You'd come only for me. I love the idea of fucking with your brain so much that you can never come without my permission ever again.
And now I’ve found this prompt, a perfectly serendipitous stimulus to say it again, to copy and paste and select the words, to turn them inside out from private to public, make a potentially public, implicitly exhibitionist display of a private desire.
A desire that manifests as greed for a breathless absolute of ruination, a fantasy of ownership utterly limited yet absolute within this limitation, both symbolic and corporeal.
If I could have it - if I could really, really have it - I would take your orgasms. All of them. Whenever you come, however you come, whoever you come with, you would come only for me. And whenever you don’t come, your face twisted with a grimace of frustration turning into pain, every moan and whimper more desperate than the one that preceded it, your very self receding into need, it would be for my pleasure too. You would not-come only for me.