I crave

I’m craving him. Not just him, but the time we have together and what I want him to do to me during that time.

I crave talking with him.

I crave seeing his face. I crave feeling his lips on mine.

I crave being over his lap while he spanks me. He spanks so perfectly that I crave it far more than ever before.

I crave the cane to be in his hand. I crave the stripes they leave. I crave the bruises as reminders that make me sit gingerly with a smirk while I wince and shift in the hardest seat I can find to feel them more.

I crave his teeth on my neck.

I crave whimpering when he whispers things in my ear that embarrass me. I crave being made to feel humiliated like the naughty girl I can be.

I crave licking his boots as he allows me to do sometimes.

I crave serving him.

I crave him inside of me.

I crave the orgasms we give each other.

I crave feeling his arms around me as he cuddles me. I crave the safety that I feel with him, in his arms. I crave falling sleep knowing that he has sated my cravings and I his for the time.

I crave him. I love him. I love craving him.

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