all that glitters

probably the most personal thing i'll ever blog here

You see, there’s an ex-boyfriend.

Despite my current disdain, a memory. The image of him in a blazer and tie, brandishing a thick black flogger in a Manhattan dungeon we frequented with his friends (I’d been there before — but always to watch, never to play), seared in my mind.

I’m trying to go to sleep and I keep thinking about the feel of leather against my tits while the voyeurs watch. I’m stark naked, teetering on high heels, hands clasped with a spreader bar in the middle of the room, feeling a thousand stares.

The cool air hardening my nipples. His gloved hand over my mouth, stifling my screams.

Bliss.

(Oh crap I’ll totally delete this in the morning)