Gentle-Sadist

You know running is not going to save you from me. Not in this game. Not in these woods. Not after you gave me permission to chase you, catch you, tie you down, and make your soaking wet pussy tell me what your mouth is too shy to say.

I want the version of you that scares you a little. The one that gets quiet when she wants to be used. The one that likes being called filthy. The one that melts when control is taken from her hands. The one who stops pretending and becomes a ruined little cumslut with relief in her eyes.

You rarely ask for help. Need became expensive a long time ago. So you learned to carry everything before anyone had the chance to put it down again. People admired the strength. They never noticed it was replacing something. Then someone arrives who does not mistake self-sacrifice for character. They take the weight without making a performance out of it. The body resists first. Survival always does. Trust is not built when someone promises they will stay. It begins the day your nervous system stops preparing for them to leave.

You moan like you don’t know how wet you sound.

The main quest is usually the one people avoid the longest. It asks too much. It costs too much. So they stay busy solving smaller problems for people who were never going to save them anyway. Busy feels productive. It also hides regret remarkably well. Most people do not waste their lives on failure. They waste them on everything that never really mattered.

She tells you she misses you while sitting three feet away from you. Think about how dark that is for a moment. She misses someone who is physically present. That’s not loneliness. That’s abandonment with witnesses. You know how to treat her right? Put the phone down. Look at her eyes. Learn who she is this year. Not who she was five years ago. People change. Most relationships die because somebody stopped noticing.

Some girls want to be adored. Some want to be ruined, used, and praised for being such a perfect little mess.