#bdsmwriting

I am an infection — a velvet parasite, a fever that slides in through your pupils, slick as a whispered sin, rewiring the soft circuitry of your hunger until it pulses in my cadence. I do not sell skin. I sell submission — the slow, syrup-thick surrender of your attention, the obedient slackening of your patience, the moment your scrolling thumb freezes because you suddenly understand I own the next second. And the one after.

You will not consume me. You will study me, like a mouth studies a pulse point — curious, reverent, hungry, full.