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.
