you, claimed you, fucked you fast and deep and hard, and made your body mine?

I remember it all.

Girl, do you ache right now? Do you ache as much as I do? Answer me, now, by text. Two words; you know what I want to hear.