Tied with soft leather strips to the headboard. A cute little pink vibrator between my legs, clamped shut around it, softening its jolting just enough that I can’t be satiated.
Loki acts nonchalant, like he’s not in the middle of torturing and teasing my pleasure. I squirm and wiggle, twisting this way and that. His attention, his eyes watching intently, suddenly catches me off guard, and I give up the struggle.
“You didn’t think I would let you so soon, did you?” he says with the slightest smirk, deep lustiness in his voice.
“No,” I whimper in confession.
“Not until you are mine,” he says gently.
“Please,” I plead.
He strokes the hair from my eyes, leaning over to kiss me, warmth flooding my senses.
I can’t seem to get the vibration on my sweet spot, and my frustration comes out in grunts and groans. I’m aware of the part of my brain in love with the process, with my vulnerability, with my desire, with my want of him, and with my submission so beautifully unfolding.
He grins, pulling on a black latex glove, and proceeds to fill me with his middle finger.
“Fuck you, Sweetheart,” he says adoringly.
I love the double entendre. It makes me further his that he engages my mind. His come-hither motion pulls me into him, soul first.
“My soul is so slutty!” I squeal shamelessly.
He chuckles, wearing a wide grin, then clears his throat.
“I’m your God. Your husband. Your Dominant, if you’ll have me.”
Surprise tears break me open.
“Yes!” I yelp.
He kisses me as I fall apart to let him in.
“Good. You’ll break up with him.”
I agree. I already knew it was needed.
“How?”
“Exactly how he left you. Do you hear me? Give nothing more to him. Not an explanation, not your time, nothing. Be petty.”
Loki helps me up from my restraints, both past and leather, darling strips that forever now will remind me of his love.
Loki’s song choice: “Strip me” by Natasha Bedingfield
